The Light of the World or The Great Consummation By Sir Edwin Arnold |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. | BOOK V.
The Love of God and Man.
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| VI. |
 | The Light of the World or The Great Consummation |  |
203
BOOK V. The Love of God and Man.
205
Next day, within the House at Magdala,
Sitting in fair discourse,—the Indian said:
“I know that thou must pass to bid me see
Thy Master done to death by evil men,
Blind to the light, in hard Jerusalem;
I think that thou wilt tell how,—ere He died—
(Who could not die—thou sayest—and did not die,
If thou hast seen Him living, being slain;)
He took back, twice and thrice, those keys from Death
Which lock the gates of darkness on mankind,
Till when His own hour came, Death ministered,
Meek servitor, leading that holy soul
Thither where it must go; and willed to go,
So He might finish what He was to be:
In all things Man (thou sayest), yet in all things
Divinely touching Heaven, fulfilling life,
And conquering ('twas thy word) the Unconquerable.
Now, gracious Lady! since these things be strange,
And 'tis a new day which my dim eyes see
Broader and brighter than could shine, I deemed,
Till Buddh came back; humbly I pray of thee
Who dwelled'st near this light, and hast this light
Large in thy happy eyes, and pure and clear
In thine assurëd spirit—make more plain
What was thy Master's teaching—with what Law
Set He the Old Law by? Whence take ye all—
Whose faces met His face,—the calm, the joy
Of such strong comfort as I mark, and praise,
And marvel at, and fain would understand?”
Sitting in fair discourse,—the Indian said:
“I know that thou must pass to bid me see
Thy Master done to death by evil men,
Blind to the light, in hard Jerusalem;
I think that thou wilt tell how,—ere He died—
(Who could not die—thou sayest—and did not die,
If thou hast seen Him living, being slain;)
He took back, twice and thrice, those keys from Death
Which lock the gates of darkness on mankind,
Till when His own hour came, Death ministered,
Meek servitor, leading that holy soul
Thither where it must go; and willed to go,
So He might finish what He was to be:
In all things Man (thou sayest), yet in all things
206
And conquering ('twas thy word) the Unconquerable.
Now, gracious Lady! since these things be strange,
And 'tis a new day which my dim eyes see
Broader and brighter than could shine, I deemed,
Till Buddh came back; humbly I pray of thee
Who dwelled'st near this light, and hast this light
Large in thy happy eyes, and pure and clear
In thine assurëd spirit—make more plain
What was thy Master's teaching—with what Law
Set He the Old Law by? Whence take ye all—
Whose faces met His face,—the calm, the joy
Of such strong comfort as I mark, and praise,
And marvel at, and fain would understand?”
“Swift is the heart to seize,” Mary replied—
“Slow is the tongue to utter things so high!
Hadst thou walked once with Him in Galilee,
Seen His face once; once, from His lips divine
Heard those commanding, certain, kind, clear words
Which answered ere we dared to ask, and spake
Straight to the thought, as if our souls went stripped,
Or wore for raiment crystal;—thou hadst known—
As we did know who loved and followed Him—
He was in all things such as we were—Man;
Yet, being Man, in nowise like to us:
Oh! no more like, than yonder palm-blossom—
Dropping its sudden plumelet from the crown
To spread and feather into golden rain—
Is like the root, the stem, the branch, the leaf
Whence, all at once, it burgeoned. Thou hadst known
How speech must fail, seeking to circumscribe
The purport of His mighty message here
With unavailing words; as if one dipped
A hand to empty deep green Galilee.
Only, if yet again that voice could sound,
Itself would be its own interpreter,
And lift thee to those heights of Love unseen
Where dwell our spirits, safe above the clouds;
Would light thy gladdened eyes with what lights ours,
Through Life, through Death, into the bliss beyond!
“Slow is the tongue to utter things so high!
Hadst thou walked once with Him in Galilee,
Seen His face once; once, from His lips divine
207
Which answered ere we dared to ask, and spake
Straight to the thought, as if our souls went stripped,
Or wore for raiment crystal;—thou hadst known—
As we did know who loved and followed Him—
He was in all things such as we were—Man;
Yet, being Man, in nowise like to us:
Oh! no more like, than yonder palm-blossom—
Dropping its sudden plumelet from the crown
To spread and feather into golden rain—
Is like the root, the stem, the branch, the leaf
Whence, all at once, it burgeoned. Thou hadst known
How speech must fail, seeking to circumscribe
The purport of His mighty message here
With unavailing words; as if one dipped
A hand to empty deep green Galilee.
Only, if yet again that voice could sound,
Itself would be its own interpreter,
And lift thee to those heights of Love unseen
208
Would light thy gladdened eyes with what lights ours,
Through Life, through Death, into the bliss beyond!
“Yet, for thy sake, and for His sweet Name's praise,
I will essay:
I will essay:
“Once, at Jerusalem,
While eager multitudes drank in His words,
The Sadducees had questioned Him; and asked
Touching a Jewish wife, whose husband died
Leaving no children; and, by Moses' law,
The second brother took her: and, again
Dying, the third; and, so the fourth, and fifth,
Down to the seventh. Last the woman dies
Childless by all—of all the equal spouse.
“Whose wife at resurrection shall she be,
All seven wedding her, and issue nought?”
So posed they, mocking at the Life to come.
But Jesus shamed them; showed them Holy Writ—
Forever in their false mouths—proving God
Lord not of dead but living; bade them know
Better His power, and plan, and mystery;
And multitudinous mansions of Love's House;
And this World little, and high Heaven so large
Where neither marriage is, nor mortal wish,
Nor selfish, lying tongues, speaking false speech
Of love; nor eyes that lose their lustrous light
With tears and vigils; nor the dread to part
Which, under warm gold of Love's folded wing,
Makes lovers shudder; nor true love mistook,
Nor ill love entertained; nor ever doubt,
Where destined spirits meet; nor ever death
Of love new-born, heart-holds abandoning,
But love undying, undivided, pure,
Perfect; in finer bonds, and nigher, bound,
Dearer delights and deeper joys; free souls
Linked as the Angels are, whose breath is Love,
And, for their sex another wonder,
While eager multitudes drank in His words,
The Sadducees had questioned Him; and asked
Touching a Jewish wife, whose husband died
Leaving no children; and, by Moses' law,
The second brother took her: and, again
Dying, the third; and, so the fourth, and fifth,
Down to the seventh. Last the woman dies
Childless by all—of all the equal spouse.
“Whose wife at resurrection shall she be,
All seven wedding her, and issue nought?”
So posed they, mocking at the Life to come.
But Jesus shamed them; showed them Holy Writ—
209
Lord not of dead but living; bade them know
Better His power, and plan, and mystery;
And multitudinous mansions of Love's House;
And this World little, and high Heaven so large
Where neither marriage is, nor mortal wish,
Nor selfish, lying tongues, speaking false speech
Of love; nor eyes that lose their lustrous light
With tears and vigils; nor the dread to part
Which, under warm gold of Love's folded wing,
Makes lovers shudder; nor true love mistook,
Nor ill love entertained; nor ever doubt,
Where destined spirits meet; nor ever death
Of love new-born, heart-holds abandoning,
But love undying, undivided, pure,
Perfect; in finer bonds, and nigher, bound,
Dearer delights and deeper joys; free souls
Linked as the Angels are, whose breath is Love,
And, for their sex another wonder,
210
“One,
Which was a Pharisee, said,—tempting Him;
Or, haply, learning Moses shrunk too small
To fill the new vast splendours opened so—
‘Tell us the chief commandments of the Law!’
Then, as a jewel-merchant spreads forth gems,
And takes from all his treasures of the Deep,
The two great gleaming pearls of all the pearls
To set them, matchless, in the encircling gold
Shining apart;—from all their Law He plucked
These two chief precepts, sternly answering:
Which was a Pharisee, said,—tempting Him;
Or, haply, learning Moses shrunk too small
To fill the new vast splendours opened so—
‘Tell us the chief commandments of the Law!’
Then, as a jewel-merchant spreads forth gems,
And takes from all his treasures of the Deep,
The two great gleaming pearls of all the pearls
To set them, matchless, in the encircling gold
Shining apart;—from all their Law He plucked
These two chief precepts, sternly answering:
‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.’
“‘This is the First and Great Command,’ He said,
‘And like unto it that which followeth it:
‘And like unto it that which followeth it:
‘Thou shalt love thy neigbour as thyself.’
211
“‘All the Law hangs, and all the prophets hang,
On these commandments,’ spake He, ‘on these two!’”
On these commandments,’ spake He, ‘on these two!’”
“So did our Lord, out of their own mouths, judge
Those hypocrites. He told how this Life makes
Veil and dim vestibule of larger life,
Eternal, boundless; and what statutes twain
Sway the commingling Realms so manifest:
Wherein, who loves his brother, seen and known,
Loves God unseen, unknown; and who, by faith
Finds the far Father in the close sweet Son,
Is one with both. Yet Faith, ofttimes He taught,
Was nowise bare believing; since belief
Comes hard or easy, as minds go: and He—
Not once ungentle to bewildered minds
Seeking for truth, and fearful lest they take
A wrong road in the maze—spake graciously
Even to one who, craving mercy, cried:
‘Lord! I believe! help Thou mine unbelief!’
What Faith He asked of whoso entered in
The slave may have in bondage, if he lifts
Eyes of sad hope; th' unlettered hind may have
Who, at his toil, hungers for better bread
Than what toil buys; the little child may have
Content to love and trust; all souls shall have
Which, when the light shines, turn themselves to light
As field-flowers do; and, like the flowers of the field,
Are glad of the great sun for the sun's sake;
And, being evil, are for good; being weak
Will give what thews they own for Righteousness,
Will lay what gifts they may at Love's fair feet,
And follow, with quick step or slow,—through faults,
Through failures, through discomfitures, through sins,—
The march of that majestic King whose flag,
Distant and dim, they hail, and with true hearts—
Though will be wilful and though flesh be weak—
Burn to obey. These are Heaven's men-at-arms
In van or rear; informed or ignorant
Of whither battle rolls, and what shall prove
Its issue; and, for them, whether high spoils
Of Victory at last—the Leader's eye
'Ware of their wounds—or some forgotten grave
Where they that gained Him glory sleep unnamed:
Always to orders loyal, standing fast
In what post be assigned; in life and death
Right-minded, but not blameless; loving God
With lowly heart, and earnest, striving soul
Which trusted, seeing darkly; loving man
For brotherhood, and God that lives in man;
Such have the faith, to such is much forgiven.
Those hypocrites. He told how this Life makes
Veil and dim vestibule of larger life,
Eternal, boundless; and what statutes twain
Sway the commingling Realms so manifest:
Wherein, who loves his brother, seen and known,
Loves God unseen, unknown; and who, by faith
Finds the far Father in the close sweet Son,
Is one with both. Yet Faith, ofttimes He taught,
Was nowise bare believing; since belief
Comes hard or easy, as minds go: and He—
Not once ungentle to bewildered minds
Seeking for truth, and fearful lest they take
A wrong road in the maze—spake graciously
Even to one who, craving mercy, cried:
212
What Faith He asked of whoso entered in
The slave may have in bondage, if he lifts
Eyes of sad hope; th' unlettered hind may have
Who, at his toil, hungers for better bread
Than what toil buys; the little child may have
Content to love and trust; all souls shall have
Which, when the light shines, turn themselves to light
As field-flowers do; and, like the flowers of the field,
Are glad of the great sun for the sun's sake;
And, being evil, are for good; being weak
Will give what thews they own for Righteousness,
Will lay what gifts they may at Love's fair feet,
And follow, with quick step or slow,—through faults,
Through failures, through discomfitures, through sins,—
The march of that majestic King whose flag,
Distant and dim, they hail, and with true hearts—
Though will be wilful and though flesh be weak—
Burn to obey. These are Heaven's men-at-arms
213
Of whither battle rolls, and what shall prove
Its issue; and, for them, whether high spoils
Of Victory at last—the Leader's eye
'Ware of their wounds—or some forgotten grave
Where they that gained Him glory sleep unnamed:
Always to orders loyal, standing fast
In what post be assigned; in life and death
Right-minded, but not blameless; loving God
With lowly heart, and earnest, striving soul
Which trusted, seeing darkly; loving man
For brotherhood, and God that lives in man;
Such have the faith, to such is much forgiven.
It may be there shall come in after days—
When this Good Spell is spread—some later scribes,
Some far-off Pharisees, will take His law,—
Written with Love's light fingers on the heart,
Not stamped on stone 'mid glare of lightning-fork—
Will take, and make its code incorporate;
And from its grace write grim phylacteries
To deck the head of dressed Authority;
And from its golden mysteries forge keys
To jingle in the belt of pious pride;
And change its heavenly cherishing tenderness
To warrant for the sword, the chain, the flame,
Lending hard Hate the sacred seals of Love,
And crying: ‘Who believes not, perishes!’
It may be some that heard Him day by day,
Lacking the ears to hear, or losing hold
Of larger thought—perplexed interpreters—
Shall, in the times to be, do Him much wrong
With right intent; saying our sweet Lord taught
Dark tangled schemes of sad salvation; God
Making Earth ill; which went awry; was lost
For sin; was forfeit to the wrath of Heaven;
Which—for it must exact a victim!—slew
The Son of Heaven Himself, willing and free;
And by His blood, self-shed and innocent,
Washes Earth's sins away, propitiates
That hungry anger of the offended Law.
So I have known some teach—nay, faithful ones—
Reciting solemn sentences, and words
Of sorrowful foretelling, when He knew
How Love, for love of Love, must die, to prove
Love never dies; no more than Heaven extorts
Sin's satisfaction from glad pangs of Love.
Nay! if 'twere John himself should teach such God
And call Him Christ's, I should remember, too,
How,—when John bade Him call down lightning-bolts
Consuming those Samaritans who drave
Him and the Twelve away—He softly spake:
‘I came to save men's lives, not to destroy!’
But, if it be; and from His darkest words
This passeth, that, albeit ‘God is Love,’
As He did say, this thing was also said:
God, from the Guiltless drew the fine of guilt,
And, in constraining names of ‘Just’ and ‘Good,’
Wrought red injustice, and dealt grievously;
Bethink thee of our race, a chosen race
From ancient days; but swaddled, suckled, nursed
In school of ‘sacrifice:’ at Passover
Sprinkling our doors with blood; at bearing-time
Buying our leave to enter once again
The Temple-courts, and show a child to God,
With butchery of those two soft turtle-doves;
Their pearled necks bleeding, while the mother kneels.
Also, in Tisri, on ‘Atonement Day,’
Our High-Priest, lifting up the Temple's veil,
Walks gory with his dripping knife in hand,
And,—slaughtering the bullock and the ram—
Comes with two goats; and one Jehovah hath
And one Azâzel: winning each by lot
Cast in that shambles. And,—Jehovah's goat—
Rightfully murdered—seven times must he dip
His fingers in the blood, and scatter it
Over the Mercy-Seat. Azâzel's goat,—
Bearing the ‘scarlet tongue’ between its horns,
And laden with those sins beasts wot not of,—
One leads into the wilderness, to die
Innocent, for the people; die forlorn,
Famished, on fire with thirst, knee-deep in slime
And salt-crusts of the dreadful Sea of Death.
How should we learn, horribly nurtured so,
To cast no blood upon the Mercy-Seat
In this fresh Temple of the living Love?
Oh, Sir! the stream, so clear,—high on the Mount—
Takes colour from the hags and channel-stones
Whereby it hastens to the expectant plains;
And many winding ways this Heavenly flood
Must find, belike, before old Law no more
Stains the new crystal of its purity
With memory of bad, bitter, bloody, shrines
And savage Righteousness, and jealous Jah!
When this Good Spell is spread—some later scribes,
Some far-off Pharisees, will take His law,—
Written with Love's light fingers on the heart,
Not stamped on stone 'mid glare of lightning-fork—
214
And from its grace write grim phylacteries
To deck the head of dressed Authority;
And from its golden mysteries forge keys
To jingle in the belt of pious pride;
And change its heavenly cherishing tenderness
To warrant for the sword, the chain, the flame,
Lending hard Hate the sacred seals of Love,
And crying: ‘Who believes not, perishes!’
It may be some that heard Him day by day,
Lacking the ears to hear, or losing hold
Of larger thought—perplexed interpreters—
Shall, in the times to be, do Him much wrong
With right intent; saying our sweet Lord taught
Dark tangled schemes of sad salvation; God
Making Earth ill; which went awry; was lost
For sin; was forfeit to the wrath of Heaven;
Which—for it must exact a victim!—slew
The Son of Heaven Himself, willing and free;
215
Washes Earth's sins away, propitiates
That hungry anger of the offended Law.
So I have known some teach—nay, faithful ones—
Reciting solemn sentences, and words
Of sorrowful foretelling, when He knew
How Love, for love of Love, must die, to prove
Love never dies; no more than Heaven extorts
Sin's satisfaction from glad pangs of Love.
Nay! if 'twere John himself should teach such God
And call Him Christ's, I should remember, too,
How,—when John bade Him call down lightning-bolts
Consuming those Samaritans who drave
Him and the Twelve away—He softly spake:
‘I came to save men's lives, not to destroy!’
But, if it be; and from His darkest words
This passeth, that, albeit ‘God is Love,’
As He did say, this thing was also said:
God, from the Guiltless drew the fine of guilt,
216
Wrought red injustice, and dealt grievously;
Bethink thee of our race, a chosen race
From ancient days; but swaddled, suckled, nursed
In school of ‘sacrifice:’ at Passover
Sprinkling our doors with blood; at bearing-time
Buying our leave to enter once again
The Temple-courts, and show a child to God,
With butchery of those two soft turtle-doves;
Their pearled necks bleeding, while the mother kneels.
Also, in Tisri, on ‘Atonement Day,’
Our High-Priest, lifting up the Temple's veil,
Walks gory with his dripping knife in hand,
And,—slaughtering the bullock and the ram—
Comes with two goats; and one Jehovah hath
And one Azâzel: winning each by lot
Cast in that shambles. And,—Jehovah's goat—
Rightfully murdered—seven times must he dip
217
Over the Mercy-Seat. Azâzel's goat,—
Bearing the ‘scarlet tongue’ between its horns,
And laden with those sins beasts wot not of,—
One leads into the wilderness, to die
Innocent, for the people; die forlorn,
Famished, on fire with thirst, knee-deep in slime
And salt-crusts of the dreadful Sea of Death.
How should we learn, horribly nurtured so,
To cast no blood upon the Mercy-Seat
In this fresh Temple of the living Love?
Oh, Sir! the stream, so clear,—high on the Mount—
Takes colour from the hags and channel-stones
Whereby it hastens to the expectant plains;
And many winding ways this Heavenly flood
Must find, belike, before old Law no more
Stains the new crystal of its purity
With memory of bad, bitter, bloody, shrines
And savage Righteousness, and jealous Jah!
218
“It may be this shall hap! How should I know?
Yet do we know, who loved and followed Him,
Never such wild words fell from those true lips,
Which would not have the young man call Him good,
Replying, ‘None is good! Not one, save God!’
Love's glory—not Love's gore—redeems all Worlds!
The gateway of His Kingdom He did shut
On them who named His name, but let the sick
Lie helpless; and the naked go unclad;
The fatherless uncared-for; prisoners
Unvisited; the woes begone of Earth
Unsuccoured;—vainly dreaming to love God
Who did not love their brothers; those who held
Talents, and wrapped them in the napkin; churls
Who—pardoned of great debts—took by the throat
A fellow-servant for some little due,
And narrowly exacted all; unkind,
Forgetting the Forgiver. But for Faith
Which—if it could—would cling; and—if it could—
Would comprehend; and, comprehending not,
Stumbled, yet loved and strove,—to that He flung
The golden doors wide open, crying: ‘Come,
Thrice blessëd of My Father! What ye did,
In that sweet secret doing of true heart,
Unto the least of these My brethren, ye
Have done it unto Me!’
Yet do we know, who loved and followed Him,
Never such wild words fell from those true lips,
Which would not have the young man call Him good,
Replying, ‘None is good! Not one, save God!’
Love's glory—not Love's gore—redeems all Worlds!
The gateway of His Kingdom He did shut
On them who named His name, but let the sick
Lie helpless; and the naked go unclad;
The fatherless uncared-for; prisoners
Unvisited; the woes begone of Earth
Unsuccoured;—vainly dreaming to love God
Who did not love their brothers; those who held
Talents, and wrapped them in the napkin; churls
Who—pardoned of great debts—took by the throat
A fellow-servant for some little due,
And narrowly exacted all; unkind,
Forgetting the Forgiver. But for Faith
Which—if it could—would cling; and—if it could—
219
Stumbled, yet loved and strove,—to that He flung
The golden doors wide open, crying: ‘Come,
Thrice blessëd of My Father! What ye did,
In that sweet secret doing of true heart,
Unto the least of these My brethren, ye
Have done it unto Me!’
“‘Of true heart’—mark!
For, what were wrought in purpose of reward
Though the high goal be Heaven, wins us no Heaven,
Wins wages only of this World and men;
The portion of the hypocrites. To love
Our lovers, and to give to them that give;
And to bestow, and to abstain, for praise,
The sinners do it, and the publicans;
So would He teach. But, in our daily alms
And, in our prayers; to keep them maidenly,
Veiled; making private what poor grace they own,
Holding them secret 'twixt ourselves and Heaven;
Not letting this hand know what that hand doth;
And nowise ever to ask pay for Love,
Since Love is paid in loving. Yet, He taught,
Love could not lose by utmost sacrifice,
Nay, but that gain would come,—must come!—much gain!
And pleasures past all seeing of the eye,
Hearing of ear, imagining of mind
Quickened to topmost fancy. This, for sphere
Of spirit; where the things prepared for us—
Poorly foreshadowed in Earth's happiest Now—
Would daze the heart to know. Still, deem thou not
Our holy Master put the body by
As though 'twere clog and curse! Not mean, nor base,
But of Heaven's best upbuilding is this House
Fashioned for man; the city of nine gates,
Wonderful, subtle, sacred;—to be kept
Fair and well-garnished; graced with ornament
Outside and in; and wardened worthily
That, in its ordered precincts, Angels' wings
May float and fold; and body help the soul
As soul helps body. Never once with us
Scorned He the meats and drinks, sights and delights
Which flesh doth ask: ‘Your Heavenly Father knows
Ye need these things,’ He said; and ofttimes sate
At wedding-festival and banquet-board.
But, while the kind Earth hath a place for all,
Joys came unsought—He said—to whoso lives
Heedless of joy. ‘Love thyself last! Drink deep
The nectared anodyne of selflessness!
Feast full upon the diet Angels eat—
Pity and Help and Vast Compassion! Seek
The pathway of the Kingdom;—finding that
Other things shall be added! Griefs shall come,
Pain, hardships, death, it may be,—on the path;—
Yet turn not back! hand once upon the plough,
Drive the brave furrow forward, eyes intent
On the share's point! trust Heaven for recompense
Forgetting recompense; trust God for due
Of goodly things, and for Soul's due of peace
Foregoing both!’ ‘Some of you they shall put’—
Spake He—‘to death; and not one single hair
Shall perish of your heads!’”
For, what were wrought in purpose of reward
Though the high goal be Heaven, wins us no Heaven,
Wins wages only of this World and men;
The portion of the hypocrites. To love
Our lovers, and to give to them that give;
And to bestow, and to abstain, for praise,
The sinners do it, and the publicans;
So would He teach. But, in our daily alms
And, in our prayers; to keep them maidenly,
Veiled; making private what poor grace they own,
220
Not letting this hand know what that hand doth;
And nowise ever to ask pay for Love,
Since Love is paid in loving. Yet, He taught,
Love could not lose by utmost sacrifice,
Nay, but that gain would come,—must come!—much gain!
And pleasures past all seeing of the eye,
Hearing of ear, imagining of mind
Quickened to topmost fancy. This, for sphere
Of spirit; where the things prepared for us—
Poorly foreshadowed in Earth's happiest Now—
Would daze the heart to know. Still, deem thou not
Our holy Master put the body by
As though 'twere clog and curse! Not mean, nor base,
But of Heaven's best upbuilding is this House
Fashioned for man; the city of nine gates,
Wonderful, subtle, sacred;—to be kept
Fair and well-garnished; graced with ornament
221
That, in its ordered precincts, Angels' wings
May float and fold; and body help the soul
As soul helps body. Never once with us
Scorned He the meats and drinks, sights and delights
Which flesh doth ask: ‘Your Heavenly Father knows
Ye need these things,’ He said; and ofttimes sate
At wedding-festival and banquet-board.
But, while the kind Earth hath a place for all,
Joys came unsought—He said—to whoso lives
Heedless of joy. ‘Love thyself last! Drink deep
The nectared anodyne of selflessness!
Feast full upon the diet Angels eat—
Pity and Help and Vast Compassion! Seek
The pathway of the Kingdom;—finding that
Other things shall be added! Griefs shall come,
Pain, hardships, death, it may be,—on the path;—
Yet turn not back! hand once upon the plough,
Drive the brave furrow forward, eyes intent
222
Forgetting recompense; trust God for due
Of goodly things, and for Soul's due of peace
Foregoing both!’ ‘Some of you they shall put’—
Spake He—‘to death; and not one single hair
Shall perish of your heads!’”
The Buddhist said:
“I hear thee tell me plain how Jesus taught
Life beyond this life, timeless, infinite;
As little parted from the world we see
As daytime is from dream-time, when we drowse,
And think 'tis night, with sunrise on our lids.
Taught that our sorrows are but children's frets
Because there bends, o'er seen things and unseen,—
Swaying that Kingdom, which hath Love for law,—
A Father's hand, bountiful, pitiful,—
Known by the Son's hand, which we reach and touch;—
His true Name being nameless; conquering
Slowly—for reasons—all things to Himself.
Likewise, that whoso will may enter in—
Now and forever—to full freedmanship
Of Love's fair Kingdom, having Faith, which is
Not wisdom, understanding, creed, belief,
Nor sinlessness—by Yogis vainly sought
In deedlessness—but earnest will to stand
On Love's side; eager heart to see the Good
And serve the Good, and hail the Light, and help
The spreading of the Light; aiming to grow
‘Perfect as He is perfect.’ So the dew
Globes on a grass-blade; shaped as is the Star,
Shooting star-rays, obeying starlike laws!
Now do these lucent words kindle a lamp
Brighter than what we took from Buddha's lore;
He bade us spurn Self, set the Self aside—
Ahankara—seek always to sink back
Safe to the Infinite; and, for such end,
Break from the sense, with all its sorceries;
Forego delights, disdain what most men prize,
Life's light allurements, tender things of Time,
Soft lips of love, sweet lisp of little ones
Making heart's music in the house; praise, fame,
Wealth, domination. But thou showest us
The subtle spirit, making good its way
From world of sense and self to selfless world,
Not by hard stress of lone philosophies,
Nor scorn of joys, nor sad disparagement
Of life and living things as shadows vain;
But—nearer road and new!—by heart to see
Heaven closest in this Earth we walk upon,
God plainest in the brother whom we pass,
Best solitudes 'mid busy multitudes,
Passions o'ercome, when master-passion springs
To serve and love and succour. Ah! the dream!
Full fair, could it but last in waking hours!
Could men but hear the Angels' song anew,
And learn to sing it, making ‘Peace on Earth!’”
“I hear thee tell me plain how Jesus taught
Life beyond this life, timeless, infinite;
As little parted from the world we see
As daytime is from dream-time, when we drowse,
And think 'tis night, with sunrise on our lids.
Taught that our sorrows are but children's frets
Because there bends, o'er seen things and unseen,—
Swaying that Kingdom, which hath Love for law,—
A Father's hand, bountiful, pitiful,—
Known by the Son's hand, which we reach and touch;—
His true Name being nameless; conquering
223
Likewise, that whoso will may enter in—
Now and forever—to full freedmanship
Of Love's fair Kingdom, having Faith, which is
Not wisdom, understanding, creed, belief,
Nor sinlessness—by Yogis vainly sought
In deedlessness—but earnest will to stand
On Love's side; eager heart to see the Good
And serve the Good, and hail the Light, and help
The spreading of the Light; aiming to grow
‘Perfect as He is perfect.’ So the dew
Globes on a grass-blade; shaped as is the Star,
Shooting star-rays, obeying starlike laws!
Now do these lucent words kindle a lamp
Brighter than what we took from Buddha's lore;
He bade us spurn Self, set the Self aside—
Ahankara—seek always to sink back
Safe to the Infinite; and, for such end,
Break from the sense, with all its sorceries;
224
Life's light allurements, tender things of Time,
Soft lips of love, sweet lisp of little ones
Making heart's music in the house; praise, fame,
Wealth, domination. But thou showest us
The subtle spirit, making good its way
From world of sense and self to selfless world,
Not by hard stress of lone philosophies,
Nor scorn of joys, nor sad disparagement
Of life and living things as shadows vain;
But—nearer road and new!—by heart to see
Heaven closest in this Earth we walk upon,
God plainest in the brother whom we pass,
Best solitudes 'mid busy multitudes,
Passions o'ercome, when master-passion springs
To serve and love and succour. Ah! the dream!
Full fair, could it but last in waking hours!
Could men but hear the Angels' song anew,
And learn to sing it, making ‘Peace on Earth!’”
225
“Sir! but it lasts!” she said—“with whoso sees
As we have seen and heard. No dream at all,
But simple, glad, and easy verity!
I pray thee note how He would call Himself
The ‘Son of Man.’ Is't not the way with Kings
To bear for style and title—first and most—
Their kingdom's name, prouder than crown or ring,
Or high imperial purple? This our King,
Who, had He willed, might sit in majesty
Out of all reach, in court invisible
Of undiscovered Paradise; unmoved,
'Mid Angels and Archangels ministering,
Throned Son of God; with archipelagos
Of orbs for silver islands of His Realm;—
Dwelled, seest thou this, with us in Galilee;
And, lowly, took for Empire ‘Men,’ a Man?
Consider what it is that He was Man!
If one proclaimed—the wisest and the best
That ever lived in all our lands, and years,—
‘The way to God is by the road of men;
Find thy far Heaven in near humanity;
Love thy seen brother as thyself! Thereby
Thou lovest Him unseen, Who is the All!’
What answer should we make? Should we not say,
‘Some few our eyes have seen, lovers and friends,
Tender and true; once, twice, and thrice we knew
Hearts gentle, just, and pure; and there have been—
If annals lie not—excellent good souls
Giving themselves for kindred, country, right;
Wise teachers, worthy soldiers, foremost minds
Whose names are sweet upon the lips of Time
For service dearly wrought and selfless deeds;
Yet, never was there none might say, at height
Of topmost virtue, “See in Me that God
Elsewise unseen! For My sake find in Man
Heaven's glory hiding; and for My sake love
The least of these My brethren, since the least
Hath God in him—or shall have!”’ Oh, our best
Left us still sighing:‘All this petty world
Is full of spoiled and spoilers; strangers, foes,
Hating and hated; rending each from each
By force or fraud the means to live; low souls
Base, void, unlovely! What should make us love
This poor forked fellow-worm, plagued with vile needs,
By savage passions scourged, whose brittle life,
Commenced in helplessness, runs its vain round
Of meats, drinks, sleeping, striving; then sinks back,
Helpless again, to that clay whence he came?
Where shall we find Heaven's image in these brows
Ape-like and low? these faces foul with lusts?
Those hands with guiltless blood dyed red, those eyes
Aflame with greed and anger:—nay, and worse,
Those false, deceiving hearts that cog and cheat,
The smooth, reputed, hypocrites who smile
And, with the serpent's glitter, drag his sting?
What peak, at loftiest, had our breed attained
Where we might stand and see the stars come close?
Where glowed one human glory bright enough
To feed the fond desire, the hopeless hope
That somewhere, at beginning, Man did touch
Divinity; and, somewhere, at his end,
Might pass—a purged thing—to the Infinite?
As we have seen and heard. No dream at all,
But simple, glad, and easy verity!
I pray thee note how He would call Himself
The ‘Son of Man.’ Is't not the way with Kings
To bear for style and title—first and most—
Their kingdom's name, prouder than crown or ring,
Or high imperial purple? This our King,
Who, had He willed, might sit in majesty
Out of all reach, in court invisible
Of undiscovered Paradise; unmoved,
'Mid Angels and Archangels ministering,
Throned Son of God; with archipelagos
Of orbs for silver islands of His Realm;—
Dwelled, seest thou this, with us in Galilee;
And, lowly, took for Empire ‘Men,’ a Man?
Consider what it is that He was Man!
If one proclaimed—the wisest and the best
226
‘The way to God is by the road of men;
Find thy far Heaven in near humanity;
Love thy seen brother as thyself! Thereby
Thou lovest Him unseen, Who is the All!’
What answer should we make? Should we not say,
‘Some few our eyes have seen, lovers and friends,
Tender and true; once, twice, and thrice we knew
Hearts gentle, just, and pure; and there have been—
If annals lie not—excellent good souls
Giving themselves for kindred, country, right;
Wise teachers, worthy soldiers, foremost minds
Whose names are sweet upon the lips of Time
For service dearly wrought and selfless deeds;
Yet, never was there none might say, at height
Of topmost virtue, “See in Me that God
Elsewise unseen! For My sake find in Man
227
The least of these My brethren, since the least
Hath God in him—or shall have!”’ Oh, our best
Left us still sighing:‘All this petty world
Is full of spoiled and spoilers; strangers, foes,
Hating and hated; rending each from each
By force or fraud the means to live; low souls
Base, void, unlovely! What should make us love
This poor forked fellow-worm, plagued with vile needs,
By savage passions scourged, whose brittle life,
Commenced in helplessness, runs its vain round
Of meats, drinks, sleeping, striving; then sinks back,
Helpless again, to that clay whence he came?
Where shall we find Heaven's image in these brows
Ape-like and low? these faces foul with lusts?
Those hands with guiltless blood dyed red, those eyes
228
Those false, deceiving hearts that cog and cheat,
The smooth, reputed, hypocrites who smile
And, with the serpent's glitter, drag his sting?
What peak, at loftiest, had our breed attained
Where we might stand and see the stars come close?
Where glowed one human glory bright enough
To feed the fond desire, the hopeless hope
That somewhere, at beginning, Man did touch
Divinity; and, somewhere, at his end,
Might pass—a purged thing—to the Infinite?
“This hath my Lord and Master satisfied!
This, from the mouths of doubters and unfaith,
Forever hath He taken! Ah! the worst,
Th' unworthiest creature of us, crawling Earth,
If he but knew what bliss hath happened here,
What sudden splendour of inheritance,
What unexpected purple, undeserved,
Hath lighted, making him the kith of Kings,
Would lift his head from the life-dust he licks,
And, in the sunshine of new, happy, hope,
Spread jewelled wings of joy—as when we see
The dull grey worm, hid in uncomely shell,
Burst it, and soar a lightsome butterfly
Burning and blossoming, all gold and blue.
I—even I—the wilful one, and wild,
Because He did forgive, because my feet
Are clean with treading in His steps, because
I heard His gracious words; and saw Him live,
And saw Him die, and saw Him after death
Alive, triumphant, Lord of Life and Death;
Come to His Kingdom, and not gone from us:
I—Miriam of Magdala—rejoice
With what exceeding joy thine eyes have marked,
Standing persuaded that no height, nor depth,
Nor present things, nor things to be, nor powers,
Nor pangs, shall separate us from His grace.
And, for myself, and all the Earth, and thee,
Have no grief left, and cannot suffer grief,
Being woman, and my Lord and God a Man.
For, listen yet again! This Godlike one,
This spotless, stainless, sinless, blameless Christ,
Whom none did once convince of one small swerve
From perfectness; nor ever shall!—so strong
The elements obeyed Him; so divine
The devils worshipped; so with virtue charged
The touch of Him was health; so masterful
The dead came back upon His call; so mild
The little children clustered at His knee,
And nestled trustful locks on that kind breast
Which leans to-day on God's—Consider, Sir!
A human heart beat there! a human brain
Pondered, and pitied, and was sorrowful
Behind that sovereign brow. The blood of us,—
Of women and of men—coursed, crimson, warm,
In those rich veins! Nay, and He ate our meats
And drank our drinks, and wore the dress we wore;
And His hair fluttered in the breeze which stirred
Peter's, and John's, and mine. So, now, hence forth
This wonder lasts, that what, in all the worlds,
Was highest, holiest, purest, noblest, best,
More taintless than the Morning-Star, more kin
To Heaven than light of Heaven, or proudest plumes
Of Angel and Archangel—That is Man!
That one supreme, consummate, faultless life,
It was a human life, begun with us,
Continued 'midst us, ended as we end
In woe and weakness, thence emerged to be
A Glory sitting equal in the sky
With God's own glory, everlastingly
That by which we are judged, and that whereby
The race of Man claims place and patrimony;
Oh, more than all! that for whose holy sake,
By whose most sovereign grace, for whose sweet deed
The sins which reddened Earth are washed away
Whiter than wool, the debts which loaded Earth
Are paid by Love's kiss on the lips of Law,
Tenderly silenced. Now, the whole Earth hears
(Or shall hear—surely shall hear—at the last,
Though men delay, and doubt, and faint, and fail)
That promise faithful:—‘Fear not, little flock!
It is your Father's will and joy to give
To you the Kingdom!’
This, from the mouths of doubters and unfaith,
Forever hath He taken! Ah! the worst,
Th' unworthiest creature of us, crawling Earth,
If he but knew what bliss hath happened here,
What sudden splendour of inheritance,
229
Hath lighted, making him the kith of Kings,
Would lift his head from the life-dust he licks,
And, in the sunshine of new, happy, hope,
Spread jewelled wings of joy—as when we see
The dull grey worm, hid in uncomely shell,
Burst it, and soar a lightsome butterfly
Burning and blossoming, all gold and blue.
I—even I—the wilful one, and wild,
Because He did forgive, because my feet
Are clean with treading in His steps, because
I heard His gracious words; and saw Him live,
And saw Him die, and saw Him after death
Alive, triumphant, Lord of Life and Death;
Come to His Kingdom, and not gone from us:
I—Miriam of Magdala—rejoice
With what exceeding joy thine eyes have marked,
Standing persuaded that no height, nor depth,
Nor present things, nor things to be, nor powers,
230
And, for myself, and all the Earth, and thee,
Have no grief left, and cannot suffer grief,
Being woman, and my Lord and God a Man.
For, listen yet again! This Godlike one,
This spotless, stainless, sinless, blameless Christ,
Whom none did once convince of one small swerve
From perfectness; nor ever shall!—so strong
The elements obeyed Him; so divine
The devils worshipped; so with virtue charged
The touch of Him was health; so masterful
The dead came back upon His call; so mild
The little children clustered at His knee,
And nestled trustful locks on that kind breast
Which leans to-day on God's—Consider, Sir!
A human heart beat there! a human brain
Pondered, and pitied, and was sorrowful
Behind that sovereign brow. The blood of us,—
231
In those rich veins! Nay, and He ate our meats
And drank our drinks, and wore the dress we wore;
And His hair fluttered in the breeze which stirred
Peter's, and John's, and mine. So, now, hence forth
This wonder lasts, that what, in all the worlds,
Was highest, holiest, purest, noblest, best,
More taintless than the Morning-Star, more kin
To Heaven than light of Heaven, or proudest plumes
Of Angel and Archangel—That is Man!
That one supreme, consummate, faultless life,
It was a human life, begun with us,
Continued 'midst us, ended as we end
In woe and weakness, thence emerged to be
A Glory sitting equal in the sky
With God's own glory, everlastingly
232
The race of Man claims place and patrimony;
Oh, more than all! that for whose holy sake,
By whose most sovereign grace, for whose sweet deed
The sins which reddened Earth are washed away
Whiter than wool, the debts which loaded Earth
Are paid by Love's kiss on the lips of Law,
Tenderly silenced. Now, the whole Earth hears
(Or shall hear—surely shall hear—at the last,
Though men delay, and doubt, and faint, and fail)
That promise faithful:—‘Fear not, little flock!
It is your Father's will and joy to give
To you the Kingdom!’
“Wherefore, if there live
Brothers too low to love, too base to serve,
Too evil to forgive; if aught in Man
So abject seem and so to brute allied
Nice natures scorn the kinship;—think that Christ
Knew also these, and measured these and made
His daily sojourn 'midst them; and was swift
To succour them and cheer; and bore with them,
Never once holding any lowly soul
Less dear to Heaven than high and saintly souls,
Never conceding once that one stray sheep—
Lean, foul, and fleeceless in the thorns of Sin—
Should die, unfolded, for the safe flock's sake.
Thus, then, weakly I strive to answer thee:
Jesus our Lord hath lived and died and lived;
And, now,—in Suns, and Stars, and amplest Heaven,
When Angels name us they must name Him, too,
Since He was Man—is Man. And for His sake
No more 'tis hard to love what He hath loved,
Nor strange to tread, in footmarks of His feet,
This path which leads, by love of Man, to where—
Through Earthly Service rendered, duties wrought
In meekness, purity, and charity—
Always our Helper, He awaits. Awaits
To tell what best He knew—the secret deep
How the Divine hides in the Undivine,
How near to good is evil. Waits to say:
‘Enter ye in, who nursed Me, lying sick,
And fed Me, being hungered; gave Me robes
When I was naked, wiped My tears away
In heavy-hearted days, and pitied Me,
And helped Me, cast in prison with the thieves!’
And, when we answer: ‘Oh, dear Lord! but, how
Saw we Thee sick, or hungered, or unclad,
Or sad, or cast in prison?’ Christ shall say:
‘Inasmuch as ye did it to the least
Of these My brothers, it was done to Me!
Aye! 'twas to Me,—and 'twas to God through Me—
Ye gave that cup of water! I lay sick
With him ye succoured; I was languishing
In prison with the broken hearts ye cheered;
That was My nakedness ye covered up
Clothing My Poor; I was the babe ye fed;
I was that widow whom ye visited;
Share My joy now, who helped My Father then!
Enter ye in!’
Brothers too low to love, too base to serve,
Too evil to forgive; if aught in Man
So abject seem and so to brute allied
233
Knew also these, and measured these and made
His daily sojourn 'midst them; and was swift
To succour them and cheer; and bore with them,
Never once holding any lowly soul
Less dear to Heaven than high and saintly souls,
Never conceding once that one stray sheep—
Lean, foul, and fleeceless in the thorns of Sin—
Should die, unfolded, for the safe flock's sake.
Thus, then, weakly I strive to answer thee:
Jesus our Lord hath lived and died and lived;
And, now,—in Suns, and Stars, and amplest Heaven,
When Angels name us they must name Him, too,
Since He was Man—is Man. And for His sake
No more 'tis hard to love what He hath loved,
Nor strange to tread, in footmarks of His feet,
This path which leads, by love of Man, to where—
Through Earthly Service rendered, duties wrought
In meekness, purity, and charity—
234
To tell what best He knew—the secret deep
How the Divine hides in the Undivine,
How near to good is evil. Waits to say:
‘Enter ye in, who nursed Me, lying sick,
And fed Me, being hungered; gave Me robes
When I was naked, wiped My tears away
In heavy-hearted days, and pitied Me,
And helped Me, cast in prison with the thieves!’
And, when we answer: ‘Oh, dear Lord! but, how
Saw we Thee sick, or hungered, or unclad,
Or sad, or cast in prison?’ Christ shall say:
‘Inasmuch as ye did it to the least
Of these My brothers, it was done to Me!
Aye! 'twas to Me,—and 'twas to God through Me—
Ye gave that cup of water! I lay sick
With him ye succoured; I was languishing
235
That was My nakedness ye covered up
Clothing My Poor; I was the babe ye fed;
I was that widow whom ye visited;
Share My joy now, who helped My Father then!
Enter ye in!’
“Moreover, Sir! I deem
We are so made we but discern what's high,
What's great, what's noble, what's best worthy love,
When it comes visible, incarnate, nigh:
Beauty were but a name, except it burned
Authentic in red glory of the Rose,
Or in loved form and face desirable:
And Virtue needs must put white raiment on,
And walk in Sight, ere men bend knee to her.
Souls, ere they soar, ask help,—to spread a wing—
From firm ground here; th' ideal real, the dream
True in the daylight. But with Christ to love,—
With Him to show us what lay lost in us—
Man by His birth, God by His Deathlessness,—
For His sake all the race of men grows great,
Old laws are spent! what need command us more
With crash of Sinai's thunder, not to rob,
To murder, covet, bear false witness? Those
Were chains for Hatred; Love is done with them!
Love, standing with the children, at His knee,
Spells the new lesson that the neighbour wronged,
The poor left comfortless, the foeman slain,
Were kinsmen used unkindly, lovers lost;
Being one household, with one Father, God,
One eldest brother, Christ. ‘How often, Lord!
Shall one offend me, and shall I forgive?’
Asked Peter: ‘until seven times?’ He said:
‘Seventy times seven pardon!’—Not the sin!
He made no peace with that! The pure in heart
Alone see God; and very terrible
Blazed His bright wrath 'gainst all the wrongdoers,
Oppressors of His poor, self-lovers, scribes
Who darken knowledge, sinners loving sin,
Impenitent. But, when he turns, turn thou!
And, if he shall not turn, hate him no more
As though Christ had not come, a second time
To break those Stones of Moses, and to write
On every shard of his enlargëd Law
The new, great, golden statute: What ye would
That men should do to yo, do ye to them!”
We are so made we but discern what's high,
What's great, what's noble, what's best worthy love,
When it comes visible, incarnate, nigh:
Beauty were but a name, except it burned
Authentic in red glory of the Rose,
Or in loved form and face desirable:
And Virtue needs must put white raiment on,
And walk in Sight, ere men bend knee to her.
Souls, ere they soar, ask help,—to spread a wing—
From firm ground here; th' ideal real, the dream
236
With Him to show us what lay lost in us—
Man by His birth, God by His Deathlessness,—
For His sake all the race of men grows great,
Old laws are spent! what need command us more
With crash of Sinai's thunder, not to rob,
To murder, covet, bear false witness? Those
Were chains for Hatred; Love is done with them!
Love, standing with the children, at His knee,
Spells the new lesson that the neighbour wronged,
The poor left comfortless, the foeman slain,
Were kinsmen used unkindly, lovers lost;
Being one household, with one Father, God,
One eldest brother, Christ. ‘How often, Lord!
Shall one offend me, and shall I forgive?’
Asked Peter: ‘until seven times?’ He said:
‘Seventy times seven pardon!’—Not the sin!
He made no peace with that! The pure in heart
237
Blazed His bright wrath 'gainst all the wrongdoers,
Oppressors of His poor, self-lovers, scribes
Who darken knowledge, sinners loving sin,
Impenitent. But, when he turns, turn thou!
And, if he shall not turn, hate him no more
As though Christ had not come, a second time
To break those Stones of Moses, and to write
On every shard of his enlargëd Law
The new, great, golden statute: What ye would
That men should do to yo, do ye to them!”
“So taught Lord Buddh,” the Indian said,“but I
Hail larger teaching here. It shall not be,
Henceforward, that the wise man reins his wrath
For quietness of mind, self-mastery,
Or high disdain of who offends,—being held
Only some shadow in the phantom-nautch
Of Maya, some illusionary show
Of sense-life;—but, because Love's tolerance
Fulfils the law, and self would wrong itself
Hurting the wronger, who is kin to self,
So die all mortal strifes, wars without truce,
Quarrels unreconciled; the cruel feuds
Of house with house, and tribe with tribe, and race
With neighbouring race, nursed darkly in dull veins
And handed down, a bloody heritage,
From age to age. Such ill shall cease, I deem,
Where this ray passeth of the nobler light.
Slowly shall dawn, I think, a broader time
When, punished worst by lofty clemency,
The manslayer shall learn he cannot slay
The slain one's right to pardon, nor Man's right
To pity and to comfort, while we kill.
The oppressor shall not so oppress himself
To shut his soul from share of better things
When justice reigns. Revenge shall sheathe his knife,
Leaving his private grief to public means,
Which, ceasing not to exact, shall know no hate.
Surely, herewith, a new World might begin
From this thy faultless Lord, showing all folk
His brothers; dear, for such high brotherhood,
And for what lurks like Him, hid in their clay.
Love, than Hate mightier, taking happy fire
From thy fair Christ, might kindle as times roll
In crores on crores of hearts,—the beam divine
Of that vast patience which is type of Heaven's,
Sending its sunshine upon good and ill.
Yet one point lacks! There shall not fall, at first,
Great earthly comfort here! Sheep among wolves,
Naked 'mid sharpened blades, His messengers
Must pass; and suffer bitterness; and be
Despised, reviled, brought to the cross and stake;
Losing this sweet seen Earth for Heav'n unseen.
It needed that He showed them,—showed to us—
More than a man may: proved it visible
This hidden World,—where wages shall be paid;—
No sleep, no dream, no mystic cheat to tempt
Souls deathwards, down the narrow Road of Right;
But verity—close, palpable, and clear—
If we had eyes to see,—plain certitude
As solid as the summer's purple grapes,
As rich roast meats; as miser's gold; as lips
Dewed with the honey of youth, rose-ripe and new,
For whose sake lovers let the world go by;
As likely as to-morrow,—not yet come,
But surely coming;—nay, more sure than that,
Since, if such be at all, it is to-day
And all days,—this abiding, fuller Life
Beyond, and round, and in, and under things,
Shut from us now by curtain of the flesh
Whose edge Death lifts. Saidst thou He took Death's place
And pushed the black folds back; and made us known?”
Hail larger teaching here. It shall not be,
Henceforward, that the wise man reins his wrath
For quietness of mind, self-mastery,
Or high disdain of who offends,—being held
Only some shadow in the phantom-nautch
238
Of sense-life;—but, because Love's tolerance
Fulfils the law, and self would wrong itself
Hurting the wronger, who is kin to self,
So die all mortal strifes, wars without truce,
Quarrels unreconciled; the cruel feuds
Of house with house, and tribe with tribe, and race
With neighbouring race, nursed darkly in dull veins
And handed down, a bloody heritage,
From age to age. Such ill shall cease, I deem,
Where this ray passeth of the nobler light.
Slowly shall dawn, I think, a broader time
When, punished worst by lofty clemency,
The manslayer shall learn he cannot slay
The slain one's right to pardon, nor Man's right
To pity and to comfort, while we kill.
The oppressor shall not so oppress himself
239
When justice reigns. Revenge shall sheathe his knife,
Leaving his private grief to public means,
Which, ceasing not to exact, shall know no hate.
Surely, herewith, a new World might begin
From this thy faultless Lord, showing all folk
His brothers; dear, for such high brotherhood,
And for what lurks like Him, hid in their clay.
Love, than Hate mightier, taking happy fire
From thy fair Christ, might kindle as times roll
In crores on crores of hearts,—the beam divine
Of that vast patience which is type of Heaven's,
Sending its sunshine upon good and ill.
Yet one point lacks! There shall not fall, at first,
Great earthly comfort here! Sheep among wolves,
Naked 'mid sharpened blades, His messengers
Must pass; and suffer bitterness; and be
Despised, reviled, brought to the cross and stake;
240
It needed that He showed them,—showed to us—
More than a man may: proved it visible
This hidden World,—where wages shall be paid;—
No sleep, no dream, no mystic cheat to tempt
Souls deathwards, down the narrow Road of Right;
But verity—close, palpable, and clear—
If we had eyes to see,—plain certitude
As solid as the summer's purple grapes,
As rich roast meats; as miser's gold; as lips
Dewed with the honey of youth, rose-ripe and new,
For whose sake lovers let the world go by;
As likely as to-morrow,—not yet come,
But surely coming;—nay, more sure than that,
Since, if such be at all, it is to-day
And all days,—this abiding, fuller Life
Beyond, and round, and in, and under things,
Shut from us now by curtain of the flesh
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And pushed the black folds back; and made us known?”
She answered not, but, with obeisaunce, rose;
Passed swiftly through that latticed door which led
From the paved Court into the Women's rooms;
And presently returned, holding the hand
Of a pale Maid, who wore the Hebrew dress
Tsaiph and Cethôneth—gown and gathered shirt—
Of fine Egyptian linen; all in white
Girt with an abnêt wove in gold and white,
Its tassels threaded pearls; and on her head
The tsanîph, tied with pearls. But most you marked
The exceeding paleness of that grave fair face
Which was as if white marble breathed, and had
Black tresses banded on it, and large orbs
Of jetty gems inlaid for eyes; and lips
Carved of faint-coloured coral; and ever pressed
As though they held some secret word to say
And must not part, lest breath of it break forth:
Yet with her pallor, something strange of joy
In the bright glance revealed, and gentle mouth
Where—flitting under subtle-shadowed curves—
A light smile always played, so tender-sad
It seemed to mock at sadness. Calm and soft
Issued the Aramaic of her speech
In salutation, while she bent, and said:
“Peace be with thee!” And the grey Magus stood
Folding his palms across his breast; and gazed
With fear and wonder on her countenance
So secret-full, albeit so fresh and young;
Murmuring: “On thee be peace!”
Passed swiftly through that latticed door which led
From the paved Court into the Women's rooms;
And presently returned, holding the hand
Of a pale Maid, who wore the Hebrew dress
Tsaiph and Cethôneth—gown and gathered shirt—
Of fine Egyptian linen; all in white
Girt with an abnêt wove in gold and white,
Its tassels threaded pearls; and on her head
The tsanîph, tied with pearls. But most you marked
The exceeding paleness of that grave fair face
Which was as if white marble breathed, and had
Black tresses banded on it, and large orbs
242
Carved of faint-coloured coral; and ever pressed
As though they held some secret word to say
And must not part, lest breath of it break forth:
Yet with her pallor, something strange of joy
In the bright glance revealed, and gentle mouth
Where—flitting under subtle-shadowed curves—
A light smile always played, so tender-sad
It seemed to mock at sadness. Calm and soft
Issued the Aramaic of her speech
In salutation, while she bent, and said:
“Peace be with thee!” And the grey Magus stood
Folding his palms across his breast; and gazed
With fear and wonder on her countenance
So secret-full, albeit so fresh and young;
Murmuring: “On thee be peace!”
“It dwells with her
Now, and for evermore”—quoth Miriam—
“Passing all understanding! She hath seen
What none else sees; and journeyed to a Land
Whence none returns, and heard with living ears
What the Dead say; for this is Shélomith,
Whom Jesus raised from death in Galilee,
Daughter of Jair. She lodgeth with us here,
His handmaid, and the friend of all His friends,
Living His Virgin, till He call her hence.”
Now, and for evermore”—quoth Miriam—
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What none else sees; and journeyed to a Land
Whence none returns, and heard with living ears
What the Dead say; for this is Shélomith,
Whom Jesus raised from death in Galilee,
Daughter of Jair. She lodgeth with us here,
His handmaid, and the friend of all His friends,
Living His Virgin, till He call her hence.”
Thereat fell silence, while the Indian sage
Gazed more intent; and Shélomith's great eyes
Roamed, searching in the sky for sights unseen.
Gazed more intent; and Shélomith's great eyes
Roamed, searching in the sky for sights unseen.
Mary went on: “Once, in Capernaum,
He sate at meat with Matthew; and there came
The Rabbi Jair—Rosh-Hakkenêseth—Chief
Of synagogue; who fell before His feet,
Beseeching from His love and mightiness
Help for a daughter, twelve years old. She lay
Dying—by this time, peradventure, dead;—
His only daughter, dearer than heart's blood.
And Jesus rose and went; we following.
But, while our throng threaded the long bazaars,—
Woe-begone Jair leading the way; the folk
In booths and shops upstarting, from their trades
And trafficking, to see their Rabbi's hand
Clasped in the Master's, and that hurrying crowd
Gather, from khân and well and synagogue;—
Look! there runs up, wild with his grief and speed,
One from the Ruler's house. Tears course adown;
He rends his skirt! he cries: ‘The Maid is dead!
Trouble no more the Master!’ Rabbi Jair
Beats on his breast, and moans. But Jesus said
‘Fear not! only believe! She shall be whole!’
And Jair,—drear, gazing on the gracious lips
Which spake such comfort inconceivable—
Came to his gate. By this the wailing women
Screamed round the door, with flutes and drums, and flung
Dust on their heads, lamenting ‘Wel-wel-êh!
Ah, his resource! his glory! Oh, Gazelle!
That shalt not drink our water-brooks again,
Nor leave the lilies fairer for thy feet!
Oh, tender, broken, palm-tree! Wel-wel-êh!’
Thou knowest, Sir! how sorrowful is death.
But He, staying their clamour, gently said:
‘Weep not! she is not dead; she doth but sleep;
I will awake her!’ This they laugh to scorn,
Well wotting she is dead. Then entered He
With Peter, John, and James; and, beside these,
The Rabbi with his wife. Our Shélomith
Lay on her pallet, white and still as snow,
The grave-cloth bound about her hair; the myrrh
Scattered upon her breasts; her little palms
Pressed meek together; pale lips done with breath;
Worn eyelids, weary with the fever, dropped
Shutting the eyes from life; black lashes laid
Close to cheek's alabaster—surely dead!
Not hearing any more the Father's cry:
‘My Shélomith! would I had died for thee!’
Not feeling any more the Mother's tears
Passionate on her brow. But Jesus touched
The chill and stiffening hands; looked steadfastly
In the still face; then giving soft command,
Stronger than Death's, “Damsel, arise!” He cries,
‘Talitha, cumi!’ And her spirit came,
And she arose and walked; and ate of meat;
While those around laid hands upon their mouths,
Astonished with a great astonishment.”
He sate at meat with Matthew; and there came
The Rabbi Jair—Rosh-Hakkenêseth—Chief
Of synagogue; who fell before His feet,
Beseeching from His love and mightiness
Help for a daughter, twelve years old. She lay
244
His only daughter, dearer than heart's blood.
And Jesus rose and went; we following.
But, while our throng threaded the long bazaars,—
Woe-begone Jair leading the way; the folk
In booths and shops upstarting, from their trades
And trafficking, to see their Rabbi's hand
Clasped in the Master's, and that hurrying crowd
Gather, from khân and well and synagogue;—
Look! there runs up, wild with his grief and speed,
One from the Ruler's house. Tears course adown;
He rends his skirt! he cries: ‘The Maid is dead!
Trouble no more the Master!’ Rabbi Jair
Beats on his breast, and moans. But Jesus said
‘Fear not! only believe! She shall be whole!’
And Jair,—drear, gazing on the gracious lips
Which spake such comfort inconceivable—
245
Screamed round the door, with flutes and drums, and flung
Dust on their heads, lamenting ‘Wel-wel-êh!
Ah, his resource! his glory! Oh, Gazelle!
That shalt not drink our water-brooks again,
Nor leave the lilies fairer for thy feet!
Oh, tender, broken, palm-tree! Wel-wel-êh!’
Thou knowest, Sir! how sorrowful is death.
But He, staying their clamour, gently said:
‘Weep not! she is not dead; she doth but sleep;
I will awake her!’ This they laugh to scorn,
Well wotting she is dead. Then entered He
With Peter, John, and James; and, beside these,
The Rabbi with his wife. Our Shélomith
Lay on her pallet, white and still as snow,
The grave-cloth bound about her hair; the myrrh
Scattered upon her breasts; her little palms
Pressed meek together; pale lips done with breath;
246
Shutting the eyes from life; black lashes laid
Close to cheek's alabaster—surely dead!
Not hearing any more the Father's cry:
‘My Shélomith! would I had died for thee!’
Not feeling any more the Mother's tears
Passionate on her brow. But Jesus touched
The chill and stiffening hands; looked steadfastly
In the still face; then giving soft command,
Stronger than Death's, “Damsel, arise!” He cries,
‘Talitha, cumi!’ And her spirit came,
And she arose and walked; and ate of meat;
While those around laid hands upon their mouths,
Astonished with a great astonishment.”
Anew fell silence, while the Magus drew
Nearer by paces three, to see this Maid
Living, that had been dead, who knew the things
Which no flesh knows, and bore them wistfully
In calm bright eyes, and placid smiling lips.
Nearer by paces three, to see this Maid
Living, that had been dead, who knew the things
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In calm bright eyes, and placid smiling lips.
Then spake he:“Is it lawful if I ask
What memory holdest thou of that black time?”
What memory holdest thou of that black time?”
Shélomith, after pause, replied:“He bade
We should not greatly speak of what was wrought;
And, if I speak, something is wont to fall
Like a thick curtain, shutting off my mind,
With all it knows, from you that know it not.
I pray you give me grace if I speak nought!”
We should not greatly speak of what was wrought;
And, if I speak, something is wont to fall
Like a thick curtain, shutting off my mind,
With all it knows, from you that know it not.
I pray you give me grace if I speak nought!”
And Mary said:“Beseech you pardon her!
She must not speak! It is not well for Life
To learn too soon the lovely secrets kept
For them that die. Look on her face, and see
What close content, and private peacefulness
Gleam through it from the lighted heart within!
Now hast thou witnessed what thou didst desire,
That other World shown visible and near;
Not sleep; not dream, not cheat, but verity!”
She must not speak! It is not well for Life
To learn too soon the lovely secrets kept
For them that die. Look on her face, and see
What close content, and private peacefulness
Gleam through it from the lighted heart within!
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That other World shown visible and near;
Not sleep; not dream, not cheat, but verity!”
The Indian said:“I worship her, and praise
The greatness of thy potent Lord; and thank
Thy pains. Yet was it very Death, indeed,
Not trance, nor swoon? In closest moments here
Hath she told nought of those new things she saw?”
The greatness of thy potent Lord; and thank
Thy pains. Yet was it very Death, indeed,
Not trance, nor swoon? In closest moments here
Hath she told nought of those new things she saw?”
“Sometimes,” Mary replied, “when we have walked
Amid the tombs, or seen go wailing by
The mourners with their painted bier, and noise
Of funeral music, Shélomith will smile
And whisper to herself, in words half-caught,
Dreamily,—comforting the Dead, it seems:
‘Thou happy Sister! blessed Brother! safe!
Who will not hear His Voice! And yet, sweet!—sweet!—
Tender-sweet sounded it, although it called
My spirit back so far! Now, weep not so,
Ye living ones! Ye, too, shall pass! and, then
To grow so new and different!—What is't?
Will men still call it ‘dead?’ We lie a-bed;
And sleep; and seem, on all our nights, to die;
But the soul wakes, and plays between the bars,
Like a caged bird. Afterwards, body wakes,
And soul's asleep, or hiding! What surprise
For these who go feet foremost to the grave,
To learn the dream was Daytime, Light was Night,
Gliding—soft-gliding—to that greater Life,
Which always was so near;—only a skin
To cast aside, like the enamelled snake,
And then—the fresh gold and the glittering blues!
Dear God! how wonderful those colours were
I had not marked before—and, yet, not new!
Those lands and seas I never saw before,
And, still,—'twas Galilee and Gadara!
Those high kind faces never, surely, known;—
And yet,—I played with them before they ‘died’—
Before I ‘died!’ to find them waiting me,
So many, and so many, and such joy!
So glad and natural!—Till that Voice rang
Gentle and mighty—which all worlds obey—
‘Talitha, cumi!’ ‘Come back, Shélomith!’
Then I obeyed, coming reluctantly,
And breathed this Earth again: He touching me!
Oh, Wailers! dance and sing for your wise dead
Who do not listen to ‘Alâlalai!’
Ah, fair Lord! pardon mine unwilling feet!
Still I came back! and I will live, and hush,
Till Thou sayest: ‘Talitha!’ ‘Now, come again!’
Amid the tombs, or seen go wailing by
The mourners with their painted bier, and noise
Of funeral music, Shélomith will smile
And whisper to herself, in words half-caught,
Dreamily,—comforting the Dead, it seems:
‘Thou happy Sister! blessed Brother! safe!
Who will not hear His Voice! And yet, sweet!—sweet!—
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My spirit back so far! Now, weep not so,
Ye living ones! Ye, too, shall pass! and, then
To grow so new and different!—What is't?
Will men still call it ‘dead?’ We lie a-bed;
And sleep; and seem, on all our nights, to die;
But the soul wakes, and plays between the bars,
Like a caged bird. Afterwards, body wakes,
And soul's asleep, or hiding! What surprise
For these who go feet foremost to the grave,
To learn the dream was Daytime, Light was Night,
Gliding—soft-gliding—to that greater Life,
Which always was so near;—only a skin
To cast aside, like the enamelled snake,
And then—the fresh gold and the glittering blues!
Dear God! how wonderful those colours were
I had not marked before—and, yet, not new!
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And, still,—'twas Galilee and Gadara!
Those high kind faces never, surely, known;—
And yet,—I played with them before they ‘died’—
Before I ‘died!’ to find them waiting me,
So many, and so many, and such joy!
So glad and natural!—Till that Voice rang
Gentle and mighty—which all worlds obey—
‘Talitha, cumi!’ ‘Come back, Shélomith!’
Then I obeyed, coming reluctantly,
And breathed this Earth again: He touching me!
Oh, Wailers! dance and sing for your wise dead
Who do not listen to ‘Alâlalai!’
Ah, fair Lord! pardon mine unwilling feet!
Still I came back! and I will live, and hush,
Till Thou sayest: ‘Talitha!’ ‘Now, come again!’
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“So have I heard her murmur,” Mary said.
But, when the Maid—low salutations paid—
Passed once again the latticed door, none spake.
And silently the Buddhist kissed the hem
Of Mary's gown, departing silently.
Passed once again the latticed door, none spake.
And silently the Buddhist kissed the hem
Of Mary's gown, departing silently.
| The Light of the World or The Great Consummation | |