The Gospel Miracles :: :: University of Virginia Library

Beside the way, which slowly winding leads
Round the steep slope from fair Bethania's meads;
There, where from Kedron's brook and shadowy dell
Yon rocky mountain's fourfold summits swell,
And o'er the groves, that clothe his dark-green side,
Source of his name and ancient honour'd pride,
Look down on Sion's pleasant hill the while,
Her walls, and towered gates, and temple's marble pile:

Hard by that way, where Salem's children meet,
Bethania, thine, on fruitful Olivet,
Lo, where in verdant pomp a fig-tree grows,
And far its broad and arching foliage throws.
But, though not yet the yellow harvest's time
Has cropt the promise of the genial prime,
In pride of worthless barrenness it stands,
Nor soothes the craving taste, nor fills the outstretch'd hands.

220

A day has past. Beside Bethania's way
Again the fig-tree's form, how chang'd, survey!
Still stands it there to greet the traveller's eye,
But spreads no more a leafy canopy.
With wither'd bark, with branches peel'd and bare,
It frowns, a gloomy emblem of despair;
And, where its broad and arching foliage spread,
A sapless trunk alone supports a leafless head.

Say, has the whirlwind from the desert torn
Its pride, and clean its vernal honours shorn?
Say, has the simoom's purple meteor past,
And scorch'd its verdure with the burning blast?
Yet nature smiles around! The oliv'd hill
Gives promise of a glorious gathering still:
The palm-tree blooms; the vine puts forth her spray:
This blighted fig-tree stands alone destruction's prey.

Thy Prophet, Israel, dealt the stroke of death
Sure as the whirlwind's wing, the simoom's breath.
For as he journey'd on his morning way,
Intent the throes of appetite to stay;
Lur'd by the prospect of the vernal shoot,
Fain would he crop the fig's refreshing fruit:
If aught of autumn's gleanings linger'd here,
Or spring her wealth prepar'd to crown the coming year.

But nor the remnant of autumnal spoil,
Nor spring's rich hopes, repay the seeker's toil.
Leaves, only leaves, in thick profusion round,
No fruit to cheer the fainting heart is found.
The Master marks the impotent display,
With verdant boughs unprofitably gay:
And says, “Be ever such, thou barren tree,
And henceforth nevermore shall man eat fruit of thee!”

221

The doom is said: the speaker passes on,
Serene, and heedless of the wonder done.
Well may ye gaze, the Prophet's humble friends,
As by the tree his morrow's course he bends.
Well may ye gaze, companions of his way;
Note the swift ruin, and astonish'd say,
“See, Lord, the tree, whereon thy ban was laid,
Has felt the stern decree, is wither'd and decay'd.”

Why was it, Lord, that thou thy stern decree
Didst thus pronounce on that unfruitful tree?
For well I know, in every deed of thine
To light our eyes the beams of wisdom shine:
And well that thou, who still wert wont to fling
The rays of gladness from thy healing wing,
Save for the good of man's unthankful race,
Wouldst not the lowest works of this fair earth deface.

Was it, for so thine own blest word we read,
To heavenly truths thy followers' thoughts to lead;
And teach them, in affliction's trying hour,
Of holy faith the organ and the power:
Faith, which, upborne by strong devotion's fire,
Might wing its way before thy heavenly Sire,
Uproot the everlasting mountain's base,
And far in yonder sea the dread memorial place?

Was it that they, who long had seen thee pour
Life, health, and gladness from thy mercy's store,
And mark'd, where'er thy pilgrimage was bent,
That goodness track'd thy footsteps as they went;
Might read no less in that expressive sign,
That pow'r to punish, as to save, was thine;
That thine the key of suffering, as of joy;
That thou, who life couldst give, couldst also life destroy?

222

Was it to teach, that Israel, whom thy love
Planted on earth, and nourish'd from above,
And water'd well, and dug about the root;
Yet, when thou sought'st the due return of fruit,
Could naught, to meet thy just demand, bestow,
But empty pomp, and insubstantial show;
Might read their fate in that abandon'd tree,
Devoted to decay and done to death by thee?

Was it to teach, that they, whom then thy grace
Should rear and foster in thy Israel's place,
As wildings grafted on the parent stem;
If fruitless, useless, profitless, like them,
They too in flattering visions should abound,
In semblance fair, a cumbrance to the ground,
They too, like them, should mourn, decay'd, o'erthrown,
And in that fig-tree's fate anticipate their own?

Howe'er it be, while on the deed I muse,
Instruction opens on my pensive views:
And, oh, I cry, By thee, my Saviour, taught,
Be mine the stedfast faith's aspiring thought!
Be mine the pray'r, that earth's obstruction flies,
And seeks its place of resting in the skies!
Be mine, thy pow'r almighty to revere,
Thy promis'd mercy love, thy threaten'd anger fear!

Be mine to ponder thy once favour'd race,
Fall'n from the height and pinnacle of grace:
How, by thy justice plung'd in ruin steep,
“They sow'd the wind, and they the whirlwind reap:”
To think with awe, how thou, whose vengeance fell
On thine own plant, thy cherish'd Israel,
Hast bid the adopted Gentile church beware,
“Lest God, who spar'd not Israel, spare not her!”

223

Be mine, in this thy mercy's passing day,
Close to my heart the warning voice to lay!
And, O, be mine, when with paternal pow'r
Again thou com'st in thy last judgment's hour,
To 'scape the unprofitable servant's doom,
Condemn'd, remote from Thee to endless gloom;
And with thy faithful sons in glory shine,
Not for my merit's sake, but, gracious Lord, for thine!