 | Brother Fabian's Manuscript |  |
224
THE OLD TIME AND THE NEW.
I.
A pleasant tale of the Rabbins,
Of the mighty days of old,
Delivered by village sexton
As he delved the graveyard mould.
Of the mighty days of old,
Delivered by village sexton
As he delved the graveyard mould.
The crazy old Ark was rotting
On the peaks of Ararat,
When Shem and his father Noah
By the rippling Gihon sat.
On the peaks of Ararat,
When Shem and his father Noah
By the rippling Gihon sat.
A kid was roast on the embers,
And they sat them down to sup:
And the first red blood of the vineyards
Blushed in the beechen cup.
And they sat them down to sup:
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Blushed in the beechen cup.
The supper was blessed and eaten,
And the wine flowed fast and free,
While the children swam in Gihon,
Or raced on the level lea.
And the wine flowed fast and free,
While the children swam in Gihon,
Or raced on the level lea.
“Father,” quoth Shem, deep musing,
“'Twere a pleasant thing, I trow,
“To dwell in a house of marble
“Beneath yon mountain brow;
“'Twere a pleasant thing, I trow,
“To dwell in a house of marble
“Beneath yon mountain brow;
“Where we and our wives and children
“Might sit for aye at ease,
“Watching the herds and cattle
“On the sunny river-leas.
“Might sit for aye at ease,
“Watching the herds and cattle
“On the sunny river-leas.
“Our homeless tents are weary,
“Shifting by down and dell:
“No rest upon the mountain,
“No rest beside the well.”
“Shifting by down and dell:
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“No rest beside the well.”
“Then spoke the hoary Shipwright,
“As he heaved a patient sigh:
““Our fathers are gone before us,
“And we, my son, must die!
“As he heaved a patient sigh:
““Our fathers are gone before us,
“And we, my son, must die!
“Thine years are scarce three hundred,
“And mine are forty score:
“Yet I ween thou canst not reckon
“On even three hundred more!”
“And mine are forty score:
“Yet I ween thou canst not reckon
“On even three hundred more!”
Then Shem was very mournful,
And he wist not what to say:
And his father bore the wine-bowl
And took to the tents his way.
And he wist not what to say:
And his father bore the wine-bowl
And took to the tents his way.
Thought Shem, as he wended after,
With his dark eyes dim with tears:
“What use were a house of marble
“For a poor three hundred years?”
With his dark eyes dim with tears:
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“For a poor three hundred years?”
II.
I stood at a Jewish counter,
In the midst of a Christian town,
By the side of a haggard woman
Clad in a tattered gown.
In the midst of a Christian town,
By the side of a haggard woman
Clad in a tattered gown.
And I know not what memory stirred it
In that mart of blood for gold,
But I thought of that pleasant story
And the yew-tree lives of old.
In that mart of blood for gold,
But I thought of that pleasant story
And the yew-tree lives of old.
She spoke to the bearded Hebrew,
And a tear-drop stained her sleeve—
“My husband lies on his death-bed,
“And hath not a day to live.
And a tear-drop stained her sleeve—
“My husband lies on his death-bed,
“And hath not a day to live.
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“He hath sent you back this wallet
“Of work that he had to do;
“And he prays you have pity upon him
“As Christ shall have pity on you.”
“Of work that he had to do;
“And he prays you have pity upon him
“As Christ shall have pity on you.”
Then swore the Mammon-prophet,
And he clenched his teeth: “Begone!
“I have paid him well for his labour,
“And it must and shall be done!
And he clenched his teeth: “Begone!
“I have paid him well for his labour,
“And it must and shall be done!
“What care I for his croaking?
“It is but a feint to shirk:
“If he have but an hour to live in,
“He still has an hour to work!”
“It is but a feint to shirk:
“If he have but an hour to live in,
“He still has an hour to work!”
Before that New-Light gospel
Millennial lives grew dim:
I thought of that dying worker,
And Shem was a child to him.
Millennial lives grew dim:
I thought of that dying worker,
And Shem was a child to him.
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