University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Another part of the camp. Nimrod, Hugh, and Jonas seated near a fire.
HUGH
He will not, think you?

NIMROD
Nay, I said not that.
I only charge that nothing be proclaimed;
Then whatsoever come, if so it come,
Will have more operation. See, the flock
Is over-hungry for continual signs;
Which, could they be bespoken, would be nought
But independence of the Lord.

JONAS
Maybe.
But I that chose the gift of healing, I
That have obeyed in all things, I should heal!
If he must husband up his power to spend
On higher miracles, enough is mine
For lesser work: so strengthen, then, my hands,
That they on whom I lay them shall be whole.

NIMROD
The wish may choose: possession comes by faith.
Know surely that you have it, and you have.

JONAS
How know without a test?

NIMROD
Ah! there you lack
The last anointing; there the prophet stands
Transparent in his own internal light,
While yours is cloudy still. When you foresee
The healing of your hands, your hands will heal.

HUGH
So works the gift? But, if his foresight be
Indeed so perfect, it were rude to say,
As cheer to some, and guidance unto all,
This member strays, that rises; these receive,
Or lose, that our authority be firm;
For such picked out for higher reach of faith
Will stand, supporting us, above the rest.

NIMROD
First show them patience! Gathered here and there,
The dust of other life upon their shoes,
The stagnant blood of other creeds not yet
Purged from their veins, the Gentile taunt still loud
In ear and memory, restless from the change
And long privation of the pilgrimage,
They hear but halfly: we must give them rest,
Fitting their shoulders to an easy yoke,
Filling their cribs, and warmly bedding them,
Till they will rather serve within our fold
Than rule outside of it.

JONAS
Is all prepared
For us who come? The people hear of those
Who, first arriving, may be better placed.

NIMROD
I did not take my gift of prophecy
In vain: so ye declare it unto all,
Contentment waits for woman, man, and child;
But to yourselves I promise more belief.
Go, hither bring the tally of your men:
My work is yet unfinished.
[Exit Hugh and Jonas.]
All alike!
No one is certain that he has the power,
Unless his neighbor says so. Tell them, then,
They govern, governing myself the while.
So far were easy: yet from him comes forth
The fire that makes their dull cold metal bend;
And when to kindle it is in his will,
Not mine. He has a look of weariness;
And out of languor comes no miracle.
But oft, from very expectation, springs
The thing expected, if a cooler skill
Command the heat of others. What she plans—
If any thing, indeed—I cannot guess;
Not even whether like or dislike looked
From eyes that only seemed to hide her thought.
Turn either way, I'm poking in the dark.
Well, well! the morrow is the clearer day.