University of Virginia Library

ACT I.

Scene I.

The porch, front-yard, and garden of a farm-house. Late afternoon.
ELKANAH
'Tis a good ending of the harvest. Now
We may be sure that every sheaf is stacked
Ere rain can spoil it. “One load more, I think,”
Said David. But the farther side is low,
A deeper soil, bears well: he may be wrong,
If on the right side of the estimate.
I always counted less than likely seemed;
Tried to surprise myself, as it might be,
And so increase my luck. He's over young
For under-guessing; takes the most at once,
And discounts profit long before it comes.
The lad is not like me, or times are changed.
I was my father over, he declared,
And liked to say so; but good stock improves;
Hey, Hannah?

HANNAH
Nay, I heard you: I must think,
Whether I will or no, about the boy,
As in the anxious time when he was born.
Late fruit is best, they say,—the only kind
Keeps over winter; but it may get ripe,
Like pippins, when the orchard's bare of leaves.
Your disappointment and your discontent
You do forget; but I remember all,
Bearing the blame: and when he came, at last,
I said within my heart, Because of that
The Lord means something. Now I plague myself,
Thinking I see, and straightway seeing not,
The sign thereof revealed in David's life.

ELKANAH
You could not help such fancies, I suppose,
While he was on the way.

HANNAH
I know your thought:
You've the same right to seek yourself in him,
But will not find it: he is most of me.
Why, forty years have you and I been wed;
And four and twenty has he been with us.
I cannot say beforehand, thus and so
Will speak my husband, or decide, or act;
But I must wait: yet, if a woman were
By some strange miracle become a man,
Then I should be our David's very self
In feeling and in purpose. Something moves
His mind beyond our daily round of work:
I know not what it is, and dare not ask,
Lest prying words, before the proper time,
Breed mischief.

ELKANAH
Wife, the boy is all a man:
He'll soon spy out what's wanting.

HANNAH
Ah, not that!

PETER
(Singing at a distance.)
Sing, blow the wind o' mornings!
Sing, blow the wind, 'igh O!
Sing, brush away the morning dew,
Sing, blow, blow, blow!

ELKANAH
The last load: otherwise, would Peter sing
Not quite so loudly. They have built it broad,
Mayhap, and high, to save another. Well,
Whether it show good luck or management
Makes odds in the end. There be two ways of work;
And one is doing it because you must,
And one because you like. Look when it's done,
You'll see small difference, as the case is now;
And I misdoubt me sorely which it is.

DAVID
(Singing, distant at first, but gradually drawing nearer.)

[Rhoda, approaching the house from the opposite side, pauses at the gate, and listens. She begins to sing, at first in a low voice, then louder to the close; when David appears.]
DAVID
I thought of you, and straightway find you here.
Was that your prayer, as well? I'll not believe
You utter words, as one lets pebbles drop,
To splash in water: you've a healthful soul,
I think, to make another's faith more firm
By just believing, Rhoda?

RHODA
What I am
Can I declare?

DAVID
Then I will set you forth.
I'll say that love in you is one with faith:
The trust you give means an eternal term,
And following through good and ill report,
And with strong heart sustaining where the mind
Would stop and question. These were woman's gifts
When she beheld the Master, and obeyed;
And they are yours: if I supposed you false,
I should be most unhappy.

RHODA
No, not false!
Believe me, David, any thing but that!

[They pass into the garden.
HANNAH
They both forget us! Even his face is strange,
Most strange and beautiful with serious thought;
While hers is troubled, yet has nought of pain.
I do not understand it. She's a child,
Is Rhoda still; and wise she never seemed.
Can one give counsel, comprehending not
The doubtful matter? Surely unto her
He cannot show what he keeps back from me!
Men seek clear notions, whether fair or foul,
When they have pondered any thing so long
As he with this. They take the orchard-path.
The fruit will hardly be their chief concern,
Yet gives fair ground that I may follow them.

[Exit.
ELKANAH
(Laughing to himself.)
Ha, ha! I see no mystery in the thing.
A practised tongue has Hannah, takes her way
And justifies it, past my argument;
Yet now and then, like one in too much haste,
Her notions trip, and throw her flat on mine.
Because the lad was moony, she, forsooth,
Must think him like a Samuel, set apart
For this or t'other; but it's nothing new.
He goes the way of flesh and blood, that first
Knows hardly what the natural ailment is,
Till each finds out, and then the other heals.
Yes, yes, these women! Best to give them line,
And let them pry a while among the clouds
For what their very noses touch. She kept
Him close, and preached upon and coddled him,
As if a root of wilder oats is killed
When you keep down the top. The girl, 'tis true,
Might have a bigger dowry: let that pass!
High time it is to settle him afresh;
And Hannah has no call to interfere.

[Exit.
[Hannah, David, and Rhoda return.]
DAVID
Neither to you nor Rhoda, mother. Both
Must wait what cometh; for, if I could say,
Then I should know.

HANNAH
And each of you is sure
You love the other? I have seen no signs.
Even neighbors' children do not change so much,
But there is seeking, doubt, and bashfulness,
Which will betray them.

DAVID
None of these are ours:
I did not seek what was already found;
And truth in me prohibits doubt of her.
If what concerneth life was once ordained
For others, there must be direction still.
The nearest heart is ever easiest read:
So, reading Rhoda's by the light of mine
And that above, as one may hold pure glass
Before the least of stars, nor make it dim,
I saw that each was chosen. Rhoda, speak,
And tell me once again your heart is mine!

RHODA
You know it, even if I answered Nay.

Scene II.

—A Camp-Meeting.
A grove of large, scattered oak-trees. Against two, which stand near together, a platform is built, supporting a pulpit of rough timber. In front of the platform are benches of planks, upon which several hundred persons are seated, David, Rhoda, and Peter among them. Tents are pitched under the borders of the grove. Many persons kneeling at the front benches, weeping and shouting.
HYMN.
There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
THE PREACHER
(Resuming his exhortation, which was interrupted by the hymn.)
Oh, there are more among ye shall be plucked
As brands from out the burning! By the hair
I'll seize you,—even by the single hair
That holds you from the pit! My hands are singed
With loosening the Devil's grip on souls;
And you, who should strike out with fists and feet,
Leave me the fight, the cowards that you are!
You think the Lord can't see you: even so
The ostrich sticketh in the sand her head
To save her gay tail-feathers: pull them out,
And cast them from you! Though you hide yourselves
Under the mountains, it will not be long;
He'll send you wriggling forth, as mean as mice:
And, though you dive down in the deepest sea,
He'll haul you to the surface like a whale,
Harpooned, and spouting blood.
[Cries and groans among the people.]
Yes, gnash and roar
Like lions on the hills of Havilum;
But, all the same, He'll ask full price of you.
Come up, ye publicans and sinners! Kneel,
Pray hard, mourn with the mourners, and be saved!
Strike off the crusted brimstone from your feet,
And swap the Devil's fire for water of life!
Oh! don't I know you? This one's pride of mind,
And that one's wretched fear of what folks say,
And t'other's cold “morality,” as if
An ice-house better than an oven baked,—
Oh! don't I know? I had them all myself:
I was a scurvy sheep, distempered, bad
With foot and mouth disease: He picked me up,
And, as it were, greased me with oil of grace,
And washed my spotted fleece until it shone.
You think you're clean already; but He sees
Red under broadcloth, silk, and calico,—
Only your livers white!
[Several more come forward to the front benches, and kneel down with loud cries.]
Two, three, four, five!
Each one as nine and ninety righteous men:
Why, these alone outweigh the rest of you!
You give a serpent when he asks for fish;
And He upsets, as men their wagons tilt,
His four-horse loads of mercies and of gifts,
And buries with them all that say, “I need.”
[His eyes meet those of David, who leans forward in his seat with a fixed, abstracted gaze.]
I see another sinner! He's afraid:
It may be that he magnifies his sin.
But, don't you know, the bigger load you bear,
The greater comfort when you cast it off?
Oh! you'll be pardoned fully, not a doubt:
He likes to pardon. Trembling brother, come!
You will not? Say, then, do you love the Lord?

DAVID
(Rising, as if with a struggle, and speaking slowly.)
Whether I love Him, and how well, He knows.

PETER
(Aside to his neighbor.)
Not quite the answer he expected.

THE PREACHER
Yes,
He knoweth. Do you seek a hole in the net,
Caught by the gills already? Yes, He knows:
These mourners cry to Him because of that.

DAVID
Let Him be Judge of me!

THE PREACHER
He is your Judge
Without your letting. These are Devil's tricks,—
This playing pitch-and-toss with holy words,
To gain a little time. Come up, choose sides!
The Lord means business. Where a gnat's enough
For others, must you have an elephant,
And all His promises rammed down your throat,
Before you know their taste?

DAVID
(Eagerly.)
His promises?—
The power of miracle and prophecy,
And gift of tongues? He promised them to all;
And Paul confirmed it. Tell me, then, the signs!
The heart within me aches from stress of faith:
I have no need to pray, except for power,
Which is the seal and covenant for them
Whom He has chosen.

[Movements and exclamations among the people.
THE PREACHER
So take hold on hell
The proud of spirit. What! the gift of tongues,
The power of miracle and prophecy,
You ask, without repentance, prayer, and grace?

DAVID
For what should I repent? Why pray as these
Who cry from secret consciousness of sin?
I never let a fault against me stand
For day of settlement, then balanced all
By pleading bankrupt, only to begin
A fresh account. Acceptance, yea, and faith,
Are mine already, tenfold more than yours,
Who neither ask, nor know what ye should ask.

THE PREACHER
We choose His simple way. You would mislead:
Be silent!

CRIES AMONG THE PEOPLE
Out! A very infidel!—
No sinner? Never prays? Why, Antichrist
Could say no more! To face the preacher so!
Away with him!

PETER
(Turning suddenly, with clinched fists.)
The preacher drew him on,
And got no worse than he deserved. I say,
Touch him, it won't be “Glory!” that you'll shout,
After a sore repentance.

DAVID
If I shake
This dust from off my feet, I do no more
Than was commanded. Have you privilege
To darken counsel with your cloud of words?
To teach the lesser part, reject the whole,
And mutilate His glory unto men?
Woe to the Pharisees and hypocrites,
Even here as there, even in these latter days,
As when upon the paths of Galilee
His feet were beautiful! My words are said.

[He leaves the place amid a great outcry and confusion.

Scene III.

A lonely lane, evening.
DAVID
(Solus.)
Cast out? By them that think they do believe,
Cursed for believing? God! what, then, is truth?
Why, here Thy minted gold is worn with use,
Sweated in handling, till the head thereon
Is quite rubbed out, the superscription dim.
I did but offer it as freshly coined,
With all its glorious promise legible,
And they cry, “Counterfeit!” Ten talents given,
Nine have they buried, and a single one
Divide among the people, who are blind,
And blindly led: shall I not therefore see?
[He pauses, and looks upwards.]
How reach the faith so perfect and assured
That every gift must follow? I have tried,
Sought evidence in lightest, easiest ways:
Nothing obeyed. So I have not the faith,
Or— O my God! there is no faith, no power,
Nor miracle; and never can have been.
But this is madness! This makes truth a lie,
Makes life an emptiness far worse than death,
Peoples the world with devils, drives men mad,
And substitutes—
[Another pause.]
I had not thought of that.
Times changed, conditions changed: hence special need
Of worthiness through trial, harder now
Than when all understood what meant belief,
And perfect faith was natural to them.
How can I measure mine by other men's?
I saw not right: I claimed the highest power,
Unpurchased. What apostle shall declare,
As then, the fealty of a human soul?
Not he; not he! And are not all alike,
Giving their husks of doctrine for His bread?
The ground we stand on is too far apart:
Whom seek? Why, none! A hand is on my head,
A finger points the way.

PETER
(Coming up.)
I meant to leave
When you did; but, because I cannot swear
As properly as they, and just let fly
Hard lumps of words like stones to hit and hurt,
They cursed me roundly,—in a holy way;
And one, with hand upon my collar, cried,
“Down, sinner, and repent!” I answered him
Between the eyes; then dashed the rest apart,
And so got headway. Let us hurry on:
They're after us.

DAVID
And if they were? My right
Is greater. Did you understand my words?

PETER
As much as his. He did not answer you:
That I could understand.

DAVID
If unto you
So much was manifest, and to the rest,
They only want authority and sign,
Which I must purchase. Peter, I believe
All men are brethren when they see the truth.

PETER
You never called me “brother;” yet you did
Even as a brother.

DAVID
Did I so, indeed?
I thought not of it.

[They walk forwards.]
PETER
Why should you not preach?
There always must be preachers in the world.
We're used to them; and people say that things
Would go to wrack without them; but I wish
They'd yell and bang and thunder less. Somehow
The text is friendly, smooth, and innocent
As seems a flint; yet soon they knock from it
Thick sparks of hell-fire; and the sulphur-stink
Goes to men's heads, and sets them raving wild.
You'd preach some comfort, now.

DAVID
Would you believe?

PETER
Why not? Something we must believe, they say.
What I can't understand I take on trust.
It's getting late: the hogs and cattle know
There's earlier feeding-time when Sunday comes.

[He hastens on.
DAVID
The world is peaceful. There should be no sin:
There need not be, or misery, any more.
Yon blue is loftier than the changing wind,
And spreads serenely back of cloud and storm
To show us what we might be. Wherefore strive?
Faith puts contention quietly aside,
Smiles, and is master.
[Rhoda overtakes him.]
I have need of you,
My Rhoda. Sooner than the signs announced,
The time draws nigh. Here, walk beside me now
At the beginning, as it were the end.

RHODA
I was not frightened. All you said was true.
I thought you answered as one having power;
And so did many others.

DAVID
Rhoda, look!
How yonder little cloud is all afire,
As if a rose unshrivelled so could burn,
That was so gray and dull! Even such am I.
I cannot help the color, nor escape
The light that shines upon me. You will be
Yon other cloud, that mingles with the first
While now we gaze; and let the multitude
Spread as the clammy meadow-mists below,
That never saw the sunset.

RHODA
And I feared
That you might be disquieted in soul.
Your peace and strength leave all the trouble mine.
I can but take whatever light is yours,
That is not wasted from a nobler use.
I will not speak of mine unworthiness;
For that were thankless censure of your heart,
Which finds me worthy.

DAVID
Proven so again!
You are a glass wherein I see myself
Reflected as I change,—now clear, now dim,
And soon (or else, I think, the earth shall cease)
Clothed on with brightness, as a lamp with flame.

RHODA
I pray that I may read what you intend.
It must be so: how, otherwise, give help?

DAVID
Will help be needed?

RHODA
Will not trouble come?
I have the feeling that foretells a storm
When not a cloud has gathered,—sultry, strange.
And full of restlessness which is not fear.
This is of me alone: untouched are you
By that which you regard not.

DAVID
Let me be!
Stand off, keep silence, wait and hope! One step
Gives me the pathway; but my lifted foot
Feels in the dark, conjectures an abyss
Where one bold thrust might touch the solid base.
My peace and strength, you said? There's seeming peace
When hope, desire, and prayer have done their most,
And wait in agony the answer. Come!
I hardly feel the earth that bears me up.
The sky is blazing; all the air is gold;
And every hill-top is a step to heaven.

[They pass on.

Scene IV.

The sitting-room of the farm-house, dusk. Hannah seated in an old arm-chair at the window.
HANNAH
If half of Peter's story be the truth,
The thing will make disturbance. Not of that,
As him affecting, should I be afraid,
Were not the place, and manner of his words,
Weapons against him. Brooding men are rash
When forced or cozened to declare themselves;
And he has made, if more his thought includes,
Unwise beginning. Whither will it lead?
He angers me, who, in my younger days,
Was often hotly angered with myself
Without such bitter cause; and, having led
In love so long, I now must lead by blame.
It is a pestilent business, and for nought!
I did not say a word against his choice,
Though higher—he a man so proper, she
As hundreds are—he had the right to look.
And now this useless, flighty piece of work!

ELKANAH
(Entering.)
Oh, yes! you've heard. Although I hardly see
Your face, I know you know it. Well, this once
I think we shall agree.

HANNAH
First speak your mind.

ELKANAH
My mind is yours. I always thought you wise
As women may be: therefore there's no cause
To make this that, when all is clear as day.
My name and standing in the neighborhood,
And yours, are likely to be touched; for none
Will side with him.

HANNAH
How? None? Suppose him right,
Not rash or flighty, as the thing may seem,
But wise and well-considered, shall he bear
Unjust abuse, and we take no concern?
Then were our name and standing touched indeed!

ELKANAH
(Lifting up his hands.)
Why, wedded forty years (the words are yours),
I cannot say beforehand, thus and so
Will speak my wife, when wisdom, reason sense,
Have but one language. Did I call you wise?
I knew not what I said. The moon-struck boy
First cracks the egg-shell of his addled brain;
And yours, to please him, then begins to split.

HANNAH
Elkanah, hush! But, nay! speak as you list,
And let your anger breathe itself on me.
Though I be sore confounded, I withhold
Untimely chiding, which confirms the fault
Not felt as such by him; and, if the thing
Be verily justified, avoid a sin.
Be gentle with your first and only born.

DAVID
(Entering hastily.)
Father! Mother!

HANNAH
Behold us here, my son!

DAVID
I will not call you any other names,
Though all be granted.

ELKANAH
As a favor, then?
Say more, or less, and let your riddles drop.
My wits are dumb.

DAVID
This must be the command.

[Exit.
ELKANAH
If ever! Did you mark his lordly air?
Let us be thankful, that, because he made
A strange disturbance in a godly place,
He still acknowledges he is our son.

HANNAH
(Rising.)
Oh, spare me any more! 'Twas not in pride
He spake. He scarcely thought of us: his soul
Is moved by madness, or a mighty truth,
Or both in battle. All my blood grew cold:
My limbs are trembling still.
[She lights a lamp.]
I fear the dusk.
There was a bat before the window brushed,
A hoot-owl cried. Well, call me any thing—
Mistaken, silly, weak—when this is past;
But now be kind.
[David comes back. He pauses in the centre of the room, with a strange, rapt expression of face.]
Will you not speak to us,
My son? Declare so much as may be told.
We listen.

DAVID
(As if speaking to himself.)
Quarantania!

HANNAH
(After a pause.)
Nay, nay, nay,
This is no answer: do not frighten us!
Whatever purpose so disturbs your brain
You cannot speak it, neither shape its form
Clearly unto yourself, give words, but words:
Silence is poison.

DAVID
(Louder than before.)
Quarantania!

[He passes out the door.
HANNAH
Ah,
He's lost! My husband, help! the world is dark.

[She falls in a swoon.

Scene V.

A wild, rocky valley between hills covered with forests; on the left an overhanging cliff; a small brook in the foreground.
DAVID
(Solus.)
The second day is sinking to its end,
How slowly! These eternities of thought
Wherein I grope, and strive to lose myself,
Spin to a weary length the glaring hours.
I would the night were come; for I am faint;
And from my hold the things I pray to reach
Seem weakly slipping. Night will give them back,
When every star shines comfort, and the air
Is crossed all ways by print of noiseless feet
That on mysterious errands come and go.
Could I recall my vision! All is clear
Save that—my bed of leaves beneath the rock;
The doubt if I were still indeed myself,
And any thing was what it seemed; until
Came languid peace, then awe and shuddering
Without a cause, a frost in every vein,
And the heart hammered, as to burst mine ears:
Something slid past me, cold and serpent-like:
The trees were filled with whispers; and afar
Called voices not of man: and then my soul
Went forth from me, and spread and grew aloft
Through darting lights—His arrows here and there
Shot down on earth. But now my knowledge fades:
What followed, keener, mightier, than a dream,
My hope interprets. Only this I know,—
The dark, invisible pillars of the sky
Breathed like deep organ-pipes of awful sound:
A myriad myriad tongues the choral sang;
And drowned in it, stunned with excess of power,
My soul sank down, and sleep my body touched.
[He pauses, and looks around.]
The shadows will not lengthen. All my throat
Seems choked with dust. I never knew before
How beautiful may be a little brook.
I cannot leave it, cannot turn mine eyes,
So tempting and so innocent it runs.
If I might drink! The dry blood else may breed
Fever and flightiness. I must be sound,
Or soon—
[He stoops suddenly, dips up the water in his hand, and drinks.]
Oh, sweet as Cana's wedding-wine!
Did He not offer it? Such sudden bliss,
Born of the body, penetrates my brain!
I doubt no more: the vision will return.
[There is a rustling among the leaves. A snake thrusts its head forth from under a bush, and gazes at him.]
Temptation, was it? and the tempter, thou,
In thy first shape? I will not be afeared.
If thou hast power, come forth: if I, depart!
I dare the fascination of thine eyes.
Look thou, lest mine subdue thee. Is it so?
He veils the glittering, bead-like sparks, and turns,
Startled, and winds in sinuous escape.
Why, this is fresh fulfilment of the Word!
Faint not, my soul: the rest will surely come.

[He walks slowly away.
(After a little space enters)
NIMROD KRAFT
Yon must be he they seek: he is the same
I also seek; but let me not be rash.
If, by the spirit driven that bade him speak,
He hides for meditation, or is verily daft,
As they whose minds take up too sore a load,
He must be humored. I will watch him close
Until some act or gesture give me hint,
And then approach discreetly.

[He follows.
(Enter Rhoda and Peter.)
PETER
[Sings, but not loudly.]

RHODA
Nay, now; keep still!
I've but a guess to guide me; and it says
He will not see us. Sure, that word betrayed
His thought. But can this be the place? or where?
Ah, while we wait, perhaps he's lying dead!
Foolish! I know he lives. Some lives are safe,
Because they are not meant for pleasant paths:
Some wits keep sound, to work for other minds.
I must not fear; he would not have me fear:
If he discover us, I must be shamed,
Showing so little faith.

PETER
And so much care!
If this goes on, I'll shortly preach myself.
I'll give you sparrows for example, toads,
And stupid owls: no one goes off alone,
And t'other fears to look for't! Did the Lord
Put such a powerful pressure on his head,
To leave him, sudden, like a will-o'-the-wisp,
The work unfinished? Then 'twas not the Lord.

RHODA
You've spoken wiselier, Peter, than you think.

PETER
So wisdom's cheap! I never valued much
My random notions: what they call horse-sense
I always had; and that sometimes will serve
Even folks that prance so high above our heads.
Now, here's the question: Is he like to starve?
You think he means to try it. Well and good!—
And we must search, but not find openly;
Feed him, without his knowledge; watch his ways,
And not be noticed. So I've nought to do
But look for tracks, and leave the provender:
The risk is yours.

[He goes slowly up the brook, with a basket on his arm.
RHODA
(Solus.)
I try to force my soul
To follow his, and question not the way.
Within this valley called the Wilderness
He must be hidden, if I understand,
To win, in solitude, the faith and power.
'T s pleasant, now: the shadows of the hills
Soothe the hot leaves with dreams of coming dew;
The crannies of the serpent-haunted rocks
No longer threaten; and the water here
Runs onward with a soft, contented sound.
I will believe him safe. And what is night
But as a darksome cloth that covers us?
Nothing can harm him, for he did no harm;
And that for which he goes apart from all
Will be vouchsafed, or prayer is fruitless breath.

PETER
(Returning.)
I found his track!—beside yon biggest rock,
On the flat sand, a little water-soaked,
And made so freshly, that I stooped. You said
He must not see us.

RHODA
And you left him food?

PETER
Upon a shelf that jutted from the rock,
Smooth as a platter. There's no other place,
Up stream or down, but briery thickets grow;
And, if he pass before the fowls o' the air
Spy out his supper—

RHODA
Come, it is enough!
So glad am I at having guessed aright,
I crave no more, lest, pressing on too close,
I spoil the certainty of what remains.

[Exeunt.

Scene VI.

Another part of the valley; Nimrod Kraft near some bushes; David at a little distance.
NIMROD
Behind these bushes I can watch at will.
He thinks himself alone; nay, not of that
Thinks he at all: his gaze is bent aloft,
Or falls, and roots itself before his feet.
So young! Yet even here he bears himself
As one commissioned, who but waits the brief,
With seal and clear subscription, ere he act.
Why not? Has God been sleeping all this while,
Or only men? They stand afar and strange,
And count their generations Gentile still.
Of Christian parents Christian children come,
Baptized before begotten, then at birth
Set back to ancient heathendom, and spoiled
Of all their hoarded heritage. Not such
Is he: he claims his birthright, will possess,
And may restore to others, bringing back
The old, forgotten forces of the Church,
Whose right hand is Authority, whose left
Obedience. But, however he may build,
My coarser strength must hew and set the stones.
If but my purpose can be squared with his!
Since he has entered in this open tract
His spirit wavers: I can see his lips
Move, as do such that know not if they speak.
There is no better moment: I will go.
[He steps forth, and approaches David.]
The soul within me hither turns my feet,
And calls upon you. Guide me, help; forgive
If that my haste offend! I come as he,
Lame from his birth, that shouted, leapt, and ran,
When once the gentle touch had made him whole.

DAVID
(After a pause.)
I healed you, then, not knowing.

NIMROD
Marvel not!
There's too much virtue in a perfect faith
To take the measure of itself. You are;
And what you are, not knowing, is the power.

DAVID
Nay, there! What I invoke I cannot be.
How know you aught of me?

NIMROD
Yourself did make
The revelation. When I saw your face
Rise from the crowd, I said within my heart,
“There's one will sign his own free covenant!
He reaches high: my arms are short and strong;
But they may touch the gifts within his hand.”
You spake. I stood afar; but in my mouth
Came a sweet savor, though their husks and stones
Still harsh and heavy on my stomach sat.
It needs no thousand words to make acquaint:
There's something runs in souls more close than blood
Of them that issue from the selfsame womb;
And so in yours. I will not guess your prayer,
But its fulfilment surely is at hand.

DAVID
(Hastily.)
Make no conjecture! Speak no further word!
There was a veil within the Temple: grant
I may have lifted up its awful folds,
And stand, not blasted yet, nor consecrate.

NIMROD
So think of me as one that waits without,
Silent, and hoping much. But, ere I go,
[Kneels.]
I pray you lay your hands upon my head,
And bless me, wishing that to my belief
Be added understanding; to my will,
The power to serve; to mine obedience,
Some gracious gift.

DAVID
(Aside.)
How, then? Without the power
Assume the office? Yet a blessing dwells
Within the heart of him that calls it down;
Or else he dare not.
[To Nimrod.]
As thou askest, so
May it be given! From laying here my hands
Expect no unction more than I possess.

NIMROD.
(Rising.)
But more than I am worthy to receive
Is even that, so filled am I with light!
And they, dumb souls, who for a single ray
Shout “Glory!” and are saved,—how could they bear
The flood that enters me from you? Farewell!
A part is granted: you have forced the gate,
And stand with dazzled eyesight. When you see,
Come back to men.

[Exit.
DAVID
A powerful soul! and yet
Acknowledges authority in me.
Why was I faint or doubtful? Have I reached
Too high, perchance, or dreamed commissioned power
Should be by signs and wonders heralded;
Not as the simple consequence of faith?
Faith is as beauty is: no maiden feels
Through inner sense the glory of her face;
But it shines back on her from who perceives.
“With dazzled eyesight”? Darkness comes of that;
And on the finished shrine He sank in cloud.
If power unconsciously be held, I climb
The while I seem to beat a weary round;
Possess authority beyond my sense;
Am blinded, yea, because so near the light;
And weak, since even now my shoulders bear.
The unwonted burden. Let the vision come!
It cannot fail: the first and largest star
Already glummers from the expanding vault;
And millions wait behind. So sure as they
Shall pierce the veil when thickest, even so
The first faint lamp within a seeking soul
Foretells the revelations crowding on.

Scene VII.

A room in the farm-house; Elkanah, Hannah, David, Rhoda.
HANNAH
I try to understand you: if I fail,
The heart your baby head found comfort on
Is not to blame.

ELKANAH
It's all a waste of words!
You look for duty, and it's asked of you:
Command, or wish, or plead, one answer comes,—
He has “authority:” so much I've learned.
When once a man says that, you might as soon
Prevail upon a tortoise in the shell:
No words go through it. I have said my say.

DAVID
If I had given you grief of heart ere this,
Sinned unrepenting, disobeyed your will,
What I have done would bring rejoicing now.
There's no perversity in whole desire,
Or the receiving of the gifts unused
Because unclaimed. I could not help but reach;
Then, plucking back my hand, I found it filled.
What said you, mother, all my years of youth,
But “Seek, and ye shall find”?

HANNAH
I did, my son.
That you have sought, I know: that you have found,
I will believe. But if a healthy tree,
Grafted with apple, bearing apple-flowers,
Should after yield a fruit we never saw,
What man would taste until he knew it safe?
Thus from the hope I nursed springs all at once
A something strange, sheer wonderment to me
That gave your nature most. How can I say
“Go on!” not knowing whither, or, “Com back!”
Haply from good?

RHODA
Say nothing, then, but wait
The way is fixed. I know not how I feel
His purpose; yet I feel, and follow him.

DAVID
Caught out of darkness, shall I turn my back
Against the light? or, spent from wildering ways,
Refuse the path that makes my feet secure?
I did not seek my struggle: it was there.
Why, men whose souls but burrow in their flesh
To feed, like worms in apples early ripe,
May say to mine: Be fat, and be content!
But me God sent the butterfly instead;
And it must flutter in the sun, or die.

PETER
(Entering.)
A stranger stands outside. He's one of them,
It seems, that you, that they—But come yourself:
Ten steps are easier than my telling it.

DAVID
What will he?

PETER
Preaching. There, the word is out!
You'll guess the rest.

[Exit David.
ELKANAH
The business just goes on
As I expected! When was notion bred
By mortal brain, that did not set the tongue
In gear, to run full-tilt? He'll cackle, too,
So long as folks find something in his egg;
Then, maybe, when the thing's no longer fresh,
There'll be an end. He sows religious oats
A little heavier in the head, that's all;
But thorns and stony ground will waste the crop,
Or Gospel words mean nothing.

PETER
(Aside to Rhoda.)
All the talk
(So this man says) in our and other towns
Is nought but David: there's no end of tales.
The moral of it they don't rightly know,
And bend their ear-flaps, like a restless horse,
To catch some new particular. If, now,
He has the call to preach, they have to hear.
'Twill come to that.

[Exit.
HANNAH
I never thought of you
As of a daughter, Rhoda; yet I see
That in your heart his ways are justified,
As in his own yourself. Men love the will
That bends to theirs; and she who fain would guide
Must seem to follow. I've directed him
Too long to make a new, obsequious change:
The place is yours. But, O my daughter (hence
I'll call you so), remember, never man,
Though gifted, raised, and made a power in the world,
Sufficed unto himself! Else he were god;
And she, the nearest, first, interpreting
All womankind to him, he, men to her,
Is called, as well, to claim her half of truth,
So testing his. I may have borrowed care
Where it was not intended: all that's come
Is what my natural sight had long foreseen,
Were it not partial. I must needs unloose
The precious bond of guidance, let him go,
And pray far-off, where once I held him close,
And breathed my heart in his believing ear.

RHODA
Grapes cannot come from thorns, but neither thorns
From fruitful vines. It is his blossom-time,
When storm or sudden chill may stint the fruit:
He should be sheltered. But my speech is scant;
And what I say sounds other than I feel.
So new the life is which he brings to mine,
So strange, exalted, I forget myself;
And, when he needs another's tongue, I fail.
You love him, you will shortly understand.
I will not take an atom that was yours
In all his thought: what he bestows on me
Is only love ungranted otherwise.

Scene VIII.

The same as Scene V. Some of the thickets on both sides of the brook have been roughly cleared away. A number of country-people, chiefly men, are gathered in the space thus made,—some seated on scattered stones, and stumps of trees; others approaching by the footpath from below. Strong sunshine and heavy shadow alternately; an uncertain sky, portending storm.
FIRST MAN
'Tis a fool's errand that we come, I fear.

SECOND
He'll keep his word.

FIRST
Perhaps; but was it given?

THIRD
Ay, given to me. I offered him a chance
Open to use or let alone: he took
As eagerly as one that in the road
Sees a stray gold-piece.

SECOND
Be he cracked or sane,
Four days, they say, he fasted hereabouts,
Then, fresh and fair, went home. I'd not believe,
But for accounts of such and stranger things
Before our time.

FIRST
He's nowise different
From you or me. A little fresh conceit,
Like yeast, will puff a brain above its pan.

THIRD
It's more than that in him. He looked straight through
The face I had, and saw what lay below,—
Namely, no faith, but some curiosity,
A little fun withal; I hardly know,—
And smiled, but in a queer, forgiving way,
That hurt me afterwards.

SECOND
Stay, there he comes!
I mark no flighty or conceited airs,—
A plain young man, pale face, and shining eyes:
He mounts the rock. See how the sun comes out,
And strikes his head! Be silent, you! Sit down,
Make no disturbance, let him speak his mind!

DAVID
(Standing upon the rock, sings: Rhoda and Peter, below, join in the hymn.)
Oh, praise the Lord the Giver!
Relieve His burdened hands!
His miracles deliver
The congregated lands:
He poureth as a river,
And we but take the sands.
His fruitful boughs are shaken;
His bounties fall as rain:
We sit with souls mistaken,
In penitence and pain:
Awaken, world, awaken,
And spread His feast again!

SECOND MAN
A gay beginning! I could join in that
With all my voice.

FIRST
They sing to lively tunes
In many churches.

THIRD
Yes, but say, the while,
They're stolen from the Devil. May be so;
But then the Devil must be a jolly soul,
And angels doleful as Begone, dull care!

DAVID
What come ye out to see? A reed in the wind?
But if God's lips unto a reed be set,—
The dryest one that whistles in the marsh,—
There comes a music that can soothe the world.
I make no claim: I tried to understand
The many promises that rust unused;
And all I asked, was, Are they granted yet?
Then, rising high as agony of prayer
May lift a mortal, lo! the answer came.
Show me the term, or limit! There is none:
Restore conditions, you restore the power;
And He who waiteth for a thousand years
Will manifest His wonders. They who teach,
You say, are silent as to this? Why, then
Let them make answer! Gifts of many tongues,
Of healing, miracle, and prophecy,
Given to His followers, by them to theirs,
Are buried treasures for this drowsy race.
He offering helmet, buckler, sword, and spear,—
Armor of proof,—perchance a shepherd's staff
We take, reluctant, mendicants where He
Awaits the guests that know their welcome sure.
So dust and cobwebs fill the temple; so
The cedarn beams are rotted in their place;
The trumps and timbrels crack, and wake no more
The songs of Zion: all is desolate,
As we were Israel that turned away!
'Tis time a mighty wind should whirl the chaff
From idle threshing-floors: my breath is weak,
So others not increase it, yet thou, Lord,
Who knowest whether I deserve or no
Thy signs of power,—who, should I point, as now,
My finger at the crest of yonder rock,
And say, “Be thou removed!”—

[A part of the rock crashes down with a great noise and reverberation. Cries of terror, and much confusion among the people.]
VOICES
It falls; it falls!
The world is coming to an end! He spake,
And it obeyed! A prophet, yea, a prophet!

DAVID
(Who has remained quietly standing upon the rock, pale and rapt.)
Be not afraid! The power that works within,
If it but shiver down one crumbling edge
Of old indifference, is mightier yet.
Therefore, I take it from His open hand,
Who made yon stones to fall. I hurl on you
His arrows, and the shining of His spear:
I bid believe, not me, but what, renewed,
In me is manifest: I call you back
From pools made muddy by the paddling feet
Of darkened generations, to the fount
He cleft, now gushing in a desert land.
He waits, how long! His summons, day by day—

[Thunder and lightning.]
VOICES
We do believe you. Turn His wrath away!
A Prophet, yea, a Prophet!

DAVID
There He spake:
Doubt not, as oft of old, but now attend
The voice within you, which is He indeed.
Oh! spread Thy banners on the streaming wind;
Come as the morning; broaden as the day;
Fill the dark places with Thy healing light;
And, once Thy reign assured, cast me aside,
So glorified in mine unworthiness,
Because I saw when Thou didst touch mine eyes!
Come, now, in thunder and the clouds of heaven,
And purifying cisterns of the rain,
To wash Thy world, and fit it for the sun!
Thy day is near at hand: the glory shed
With all Thy promises shall doubled be
On all Thy gifts.

[A storm, arises,—thunder, wind, and rain.]
VOICES
A Prophet, yea, a Prophet!