University of Virginia Library

Then, as He bent
His brow like one who kneels for sacrament,
And on His feeble form and hoary head
The benediction of the Night was shed,
Methought I saw a Shape behind Him stand,
Grim as a godhead graven in brass, his hand
Uplifted, and his wrinkled face set stern,
While terrible his deep black eyes did burn
In scornful wrath. Naked as any stone
He stood, save for a beast's skin loosely thrown
Around his dusky shoulders, and he said:

‘Thy Witnesses?—Lord of the Quick and Dead,
Call them, and they shall come! I first, who stood
And prophesied by Jordan's rolling flood,
And saw thee shining o'er the throng on me
Thro' the white cloud of thy Humanity,
And knew thee in a moment by those eyes
Full of the peace of our lost Paradise!
Master and Lord of Life, these hands of mine
Baptized thee, blest thee, hailed thee most Divine,
Long promised, the Messiah!—and tho' thy brow
Is furrowed deep with years, I know thee now,
And in the name of all thou wast and art,
God's substance, of the living God a part,
Bear witness still, as I bare witness then,
Before this miserable race of men!’

Then saw I, as he ceased and stood aside,
Another Spirit fair and radiant-eyed,
Who, creeping thither, at the Jew's feet fell,
And looking up with love ineffable
Cried ‘Master!’ and I knew that I beheld,
Tho' his face, too, was worn and grey with eld,
That other John whom Jesus to His breast
Drew tenderly, because He loved him best!
But even as I gazed, my soul was stirred
By other Shapes that stole without a word
Out of the silent dark, and kneeling low
Stretchèd out loving hands and wept in woe:
The gentle Mother of God grown grey and old,
Her silver hair still thinly sown with gold,
Mary the wife, and Mary Magdalen
Who murmur'd ‘Lord, behold thy Hand-maiden,’
And kiss'd His feet, her face so sadly fair
Hid in the shadows of her snow-strewn hair;
And close to them, as thick as stars appear'd
Faces of children brightening as they near'd
The presence of their Father; and following these
Pallid Apostles falling upon their knees,
Crying ‘Messiah!—Master—we are here!’

As some poor famish'd wight doth take good cheer
Seeing an open door and one who stands
Upon the threshold with outstretchèd hands
That welcome him to some well-laden board,
That Wanderer brightened, while they murmur'd ‘Lord!
We are thy Witnesses in all men's sight!’

Feebly yet happily He rose His height,
And even as a Shepherd grave and old
Who smiles upon his flock within the fold,
He shone upon them till that sad place seemed
Fair as a starry night, and still they stream'd
Out of the shadows, passionately crying
Upon the Name Beloved and testifying,
Till the dark Earth forgot its sorrowing
And grew as glad as Heaven opening!

Then one cried (and I knew him, for his face
Was dark and proud, yet lit with dews of grace,
And like an organ's peal his strong voice rang
With solemn echoes as of Saints that sang),
‘Thy Witnesses? Father of all that be,
I persecuted those who followed thee,
Thy remnant, till thy fire from out the sky
Smote me, and as I fell I heard thee cry,
“Saul, Saul!”—and shook as at the touch of Death;
But on my face and eyelids came thy breath
To make me whole; and lo! I sheathed the sword
And girded up my loins to preach thy Word.
And the World listen'd, while the heathen praised
Thy glory, and believed; and I upraised
Temples of marble where thy flocks might pray,
And where no Temple was from day to day
I made the Earth thy Temple, and the sky
A roof for thy Belovèd. Lamb of God,
Thy blood redeemed the Nations, while I trode
The garden of thy gospel, bearing thence
Strange flowers of Love and holy Innocence,
And setting up aloft for all to see
Thy Hûleh lilies, Faith, Hope, Charity;
And of these three I knew the last was best
Because, like thee, dear Lord, 'twas low-liest!
Thy Witnesses? Countless as desert sands
Their bones are scatter'd o'er the seas and lands!
Whene'er the Lamp of Life hath sunken low,
Whene'er Death beckon'd and 'twas time to go,
Where'er dark Pestilence and Disease had crawl'd,
Where'er the Soul was darken'd and appal'd,
Where mothers wept above their dead first-born,
Where children to green graves brought gifts forlorn
Of flowers and tears, where, struck 'spite helm and shield,
Pale warriors moan'd upon the battlefield,
Where Horror thicken'd as a spider's mesh
Round plague-smit men and lepers foul of flesh,
Where Love and Innocence were brought to shame,
And Life forgot its conscience and its aim,
Thy blessing, even as Light from far away,
Came bright and radiant upon eyes of clay
And turn'd the tears of pain to tears of bliss!
Nay, more, to Death tself thy loving kiss
Brought consecration; he, that Angel sad,
Ran like a Lamb beside thee, and was glad
Uplooking in thy face!’

He ceased, and lo!
Like warriors gathering when the trumpets blow,
Shapes of dead Saints arose, a shining throng,
And standing in their shrouds upraised the song
‘Hosannah to the Lord!’—Faint was the cry
Withering on the wind as if to die,
And loud as clarion-winds above the sound
Shrill'd the fierce anger of the hosts around;
And while before the Storm His head was bowed
They rose like ocean waves and clamour'd aloud
For judgment on the Jew!