The Light of the World or The Great Consummation By Sir Edwin Arnold |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. | BOOK III.
The Alabaster Box
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| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | The Light of the World or The Great Consummation |  |
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BOOK III. The Alabaster Box
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Next morn,—upon the marble leewân met—
Soft salutations paid, and praise, and thanks—
“What hast thou in thy hand,” the Indian asked,
“Which thou dost gaze upon so fixedly?”
Soft salutations paid, and praise, and thanks—
“What hast thou in thy hand,” the Indian asked,
“Which thou dost gaze upon so fixedly?”
For, sitting with her long hair loose, and eyes
Bent downwards, Mary in her clasped palms held
A broken box of Alabaster, shards
Of some rare casket, cut from satin stone,
Where the wrecked beauty of the precious work
Yet shone with lovely lustre; milk-white rock
Veined rose and gold, and thinned, diaphanous,
So that light filtered through its fragments pale,
And, past them, the close clinging fingers showed.
Bent downwards, Mary in her clasped palms held
A broken box of Alabaster, shards
Of some rare casket, cut from satin stone,
Where the wrecked beauty of the precious work
Yet shone with lovely lustre; milk-white rock
Veined rose and gold, and thinned, diaphanous,
So that light filtered through its fragments pale,
And, past them, the close clinging fingers showed.
126
“Good Friend!”—the Lady Miriam began—“thy Hind—
Which hath those rivers with the sands of gold,
And hills of lazulite, and fisheries
Whence the great pearls are gotten, could not buy
With all its precious store of Orient wealth
The treasure of this broken box from me!
Sweeter than spikenard odours, lingering still
On each white remnant of the wondrous toil,
Hangs the dear memory of a day more sad,
More glad,—more proud, more shameful—more to mourn,
More to rejoice in—than all other days
Of all thy handmaid's years. Nay, but my life
Rather began when this fair thing found end!
'Twas an Egyptian labour, cut with pains
From the streaked stone, and wrought, as thou shalt see,
By matchless master-craft, to make a gift
For Cæsar;—since the Emperor owned it first;
And next it fell to Rufus, but he gave
The beauteous marvel at his banquet board
To one that sold it for a hundred slaves;
So came it to Pandera. Did they tell—
Sending thee hither—thee so grey and grave—
What Miriam once had been?”
Which hath those rivers with the sands of gold,
And hills of lazulite, and fisheries
Whence the great pearls are gotten, could not buy
With all its precious store of Orient wealth
The treasure of this broken box from me!
Sweeter than spikenard odours, lingering still
On each white remnant of the wondrous toil,
Hangs the dear memory of a day more sad,
More glad,—more proud, more shameful—more to mourn,
More to rejoice in—than all other days
Of all thy handmaid's years. Nay, but my life
Rather began when this fair thing found end!
'Twas an Egyptian labour, cut with pains
From the streaked stone, and wrought, as thou shalt see,
By matchless master-craft, to make a gift
For Cæsar;—since the Emperor owned it first;
127
The beauteous marvel at his banquet board
To one that sold it for a hundred slaves;
So came it to Pandera. Did they tell—
Sending thee hither—thee so grey and grave—
What Miriam once had been?”
The Indian sage
Gave gentle answer: “If mine ears have heard
Evil of thee, my heart would quite forget,
Which hath no room to-day for any thought,
Not good and grateful, of my Lady's grace.”
Gave gentle answer: “If mine ears have heard
Evil of thee, my heart would quite forget,
Which hath no room to-day for any thought,
Not good and grateful, of my Lady's grace.”
“Aye! but”—she sighed—“evil was good for me!
I lived, in all this land the boldest, worst,
Who braided up her hair the harlot's way.
That beauty Nature gave me I abased,
Selling it with a loveless heart to win
Wealth, and rich raiment, and the knees of men.
Oh me! my days splendid and sinful! Earth
Emptied her stores to pleasure me; they brought,
To buy my smiles, their Tyrian purple webs,
Their Myrrhine cups, their silks, their sards, their nard,
Drachmas, and darics, shekels, sesterces;
And slaves to fan my sleep, and gilded chairs
To bear me to the Temples and the feasts.
I, that am still and sane to-day, have led
Revels so mad the shamed stars drew the clouds
Over their argent faces;—Chinnereth
Burned with our cressets; and the water-way
Ran to its brink red with our chalice dregs.
And Syria groaned and fierce Samaria surged,
And wild mobs clamoured round the Palace-gates
While in these arms Cæsar's drugged satraps dreamed,
Prætor, and Procurator. Nay! hear all!
Not Latins only; no, nor Greeks alone;
Nor Jew, nor Idumæan; for my name,
My golden infamy, grew East and West,
Till Rome and Athens heard; and Tyre and Crete;
And Cyprus; and the Isles, and Media,
Not less than Magdal and Tiberias,
Talk of the Miriam of Galilee,
The Harlot with the long black braided hair
Who melted hearts in spiced pomegranate wine—
Than Alexandrian Queen more prodigal,—
And laughed their wealth to want, and trod their pride
Under her 'broidered sandals; and took toll
Of goods and gear, wasting in one wild bout
The Temple's wealth; till,—like that rose-faced One
Of Memphis, I had reared a pyramid
With but one block from each who fawned on me.
Sir! such was I, that play thy hostess here,
With these white shards, which saved me, in my lap.
Reverend and grave thou show'st: if thy will be
Now to depart, hearing these stained lips speak,
Thou shalt have praise, not blame, from Miriam.”
I lived, in all this land the boldest, worst,
Who braided up her hair the harlot's way.
That beauty Nature gave me I abased,
Selling it with a loveless heart to win
Wealth, and rich raiment, and the knees of men.
128
Emptied her stores to pleasure me; they brought,
To buy my smiles, their Tyrian purple webs,
Their Myrrhine cups, their silks, their sards, their nard,
Drachmas, and darics, shekels, sesterces;
And slaves to fan my sleep, and gilded chairs
To bear me to the Temples and the feasts.
I, that am still and sane to-day, have led
Revels so mad the shamed stars drew the clouds
Over their argent faces;—Chinnereth
Burned with our cressets; and the water-way
Ran to its brink red with our chalice dregs.
And Syria groaned and fierce Samaria surged,
And wild mobs clamoured round the Palace-gates
While in these arms Cæsar's drugged satraps dreamed,
Prætor, and Procurator. Nay! hear all!
Not Latins only; no, nor Greeks alone;
Nor Jew, nor Idumæan; for my name,
My golden infamy, grew East and West,
129
And Cyprus; and the Isles, and Media,
Not less than Magdal and Tiberias,
Talk of the Miriam of Galilee,
The Harlot with the long black braided hair
Who melted hearts in spiced pomegranate wine—
Than Alexandrian Queen more prodigal,—
And laughed their wealth to want, and trod their pride
Under her 'broidered sandals; and took toll
Of goods and gear, wasting in one wild bout
The Temple's wealth; till,—like that rose-faced One
Of Memphis, I had reared a pyramid
With but one block from each who fawned on me.
Sir! such was I, that play thy hostess here,
With these white shards, which saved me, in my lap.
Reverend and grave thou show'st: if thy will be
Now to depart, hearing these stained lips speak,
Thou shalt have praise, not blame, from Miriam.”
130
“Child!” soft he said: “I hail the stately ship
Safe from all storms, anchored in quietness!
I hail the fair white hind, flower of these woods,
Fled from the wolves of sense, which tore her flesh!
I hail the gentle River, stayed and vexed
By crag and ledge, smooth-gliding at the last,
'Mid fruitful fields and dropping blooms, to find
Calm consummation in the accepting Sea!
I hail thy heavenly beauty, purged, to prove
Grace and not Plague to men! Oh, thou that art
Thine own high Conqueror, and hast set foot
On the Eight Noble Paths, an old man's lips
Low at thy hem, praise thee and honour thee!
Yet, tell me, Lady! how the new days came.”
Safe from all storms, anchored in quietness!
I hail the fair white hind, flower of these woods,
Fled from the wolves of sense, which tore her flesh!
I hail the gentle River, stayed and vexed
By crag and ledge, smooth-gliding at the last,
'Mid fruitful fields and dropping blooms, to find
Calm consummation in the accepting Sea!
I hail thy heavenly beauty, purged, to prove
Grace and not Plague to men! Oh, thou that art
Thine own high Conqueror, and hast set foot
On the Eight Noble Paths, an old man's lips
Low at thy hem, praise thee and honour thee!
Yet, tell me, Lady! how the new days came.”
“He would have spoken so; so did He speak,
So speaking He did heal me!”—murmured she;
Then said aloud—“Learn thou that Nazareth
Cast forth her glory, flung her star away;
Forgot those good years when His fellowship
Made her air sweeter and her heavenly sky
Diviner, those fair years when all might hear
The mallet of “The Carpenter” at work,
While in His holy soul He built the frame
Of Truth's high kingdom here—fitted the beams
Of such a Temple as the Eternal Love
Would dwell in. One ill Sabbath, when He came
Journeying by Sychar, new from seeing John—
John the Forerunner, who had surely said
“This is the Christ to be!”—He entered in
That synagogue thou sawest on the hill;
And stood to read. The Chazzân drew the scroll
Forth from the silken curtains of its ark,
Unrolled the great Megillah to the page
Marked for the day, giving Esaias out,—
And, from the Prophet, Jesus spake these words:—
So speaking He did heal me!”—murmured she;
Then said aloud—“Learn thou that Nazareth
Cast forth her glory, flung her star away;
131
Made her air sweeter and her heavenly sky
Diviner, those fair years when all might hear
The mallet of “The Carpenter” at work,
While in His holy soul He built the frame
Of Truth's high kingdom here—fitted the beams
Of such a Temple as the Eternal Love
Would dwell in. One ill Sabbath, when He came
Journeying by Sychar, new from seeing John—
John the Forerunner, who had surely said
“This is the Christ to be!”—He entered in
That synagogue thou sawest on the hill;
And stood to read. The Chazzân drew the scroll
Forth from the silken curtains of its ark,
Unrolled the great Megillah to the page
Marked for the day, giving Esaias out,—
And, from the Prophet, Jesus spake these words:—
132
‘The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me. Because He hath anointed Me to Preach the Gospel to the Poor: He hath sent Me to heal the broken-hearted; to preach deliverance to the Captives, and recovering of sight to the Blind; to set at liberty them that are bruised, to preach the Acceptable Year of the Lord.’
“This He did read, and spake, in majesty,
That which was true, as afterwards all knew,
‘ am your Promised Prophet, Priest and King!’
Whereat they stormed, brake into bitter wrath,
Drave forth their Rabbi with the heavenly face,
Had will to kill Him,—being but ‘Carpenter’
Who made Himself Messiah; had fierce mind
To fling Him down the steep; but He passed through,
And went His way.
That which was true, as afterwards all knew,
‘ am your Promised Prophet, Priest and King!’
Whereat they stormed, brake into bitter wrath,
Drave forth their Rabbi with the heavenly face,
Had will to kill Him,—being but ‘Carpenter’
Who made Himself Messiah; had fierce mind
To fling Him down the steep; but He passed through,
And went His way.
“That was the day we rode
Up from Sebastë towards Tiberias,
And, on my wrist a damning splash of blood
From throat of one my angry lover stabbed
At mid-feast, in the madness of the wine.
'Twas there, at Kenna, 'mid my thickest sins,
Red outwardly with murder, inwardly
Black to the heart's core with wild wickedness,
Dwelt in by all the seven dark devils of Hell,
I saw my Lord! Oh, first I saw my Lord!
And, Sir! I heard His voice. Was one we knew
Steward to Herod—(for my revellers
Were men of Antipas) who stayed Him there—
Bent for Capernaum form Nazareth—
Praying swift succour for a dying child,
And urging fervently. While we made halt
To witness, tenderly the Master turned
With look ineffable, and gazed; and spake:
‘Go! Thy Son liveth!’
Up from Sebastë towards Tiberias,
133
From throat of one my angry lover stabbed
At mid-feast, in the madness of the wine.
'Twas there, at Kenna, 'mid my thickest sins,
Red outwardly with murder, inwardly
Black to the heart's core with wild wickedness,
Dwelt in by all the seven dark devils of Hell,
I saw my Lord! Oh, first I saw my Lord!
And, Sir! I heard His voice. Was one we knew
Steward to Herod—(for my revellers
Were men of Antipas) who stayed Him there—
Bent for Capernaum form Nazareth—
Praying swift succour for a dying child,
And urging fervently. While we made halt
To witness, tenderly the Master turned
With look ineffable, and gazed; and spake:
‘Go! Thy Son liveth!’
“Whom I saw,—with eyes
Which never have forgot, nor will forget
Till Heaven's day shows me Him again—was one
Of a commanding stature —beautiful—
Bearing such countenance, as, whoso gazed,
Must love, or fear. Wine-colour shone His hair
Glittering and waved,—an aureole folded down,
Its long rays lighted locks,—which fell, and flowed,
Fair-parted from the middle of His head,
After the manner of the Nazarites.
Even and clear His forehead; and the face
Of dignity surpassing, pure and pale
As the Greek's marble, but flushed frequently
With the bright blood of manhood. Nose and mouth
Faultless for grace, and full and soft the beard,
Forked, of the hazelled colour of His hair:
The great eyes blue and radiant; mild as sky
Of spring-time after rain, yet terrible
As lightning leaping sudden from that sky,
When He rebuked. In admonition calm;
In tender hours each word like music's soul
Heard past the sound! Not ofttimes seen to smile,
More oft to weep; yet of a lofty cheer
Commonly—nay, of playful raillery
And swift wit, softened with sweet gravity.
Straight-standing like a palm-tree; hands and limbs
So moulded that the noblest copy them:
Among the Sons of Men fairest and first.
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Till Heaven's day shows me Him again—was one
Of a commanding stature —beautiful—
Bearing such countenance, as, whoso gazed,
Must love, or fear. Wine-colour shone His hair
Glittering and waved,—an aureole folded down,
Its long rays lighted locks,—which fell, and flowed,
Fair-parted from the middle of His head,
After the manner of the Nazarites.
Even and clear His forehead; and the face
Of dignity surpassing, pure and pale
As the Greek's marble, but flushed frequently
With the bright blood of manhood. Nose and mouth
Faultless for grace, and full and soft the beard,
Forked, of the hazelled colour of His hair:
The great eyes blue and radiant; mild as sky
Of spring-time after rain, yet terrible
As lightning leaping sudden from that sky,
135
In tender hours each word like music's soul
Heard past the sound! Not ofttimes seen to smile,
More oft to weep; yet of a lofty cheer
Commonly—nay, of playful raillery
And swift wit, softened with sweet gravity.
Straight-standing like a palm-tree; hands and limbs
So moulded that the noblest copy them:
Among the Sons of Men fairest and first.
“Friend! shall you think one remnant of myself,
One shred of that wild will was Miriam's,
One pulse of the quick blood wont to be stirred
By passion, and the goodly shapes of men
Moved me, when, on the sight of Him, I left
My litter, and my Lover, and my Life,
And followed in His footsteps? Pray thee, know
Mortal desire as well might reach at stars
As woman's eye, and woman's wish climb up
To such far height of starry majesty;—
By that impassable blue of Holiness
Endlessly separate! But love?—Oh, aye!
Swift, strong, supreme, consuming, final love!
With such a worship filled, such reverence,
The heart had knees, and bowed; the soul had eyes
Which veiled themselves at gaze; the mind had mind
To die for Him; the body burned to grow
His temple. Heart, soul, body, mind, all His
For ever and for ever!—at first sight,—
In some fair newer World, shown possible
At that first sight. And in such world I live
From that time, on the road of Galilee,
When in my breast the seven dark devils dwelt,
And round my wrist the blood of Pappus clung:
And that old life seems like a feather dropped
From free bird's wing—mine, yet no longer mine:
And in the air of sweet new life I soar
Singing and soaring with the joy He taught.
One shred of that wild will was Miriam's,
One pulse of the quick blood wont to be stirred
By passion, and the goodly shapes of men
Moved me, when, on the sight of Him, I left
My litter, and my Lover, and my Life,
And followed in His footsteps? Pray thee, know
Mortal desire as well might reach at stars
As woman's eye, and woman's wish climb up
136
By that impassable blue of Holiness
Endlessly separate! But love?—Oh, aye!
Swift, strong, supreme, consuming, final love!
With such a worship filled, such reverence,
The heart had knees, and bowed; the soul had eyes
Which veiled themselves at gaze; the mind had mind
To die for Him; the body burned to grow
His temple. Heart, soul, body, mind, all His
For ever and for ever!—at first sight,—
In some fair newer World, shown possible
At that first sight. And in such world I live
From that time, on the road of Galilee,
When in my breast the seven dark devils dwelt,
And round my wrist the blood of Pappus clung:
And that old life seems like a feather dropped
From free bird's wing—mine, yet no longer mine:
And in the air of sweet new life I soar
Singing and soaring with the joy He taught.
137
“Wherefore, I followed to Capernaum,
One in His lengthening train—the last and least—
Unnoticed; for I cast aside my webs
Of Coan, and my torques of Roman gold
At Kenna—and put on the mitpachath
Râdîd and tsaiph, dressed as our peasants use
Along the Lake. So did I see Him teach
Day after day; and in the Synagogue
Behind the women's lattice, heard the Law
Read to the congregation by such lips
As lit its mighty line with meanings new,
Like when the Moon swims, full, into the Night,
And what was dark grows clear, and what was void
Peopled; and, white and straight, the road regained
Winds plain and easy through the illumined land.
Also I saw them bring the sick to Him,
The maimed and miserable, and wretches torn
With plaguing devils,—less to dread than mine!—
Whom all He healed, comforting them with words
Of sovereign power, calming their cries and griefs;
As when the Mother's bosom charms to smiles,
Before its tears are dry, an infant's wail.
A woman lay in Simon's house, alight
With fever's fire. I saw Him take her hand,
Quiet the leaping blood, still the hot heart,
And lift her, cool and whole. I heard Him teach,—
Sitting in Simon's boat, moored by those sands
Which fringe Bethsaida—making plain and known
That farther Kingdom, nigh unto us all,
Yea, ‘at our very gates.’ And, when He passed
At nightfall to the Mountain, communing
With Heaven, which loved Him, and His own high soul,
Under the stars—less touched by taint than they!—
It was as though another golden Sun
Set from our eyes: till darkness fled again
And brought back Dawn, and that diviner light
Shed from Him.
One in His lengthening train—the last and least—
Unnoticed; for I cast aside my webs
Of Coan, and my torques of Roman gold
At Kenna—and put on the mitpachath
Râdîd and tsaiph, dressed as our peasants use
Along the Lake. So did I see Him teach
Day after day; and in the Synagogue
Behind the women's lattice, heard the Law
Read to the congregation by such lips
As lit its mighty line with meanings new,
Like when the Moon swims, full, into the Night,
And what was dark grows clear, and what was void
Peopled; and, white and straight, the road regained
Winds plain and easy through the illumined land.
Also I saw them bring the sick to Him,
The maimed and miserable, and wretches torn
With plaguing devils,—less to dread than mine!—
Whom all He healed, comforting them with words
138
As when the Mother's bosom charms to smiles,
Before its tears are dry, an infant's wail.
A woman lay in Simon's house, alight
With fever's fire. I saw Him take her hand,
Quiet the leaping blood, still the hot heart,
And lift her, cool and whole. I heard Him teach,—
Sitting in Simon's boat, moored by those sands
Which fringe Bethsaida—making plain and known
That farther Kingdom, nigh unto us all,
Yea, ‘at our very gates.’ And, when He passed
At nightfall to the Mountain, communing
With Heaven, which loved Him, and His own high soul,
Under the stars—less touched by taint than they!—
It was as though another golden Sun
Set from our eyes: till darkness fled again
And brought back Dawn, and that diviner light
Shed from Him.
139
“Ah, the Kingdom!—We, of old,
Being the people of this land, had served—
If service were—that God of Abraham
Mild to His own, but smiting enemies,
Hewing them hip and thigh, for Israel:
That Lord of Moses, awful on the Mount
With thunders, and red lightnings, and the Law:
Seen in the Burning Bush; riding the storm;
A jealous, dreadful, distant God. We lived
Obeying—if we did obey—for fruit
Of earthly goods; or, if in after time,
Then, for our children's children. But He taught;
And, lo! ourselves to share! Another world
Hidden within, without, beyond! He took
Terrors away, and showed us Life for Death,
Mercy for sacrifice, and Love for Law.
For that dread Jah, ruling o'er Israel,
A Father Universal, marking not
Gentile from Jew, or fair from swart, or great
From small; but holding all alike; and heard—
An ever-present Lover, Lord, and Guide—
In conscience and the silence of the breast.
Perfect and Pure, and loving love of such;
And willing all men such; but waiting long,
Far-suffering, large, compassionate, aware;
Making suns rise on evil and on good,
Rains fall on just and unjust. Look! one word!
And like the walls of Jericho which fell
To music, or a sunshine-parted cloud,
He burst the bars; He lightly lifted up
Earth's painted veil, and showed us,—close beyond,
Infinite, clear,—eternal life, decreed
Not for to-morrow, or hereafter—no!—
Already round, and in, and over us,
Already ours to enter and possess;
Always existing, always nigh; shut off
Some little while by sense, which having eyes,
Sees not; and, hearing, hears not; for some while
By body darkened. But He said: ‘Fear not
Those who can kill the body, and, on that,
Have nothing they can do!’ So did we learn,
Walking in those dear footsteps, scorn of Death
Which could not keep its Dead, if He bade yield,
But is Life's gate-porter, holding the keys
To larger Worlds and larger:—‘Many mansions
Are in My Father's House!’ this would He say
With great eyes on the stars.
Being the people of this land, had served—
If service were—that God of Abraham
Mild to His own, but smiting enemies,
Hewing them hip and thigh, for Israel:
That Lord of Moses, awful on the Mount
With thunders, and red lightnings, and the Law:
Seen in the Burning Bush; riding the storm;
A jealous, dreadful, distant God. We lived
Obeying—if we did obey—for fruit
Of earthly goods; or, if in after time,
Then, for our children's children. But He taught;
And, lo! ourselves to share! Another world
Hidden within, without, beyond! He took
Terrors away, and showed us Life for Death,
Mercy for sacrifice, and Love for Law.
For that dread Jah, ruling o'er Israel,
A Father Universal, marking not
Gentile from Jew, or fair from swart, or great
140
An ever-present Lover, Lord, and Guide—
In conscience and the silence of the breast.
Perfect and Pure, and loving love of such;
And willing all men such; but waiting long,
Far-suffering, large, compassionate, aware;
Making suns rise on evil and on good,
Rains fall on just and unjust. Look! one word!
And like the walls of Jericho which fell
To music, or a sunshine-parted cloud,
He burst the bars; He lightly lifted up
Earth's painted veil, and showed us,—close beyond,
Infinite, clear,—eternal life, decreed
Not for to-morrow, or hereafter—no!—
Already round, and in, and over us,
Already ours to enter and possess;
Always existing, always nigh; shut off
Some little while by sense, which having eyes,
Sees not; and, hearing, hears not; for some while
141
Those who can kill the body, and, on that,
Have nothing they can do!’ So did we learn,
Walking in those dear footsteps, scorn of Death
Which could not keep its Dead, if He bade yield,
But is Life's gate-porter, holding the keys
To larger Worlds and larger:—‘Many mansions
Are in My Father's House!’ this would He say
With great eyes on the stars.
“Thus did He bring
Our glad souls daily, by His glorious words,
Into the Kingdom of the Spirit. There
The sorrowful and shamed are comforted;
The humble are exalted; and the meek
Inherit good. The pure in heart see God;
The merciful find mercy. Those that wept
Dry their glad eyes; the peacemakers have praise;
And they who hungered after righteousness
With righteousness are filled. No dream! no draught
Of Fancy's frenzied wine-cup; ecstacy
Of musing drugged with Faith's fine mandragore!
But the words true as daylight; plain and straight
The way as paths in meadows; clear the voice
Calling to airs celestial, as of Morn
Bidding with breezy lips the World awake.
Surer than any joy the heart can know
Bliss of that sudden hour when each for each
Knows Heaven so nigh! Only to let go Earth,
To let go, listen, love, and have:—for then
The Kingdom came! Came! and we did not need
To merit, or to seek, or strive, or wait:
We needed but to know Him one with God,
And we with Him, and then His peace was ours!
We heard Him utter ‘Fear not, little flock!
It is your Father's joy to give to you
The Kingdom.’
Our glad souls daily, by His glorious words,
Into the Kingdom of the Spirit. There
The sorrowful and shamed are comforted;
The humble are exalted; and the meek
Inherit good. The pure in heart see God;
The merciful find mercy. Those that wept
Dry their glad eyes; the peacemakers have praise;
142
With righteousness are filled. No dream! no draught
Of Fancy's frenzied wine-cup; ecstacy
Of musing drugged with Faith's fine mandragore!
But the words true as daylight; plain and straight
The way as paths in meadows; clear the voice
Calling to airs celestial, as of Morn
Bidding with breezy lips the World awake.
Surer than any joy the heart can know
Bliss of that sudden hour when each for each
Knows Heaven so nigh! Only to let go Earth,
To let go, listen, love, and have:—for then
The Kingdom came! Came! and we did not need
To merit, or to seek, or strive, or wait:
We needed but to know Him one with God,
And we with Him, and then His peace was ours!
We heard Him utter ‘Fear not, little flock!
It is your Father's joy to give to you
The Kingdom.’
143
“Journeying hither didst thou mark
The two-horned hill which overhangs our Sea,
Hattîn? And, how, beneath his nearer peak
Spreads a fair upland, rimmed with rounded banks
Where nebbuks glisten, and dark junipers,
Rose-laurels blow, and mallows; and soft grass
Carpets with lily-sprinkled green the spot?
One day, before the Dawn, thither He went
And drew His Twelve with Him, those who should be
Close to His counsels. Then, He named them His
To come and go in all the cities here—
Preaching The Kingdom—and beyond:—and be
Beginnings of a new-established State,
Greater than States, and governing all States;
Which should not have for boundaries the seas,
Mountains or streams, nor any border-line
By bloody sword-point traced; and should not have
Armies nor tributes, treasuries nor crowns.
But, overleaping races, realms, and tongues,
Thrones, zones, and dominations, lands, and seas,
Should clasp in one wide confine all those hearts
Which seek and love the Light, and hail the Light
Shining from secret Heaven, by Him revealed
First-born of Heaven, first soul of Human souls
That touched the top of Manhood, and—from height
Of godlike, pure, Humanity—reached God.
To this end was He sent, for this made known
Life beyond death, Love manifest through Law,
And God no name, no angry judge, no “Jah,”
But Spirit, worshipped in the spirit; One
With His sweet spirit, and with ours, through His;
Unseen, unspeakable, not to be known
By searching; being beyond all sight, speech, search;
But Lord and Lover of all living things,
King of the Kingdom!
The two-horned hill which overhangs our Sea,
Hattîn? And, how, beneath his nearer peak
Spreads a fair upland, rimmed with rounded banks
Where nebbuks glisten, and dark junipers,
Rose-laurels blow, and mallows; and soft grass
Carpets with lily-sprinkled green the spot?
One day, before the Dawn, thither He went
And drew His Twelve with Him, those who should be
Close to His counsels. Then, He named them His
To come and go in all the cities here—
Preaching The Kingdom—and beyond:—and be
Beginnings of a new-established State,
Greater than States, and governing all States;
Which should not have for boundaries the seas,
Mountains or streams, nor any border-line
By bloody sword-point traced; and should not have
Armies nor tributes, treasuries nor crowns.
But, overleaping races, realms, and tongues,
144
Should clasp in one wide confine all those hearts
Which seek and love the Light, and hail the Light
Shining from secret Heaven, by Him revealed
First-born of Heaven, first soul of Human souls
That touched the top of Manhood, and—from height
Of godlike, pure, Humanity—reached God.
To this end was He sent, for this made known
Life beyond death, Love manifest through Law,
And God no name, no angry judge, no “Jah,”
But Spirit, worshipped in the spirit; One
With His sweet spirit, and with ours, through His;
Unseen, unspeakable, not to be known
By searching; being beyond all sight, speech, search;
But Lord and Lover of all living things,
King of the Kingdom!
“And a multitude
Followed Him to the Mountain, gathering
By troops and companies, on bank and mead,
Heedless of all things save His gracious words,
Till all the grass was blotted with great bands
Of gladsome people, clad for holiday,
Like divers-coloured flowers; and, all around,
Dark eager faces of ten thousand folk—
Men, women, children—made a sunlit throng
So thick, so talk-full, on the asphodel,
The frightened eagles fled their crags—the snake
Slid to his hole, the wolf and panther hid
Ashamed of blood. But gentle things of Earth,—
The crowned lark, and the dove, and mountain-hare,—
'Ware of some new good word thro' man to them—
Listened in thickets. And the Morning dawned
Amice of summer gold—her loveliest—
To meet His holy footsteps on the Hill.
And there, from that fair Sinai, with voice
Sweeter than Morning's breath—He gave to us
The New Commandments.
Followed Him to the Mountain, gathering
145
Heedless of all things save His gracious words,
Till all the grass was blotted with great bands
Of gladsome people, clad for holiday,
Like divers-coloured flowers; and, all around,
Dark eager faces of ten thousand folk—
Men, women, children—made a sunlit throng
So thick, so talk-full, on the asphodel,
The frightened eagles fled their crags—the snake
Slid to his hole, the wolf and panther hid
Ashamed of blood. But gentle things of Earth,—
The crowned lark, and the dove, and mountain-hare,—
'Ware of some new good word thro' man to them—
Listened in thickets. And the Morning dawned
Amice of summer gold—her loveliest—
To meet His holy footsteps on the Hill.
And there, from that fair Sinai, with voice
Sweeter than Morning's breath—He gave to us
The New Commandments.
146
“Eight are blest—He taught—
Of that dim Kingdom,—which men thought would march
In worldly pomp, bringing Messiah girt
With the Lord's sword, triumphant; His right hand
Teaching Him terrible things; all Earth to hail
Israel re-throned with scarlet and with gold;
The Sea to pour her pearls and corals forth
At foot of David's Heir! And, lo! the truth!—
The Kingdom come on that soft mountain-slope,
Not with the battle-trumpets, not with neigh
Of war-horse flecked with purple foam, and neck
Clothed with the thunder; but by this mild voice
Telling how lowly souls shall be the Lords
Of the New Kingdom; and the Sorrowful,
The meek, the seekers after righteousness,
The merciful, the just, the peacemakers,
And they who for their brother's sake, and Right,
Have suffered persecution. Oh, Sir! think;
In that one mountain morning—at one word—
All our World changed! Poverty rich! sick hearts
Comforted! those who weep to laugh and sing!
This Earth the Anteroom to neighbouring Heaven;
Wise souls its salt; pure souls its lamps, set high
Like cities upon hills, like candlesticks
Lighting the house! ‘So let them shine,’ He said:
‘That men see your good works, and glorify
Your Father in the heavens!’ Next He did teach
How the quick Spirit makes true living Law,
Under the letter: how the unkind thought
Hath, knifeless, murdered; how the altar-gift
Lies vain and hateful when the hand which gives
Hath wrought some brother wrong. ‘Leave there,’ He said,
‘Thy gift before the altar! go thy way,
Be reconciled with him: then bring thy gift!’
Deep in our midmost He laid bare the seeds
Of wrongfulness; bade us wrench root away,
Not idly pinch a blossom; since the eye
Which lusteth, and the wish that would have wrought
The full sin, short of sinning. Therewithal,
Grave words of grace for women, marriage-bonds
Not to be lightly loosed: nay, and no oath
Oft-taken, since Truth's oath is ‘Yea’ and ‘Nay,’
And all words spoken go to one great ear.
Next, sternly-sweet, he snatched the hasty blade
From black Revenge; bade vanquish Hate by Love;
Resist not evil; turn the other cheek
To whoso smites; cherish an enemy
That, peradventure, he may grow to friend;
If not,—then, being of our Father's mind
Who hath no enemies, but makes His dawns,
Each time He makes them, for the good and ill,
Giving to graceless ones, till they learn grace,
‘Perfect, as He is perfect.’ Then, He taught
Almsgiving, modesty, simplicity
And solitude to praying: spake Himself
That we may speak upon our knees, and know
Enough is said to that Divinest mind
Which saw our needs, and did provide for them
Ere the lips stirred. Furthermore, soft He talked
Of this world's fleeting treasures ‘where the moth
And rust corrupt; and thieves break thro', and steal,’
Counted beside true wealth of worthy deeds,
Of loving service rendered, and fair days
Lived blameless, like to sweet airs passing by.
Also, for foolish quest of fitful gain,
For meat, and drink, and raiment, and much heed
Of earthly gear, tenderly shamed He us,
Pointing with finger at those little birds
Perched nigh, or lightly flitting. ‘See!’ said He,
‘Your Father feedeth them, who gather not,’
And, therewith, from his foot a scarlet stalk
Of martagon He plucked, with wind-flowers,—
(Oh, happy blossoms! blown to help Him teach)—
Bidding us mark how great King Solomon,
For all his glory, was not clad like those;
And how, if grass on the lone mountain-side
Grows unforgotten, garlanded so rich
From Heaven's full almonry; and thrush, and finch
Feed daily from Heaven's hands, it could not be
Man should go bare, poorer than fowls of air,
Sadder than field-blooms. ‘Ye have need of these,’
Gently He said: ‘and these things shall be given:
But seek ye first the Kingdom! seek ye first
The treasure of the Kingdom, righteousness!
Other things shall be added.’
Of that dim Kingdom,—which men thought would march
In worldly pomp, bringing Messiah girt
With the Lord's sword, triumphant; His right hand
Teaching Him terrible things; all Earth to hail
Israel re-throned with scarlet and with gold;
The Sea to pour her pearls and corals forth
At foot of David's Heir! And, lo! the truth!—
The Kingdom come on that soft mountain-slope,
Not with the battle-trumpets, not with neigh
Of war-horse flecked with purple foam, and neck
Clothed with the thunder; but by this mild voice
Telling how lowly souls shall be the Lords
Of the New Kingdom; and the Sorrowful,
The meek, the seekers after righteousness,
The merciful, the just, the peacemakers,
And they who for their brother's sake, and Right,
Have suffered persecution. Oh, Sir! think;
147
All our World changed! Poverty rich! sick hearts
Comforted! those who weep to laugh and sing!
This Earth the Anteroom to neighbouring Heaven;
Wise souls its salt; pure souls its lamps, set high
Like cities upon hills, like candlesticks
Lighting the house! ‘So let them shine,’ He said:
‘That men see your good works, and glorify
Your Father in the heavens!’ Next He did teach
How the quick Spirit makes true living Law,
Under the letter: how the unkind thought
Hath, knifeless, murdered; how the altar-gift
Lies vain and hateful when the hand which gives
Hath wrought some brother wrong. ‘Leave there,’ He said,
‘Thy gift before the altar! go thy way,
Be reconciled with him: then bring thy gift!’
Deep in our midmost He laid bare the seeds
Of wrongfulness; bade us wrench root away,
148
Which lusteth, and the wish that would have wrought
The full sin, short of sinning. Therewithal,
Grave words of grace for women, marriage-bonds
Not to be lightly loosed: nay, and no oath
Oft-taken, since Truth's oath is ‘Yea’ and ‘Nay,’
And all words spoken go to one great ear.
Next, sternly-sweet, he snatched the hasty blade
From black Revenge; bade vanquish Hate by Love;
Resist not evil; turn the other cheek
To whoso smites; cherish an enemy
That, peradventure, he may grow to friend;
If not,—then, being of our Father's mind
Who hath no enemies, but makes His dawns,
Each time He makes them, for the good and ill,
Giving to graceless ones, till they learn grace,
‘Perfect, as He is perfect.’ Then, He taught
Almsgiving, modesty, simplicity
And solitude to praying: spake Himself
149
Enough is said to that Divinest mind
Which saw our needs, and did provide for them
Ere the lips stirred. Furthermore, soft He talked
Of this world's fleeting treasures ‘where the moth
And rust corrupt; and thieves break thro', and steal,’
Counted beside true wealth of worthy deeds,
Of loving service rendered, and fair days
Lived blameless, like to sweet airs passing by.
Also, for foolish quest of fitful gain,
For meat, and drink, and raiment, and much heed
Of earthly gear, tenderly shamed He us,
Pointing with finger at those little birds
Perched nigh, or lightly flitting. ‘See!’ said He,
‘Your Father feedeth them, who gather not,’
And, therewith, from his foot a scarlet stalk
Of martagon He plucked, with wind-flowers,—
(Oh, happy blossoms! blown to help Him teach)—
Bidding us mark how great King Solomon,
150
And how, if grass on the lone mountain-side
Grows unforgotten, garlanded so rich
From Heaven's full almonry; and thrush, and finch
Feed daily from Heaven's hands, it could not be
Man should go bare, poorer than fowls of air,
Sadder than field-blooms. ‘Ye have need of these,’
Gently He said: ‘and these things shall be given:
But seek ye first the Kingdom! seek ye first
The treasure of the Kingdom, righteousness!
Other things shall be added.’
“Therewithal,
He told how we should seek; not thrusting in
As if Heaven heard the loudest cry; as though
The gateway of the Kingdom must be forced,
And a path pushed over the fallen ones;
But foremost by Renunciation, first
By good will to be last, by help, not haste;
By eagerness not to be saved, but save.
‘Judge not, that ye, too, be not judged!’ He said:
‘For, as ye judge ye must be judged.’ And then,
Proclaimed how none seek vainly: soon or late
The seeker finds, the asker hath, the knock
Makes the latch lift, whose ever be the hand.
‘Else’—tenderly He smiled, and wistful gazed
On mothers suckling black-eyed babes, and sires
Holding their brown boys high to see and hear,
Halving one barley-crust—‘else were you men
Being evil; and so gentle, not the less,
To these your children; kinder to bestow
Than the Bestower! more to praise than God!’
At this—as who well knew what idle things
Children will ask—and men—he drew, in gold,
Plain as the Sun's long line across the Lake,
Our road to follow: ‘What ye would do that Men
Should do to you, do ye likewise to them!
The Law is this, the Prophets this!’
He told how we should seek; not thrusting in
As if Heaven heard the loudest cry; as though
The gateway of the Kingdom must be forced,
And a path pushed over the fallen ones;
But foremost by Renunciation, first
By good will to be last, by help, not haste;
151
‘Judge not, that ye, too, be not judged!’ He said:
‘For, as ye judge ye must be judged.’ And then,
Proclaimed how none seek vainly: soon or late
The seeker finds, the asker hath, the knock
Makes the latch lift, whose ever be the hand.
‘Else’—tenderly He smiled, and wistful gazed
On mothers suckling black-eyed babes, and sires
Holding their brown boys high to see and hear,
Halving one barley-crust—‘else were you men
Being evil; and so gentle, not the less,
To these your children; kinder to bestow
Than the Bestower! more to praise than God!’
At this—as who well knew what idle things
Children will ask—and men—he drew, in gold,
Plain as the Sun's long line across the Lake,
Our road to follow: ‘What ye would do that Men
Should do to you, do ye likewise to them!
The Law is this, the Prophets this!’
152
“We came
Flocking behind Him, down that Mount's green side,
And through the Vale of Doves, past Hattîn's peak,
Over Bethsaida to Capernaum,
A joyous people, heart-whole with His words;
Like sheep knowing their shepherd, gladly led
To fold from pasture.
Flocking behind Him, down that Mount's green side,
And through the Vale of Doves, past Hattîn's peak,
Over Bethsaida to Capernaum,
A joyous people, heart-whole with His words;
Like sheep knowing their shepherd, gladly led
To fold from pasture.
“More than all He wrought
Journeying, or in His city, those dear words
Uttered upon the Mount, stripped my soul bare,
Showed me myself. Yet He would make us see
Power hand in hand with Wisdom and with Love:
For, next morn, down our silver Mere He sailed
To Nain, by Endor; where a rugged road
Winds, under Tabor, to the village-gate,
By tangled sidra-trees, and sepulchres
Cut in the rock for the old dead and new.
And, when we neared the gateway, lo! a throng—
Wailing, with covered mouths, dust on their heads,
Clad in sad garments—bore a dead man forth,
The one son of a widow. She, a-mort,
Broke with such woe as hath no help on earth,
Followed the painted coffin where he lay
Who was her glory and her good in life,
With those young, helpful, loving hands tight-bound
Never to help again! and sweet boy-face
Swathed in the grave-cloth, sightless. But her eyes
Fixed on his face thro' the fast-trickling tears
Which still she wiped away, lest sorrow cheat
Love from one last dear moment of the Dead.
Whom Jesus marked; and, while we held aloof,
(Since 'tis uncleanness if one touch a corpse,)
He laid His gentle palm upon the bier,
And bade its bearers stand. Then, speaking sweet
To that sad Mother, ‘Weep no more!’ He said,
And gazed upon the Dead—gazed—gathered up
Pity and Power and Grace in one great look,
Which beamed so tender and so masterful
Hardly we marvelled at what next befell:
For, while the hushed crowd closed, softly we heard,
‘Arise, young Man! I say.’ The Dead sate up,
And with his own hand drew the face-cloth off,
And stared; and murmured words; and reached his arms
To Jesus, and stepped, trembling, from the bier.
And, while fear fell upon us, lo! the Boy
Led, living, to his Mother, and her arms
Locked round him; not the dark walls of the Tomb!
But only Jesus of that multitude
Silent, and calm, and smiling.
Journeying, or in His city, those dear words
Uttered upon the Mount, stripped my soul bare,
Showed me myself. Yet He would make us see
Power hand in hand with Wisdom and with Love:
For, next morn, down our silver Mere He sailed
To Nain, by Endor; where a rugged road
Winds, under Tabor, to the village-gate,
By tangled sidra-trees, and sepulchres
Cut in the rock for the old dead and new.
And, when we neared the gateway, lo! a throng—
153
Clad in sad garments—bore a dead man forth,
The one son of a widow. She, a-mort,
Broke with such woe as hath no help on earth,
Followed the painted coffin where he lay
Who was her glory and her good in life,
With those young, helpful, loving hands tight-bound
Never to help again! and sweet boy-face
Swathed in the grave-cloth, sightless. But her eyes
Fixed on his face thro' the fast-trickling tears
Which still she wiped away, lest sorrow cheat
Love from one last dear moment of the Dead.
Whom Jesus marked; and, while we held aloof,
(Since 'tis uncleanness if one touch a corpse,)
He laid His gentle palm upon the bier,
And bade its bearers stand. Then, speaking sweet
To that sad Mother, ‘Weep no more!’ He said,
And gazed upon the Dead—gazed—gathered up
Pity and Power and Grace in one great look,
154
Hardly we marvelled at what next befell:
For, while the hushed crowd closed, softly we heard,
‘Arise, young Man! I say.’ The Dead sate up,
And with his own hand drew the face-cloth off,
And stared; and murmured words; and reached his arms
To Jesus, and stepped, trembling, from the bier.
And, while fear fell upon us, lo! the Boy
Led, living, to his Mother, and her arms
Locked round him; not the dark walls of the Tomb!
But only Jesus of that multitude
Silent, and calm, and smiling.
“Then I knew
My Master and my Lord, and, all my heart
Burned so with worship that the blessed flame
Purged it of sin, and shame, and sorrow,—left
Only the gold behind of grateful ache
To praise and thank and love and honour Him;
To follow Him with humblest service still
Through life and death. That night He lay at meat
In Simon's house, in my own city here,—
It stands there yonder with the three white domes—
And, 'midst the others, I, too, entered in,
Bearing my box, the costliest thing I owned,
Holding much precious spikenard, subtly pressed
From flower and root of delicatest growth
By some far river in thy distant Hind.”
My Master and my Lord, and, all my heart
Burned so with worship that the blessed flame
Purged it of sin, and shame, and sorrow,—left
Only the gold behind of grateful ache
To praise and thank and love and honour Him;
155
Through life and death. That night He lay at meat
In Simon's house, in my own city here,—
It stands there yonder with the three white domes—
And, 'midst the others, I, too, entered in,
Bearing my box, the costliest thing I owned,
Holding much precious spikenard, subtly pressed
From flower and root of delicatest growth
By some far river in thy distant Hind.”
“I know”—the Buddhist said—“that sumbul tree,
The “jatamansi.” And our Indian Bee
Stays in her flight, full-laden, but to plunge—
Honey-drunk—in the perfumed wealth of it.”
The “jatamansi.” And our Indian Bee
Stays in her flight, full-laden, but to plunge—
Honey-drunk—in the perfumed wealth of it.”
“Sir! it is sweet as were all words from Him;
The pity of Heaven made fragrance! When I stood
Unnoticed at His feet, dropping hot tears
Which ran on them, wiping my tears away
With these unbraided hairs, ashamed to moist
Such sacred palms with water from such source,
I would not merely lift the seal of silk
That shut the casket's lid, and spill the spice,
Lest somewhere, afterwards, some others use
My box—His box,—for something ill again.
But on the stones I broke the dainty work,
And from these ruined fragments poured forth all
Over His feet, with many a fervent kiss
Adoring, and anointing. Then, there spread
The long-imprisoned spirit of that balm
To every quickened nostril at the feast,
And he, that was its Master, spake—half-heard—
‘My guest, the Prophet, being such, should wist
Who and what manner of a wench it is
Which toucheth him, for she is Miriam!’
And I,—who in my pride and sin of old
Had cursed the Pharisee; grown wiser now,
Humbler, and conscious of my shame, and cleansed
From my seven devils—gathered meek these shards
And prayed him pardon, and was turned to go.”
The pity of Heaven made fragrance! When I stood
Unnoticed at His feet, dropping hot tears
Which ran on them, wiping my tears away
156
Such sacred palms with water from such source,
I would not merely lift the seal of silk
That shut the casket's lid, and spill the spice,
Lest somewhere, afterwards, some others use
My box—His box,—for something ill again.
But on the stones I broke the dainty work,
And from these ruined fragments poured forth all
Over His feet, with many a fervent kiss
Adoring, and anointing. Then, there spread
The long-imprisoned spirit of that balm
To every quickened nostril at the feast,
And he, that was its Master, spake—half-heard—
‘My guest, the Prophet, being such, should wist
Who and what manner of a wench it is
Which toucheth him, for she is Miriam!’
And I,—who in my pride and sin of old
Had cursed the Pharisee; grown wiser now,
Humbler, and conscious of my shame, and cleansed
157
And prayed him pardon, and was turned to go.”
“More grace thou hadst, fair Daughter! than thy Jew,”
Broke in the Indian.
Broke in the Indian.
“Nay, Sir! but I saw,
Blacker than Simon, how my sins must show
At those white feet! Then my Lord, piteously,
Gazed on me, took my wrist, and drew me back;
And, while I kneeled beside Him—glad to drop
My long black guilty hairs over mine eyes—
Searchingly spake He: ‘Simon! answer me!’
Blacker than Simon, how my sins must show
At those white feet! Then my Lord, piteously,
Gazed on me, took my wrist, and drew me back;
And, while I kneeled beside Him—glad to drop
My long black guilty hairs over mine eyes—
Searchingly spake He: ‘Simon! answer me!’
“‘Rabbi! speak on,’ the Pharisee replied.
“My sweet Lord said: ‘There lived a creditor
Had debtors twain: one owed five hundred pence;
The other fifty. Having nought to pay
He did forgive them both. How sayest thou;
Which debtor loved him best?’
Had debtors twain: one owed five hundred pence;
158
He did forgive them both. How sayest thou;
Which debtor loved him best?’
“‘I shall suppose,’
Murmured the Feast-master:‘'twas he to whom
The Creditor remitted most.’
Murmured the Feast-master:‘'twas he to whom
The Creditor remitted most.’
“My Lord
Smiled and spake soft: ‘Aye, thou hast rightly judged!
Look on this woman well! I—being thy guest—
Lacked foot-water of thee; she made it good,
Washing my feet with tears: lacked linen cloths
To wipe them; and she made it good with locks
Of untressed hair: lacked guest-kiss on the cheek;
She with a hundred kisses made it good,
Rained on my feet, and then a hundred more;
Not ceasing from the time I entered in:
Lacked on my head that oil which should anoint,
But she upon my feet hath spilt the wealth
Of kingly spikenard. Wherefore, this I say;—
Her sins—her many sins—are wiped away,
Even as from these my feet her tears were wiped;
For She Loved Much! But where forgivingness
Is little, love is little.’ Oh, with that,
Made He from Simon, and upon me bent
Those eyes that mastered Death at Nain; those eyes
That melted at the children on the Mount;
Those eyes, like stars, with love for radiant beam.
And—ah!—beyond all music ever heard—
Fell dulcet on mine ears: ‘Go thou in peace!
Thy faith hath saved thee! Go in peace! Thy sins
Are all forgiven!’
Smiled and spake soft: ‘Aye, thou hast rightly judged!
Look on this woman well! I—being thy guest—
Lacked foot-water of thee; she made it good,
Washing my feet with tears: lacked linen cloths
To wipe them; and she made it good with locks
Of untressed hair: lacked guest-kiss on the cheek;
She with a hundred kisses made it good,
Rained on my feet, and then a hundred more;
Not ceasing from the time I entered in:
159
But she upon my feet hath spilt the wealth
Of kingly spikenard. Wherefore, this I say;—
Her sins—her many sins—are wiped away,
Even as from these my feet her tears were wiped;
For She Loved Much! But where forgivingness
Is little, love is little.’ Oh, with that,
Made He from Simon, and upon me bent
Those eyes that mastered Death at Nain; those eyes
That melted at the children on the Mount;
Those eyes, like stars, with love for radiant beam.
And—ah!—beyond all music ever heard—
Fell dulcet on mine ears: ‘Go thou in peace!
Thy faith hath saved thee! Go in peace! Thy sins
Are all forgiven!’
“They who sate at meat
Muttered thereat: ‘Who is this Nazarene
Also forgiveth sins! Who?—’
Muttered thereat: ‘Who is this Nazarene
Also forgiveth sins! Who?—’
160
“But He turned
Tenderly once again; and spake again,
‘Thy faith hath saved thee! Go in peace! Thy sins
Are all forgiven!’
Tenderly once again; and spake again,
‘Thy faith hath saved thee! Go in peace! Thy sins
Are all forgiven!’
“And, from that glad hour,
Followed I Him, and ministered to Him;
And found myself alive who had been dead,
And saved by Love, who dwelt so lovelessly.”
Followed I Him, and ministered to Him;
And found myself alive who had been dead,
And saved by Love, who dwelt so lovelessly.”
| The Light of the World or The Great Consummation | |