University of Virginia Library

THE TOMB IN THE GARDEN.

Joseph of Arimathea
and others enter, bearing the body of Jesus, and singing.

As they depart, a Seraph is discovered in the tomb, supporting the head of the Saviour. To him a Cherub:—
Ch.
Launching from the clear radiance of a star,
I heard thy sad voice, calling from afar:
More swift than lightning through the vast of space
I come into the sunshine of thy face.

Ser.
Behold the beauty, mark the silent spell,
That in these pale and deathly features dwell!
Hold up the body! 'Tis a joy to bear
The earthly covering of a soul so fair!

Ch.
Who is he? My thoughts are folden
In the calm eyes cold before us;
Through his hair run lights more golden
Than the orb suspended o'er us!

Ser.
Follow me in solemn chorus.
[Sings,
Hail, O loving eyes and holy,
Tearful aye, and melancholy!
Hail, fair brow, so sadly torn
By the wreath of human scorn!
Oh! forgive that crown of thorn!

CHORUS.
Pardon all the human scorn.

CHORUS.
Now for ever laid to rest.

Ch.
(perplexedly).
Stay the fervour of thy singing,
For thy words of song thrill through me,
And thy last strange speech is ringing
Through my pulse, till thou renew me
With a reassurance to me!

Ser.
Wait, and in silent weeping ease thy heart!

[Sings.
Ch.
“Might welcome home!” but we for ever part
With human souls upon the grave's sad brink!

Ser.
Yet shall this human soul for ever drink
Delicious draughts of immortality.

Ch.
Ah! Seraph, say, how can this wonder be?
Great Enoch, when the sea-less earth he trod,
And, being pure in spirit, walk'd with God,
One morning, when the cold grey peaks were crown'd
With golden air of sunrise, was not found.
Elijah too, who, upright and austere,
Walk'd through the nations with a godly fear,
'Midst acclamations from each hymning choir,
Was drawn to heaven by wingèd steeds of fire.
These blessed men, through grace of God most high,
Received the favour that they should not die:
But this fair mortal has already gone
To silent shores where never light hath shone.

Ser.
Then know that this is the Almighty Son;
Th' Eternal Word; who, with the Father one,
Throughout the hoary past eternity
Was crown'd with all the awful joys that be
Concentred in that universal sway,
That knows no rise, no summit, no decay.

Ch.
After a pause.

Ser.
Into the dark I seem to raise
Prophetic vision, and to gaze
On actions of the future days.

Ch.
What happiness is hidden there?
O say, what rais'd the weight of care,
And made thy sad brow clear and fair?

Ser.
I see a little room apart;
Few sit there, dull and sad at heart.

Ch.
Why should that dismal sight renew
Thy lifted eyes with living blue?

Ser.
The room is shaken where they sit;
God's fiery Spirit visits it,
And saith, “O ye of little wit,
Ye love the dead one; and ye know
He is not dead, but living so
That He can hear you pray below!
Be glad then! Fill with sacred force
The world, as rain-floods at the source
Fill up an arid watercourse!”

Ch.
Ah! brother, then the glow of light,
That glorified thy face with might,
Came reflex from their inner sight!

[Here they sit silent a while.
Ch.
Seraph, the light has faded from thine eyes;
And all the changing tints of rainbow dyes,
That gave thy crimson wings fresh loveliness,
Have fail'd; and in thy features new distress
Arises like a pale moon wrapp'd in mist.

Ser.
Saw'st thou the shadowy form that came and kiss'd
The dead brow that was his?

Ch.
I only gazed
Into the stillness of thy deep eyes raised
To heaven for consolation, and my ears
Listen'd for no sound but thy falling tears.

Ser.
It was the desolate Jerusalem!
She who for aye has madly murder'd them
Who lov'd her; and the One who lov'd her best
She thrust most rudely from her maniac breast.

Ch.
Has she no hope? Cannot this kiss atone?

Ser.
I gaze into the future, but her moan
Drowns the response. Ay me! while yet He trod
The barren hills, lorn of the smile of God,
It would have brought into an angel's eyes
(Could angels weep for mortal miseries)
The bitter tears, to see how men withstood
The unselfish love He sealèd with his blood.

Ch.
E'en as thou speakest, to my wond'ring mind
A doubt comes swifter than the wingèd wind.
Say, taking pity on my feebler sense,
Did any subtle and dim influence
Move in the gusty halls of heaven, when He
Walked this low earth? Or tell me, didst thou see
A fluttering movement of the planet-cars,
A darkening tumult in the pearly stars,
A sickening faintness in the pulse of air?
Or, were thine eyes, ineffable and fair,
Made capable to watch from that high throne
The Lord of glory, with all glory gone?

Ser.
Cherub, by right we hold a higher place,
And nearer station to the Holy Face,
Than ye, whose throbbing choirs of purest blue
Circle around us in attendance due.
Ye, gazing ever towards the source of light,
See but our splendour and the vault of night:
We, from a height sublimer, more august,
Can watch the actions of the breathing dust,
And clear below, though narrow'd to a span,
Behold the motions of poor mortal Man.
Of late the view—at all times worthy note,
Since first God made in dusky ether float
The sun-illumin'd globe—most strange has been,
Since One has with his presence made serene
The warring winds, and wrought upon the sea
Quick halcyon charms of perfect potency.
Learn then that I have watch'd this Man divine
Since first He deign'd to claim the royal line
Of Judah's David: all our flaming host,
Star-crown'd, and bearing, in the innermost
Recesses of our being, glowing fires,
Outward-refulgent, with our sacred lyres
For ever strung to chant Jehovah's praise,—
We, in this glory, hush'd our tuneful lays,
And silence reign'd in Heaven.

Ch.
We still sang on;
Our faint, sweet voices rang in unison,
As round and round the splendour of your ranks,
Ye warriors of the Lord in proud phalanx,
We, gentler spirits, wheel'd in love and awe,
Still singing, but more faintly, as we saw
Your mighty harps had ceas'd the thrill that sent
Loud melody to all the winds. What lent
That sudden silence to your minstrelsy
We knew not.

Ser.
'Twas the King of all, 'twas He!
A little child in pastoral meanness laid
Among the senseless brutes that low'd and bray'd,
Unseen of men, unthought of, and unlov'd,
That Babe with such an awe our cohorts mov'd,
That angels in mute adoration bow'd,
Who reign in glory, loftiest of the proud.
In that great silence, and with looks so bent,
We gaz'd upon the growing child, still pent
In household bonds of mothers' maxims fine,
And petty dogmas ruling the Divine.

Ch.
Could not the love of all our starry powers
Comfort the sadness of those cheerless hours?
Could not his spirit, hungering patiently,
Be fed with solace from his home on high?
And through the toil of all his earthly way
Some angel bear the languor of a day?

Ser.
Yea, once! We watch'd Him with the same intense
Deep silence, through his childhood's innocence,
And boyhood's years, while dimly through the screen
Of human flesh shone out the light serene.
At last when, grown a man, he pass'd his days
In quiet labour, full of gentle grace,
The mortal still with power to render null
The grand immortal,—till the time was full;
Then suddenly we watch'd him leave behind
The palmy valleys and the fresh hill-wind,
And through the waste and flaring wilderness
With aching footsteps ever onward press.
At last, where all the rocks are bare and white,
And from dark crannies struggle to the light
Black thorny bushes, sapless, cheerless, dead,—
Mocking the sight with forms rememberèd
Of leafy shrub and sweet lush greenery,
So made the saddest thing that man can see,—
His faltering steps the heavenly pilgrim stay'd,
And on a glittering slab his faint limbs laid.
In this sad glen, hemm'd in by boulders rude,
In such a loveless and dull solitude,
A sulphurous cloud, like the envenom'd birth
Of sultry marshes, rose out of the earth,
And as the mists of morning intervene
Between the world and dawn, hid the ravine,
Nor could we see him more. Day after day,
Sadder, yet silent, where the fog still lay,
We gaz'd in vain, till, after forty times
The sun had roll'd up from the under-climes,
The word of God came unto me; I flew
To meet the mandate with submission due,
And soon my swift obsequious pinions furl'd
Above that silent limit of the world.
The cloud was gone, once more the happy light
Shone brilliant on those cliffs of polish'd white:
E'en as I came, the Arch-fiend Satan rose
With hissing noise, and writh'd in mighty throes:
Shapeless and horrible and huge, he flapp'd
What seem'd his wings; and, in a gloom enwrapp'd,
Fled, moaning, to that dim antarctic cave,
Where round the pole his spectral banners wave,
Where rally in a hideous dance of death
All forms engender'd by his flaming breath.
He, rushing homeward with a hellish cry,
Stain'd with his shadow all the western sky:
But, in the glen, victorious though faint,
The holy Warrior, tried, yet without taint,
Lay as if dying; I, with helping hand,
Rais'd him, and led him gently through the land,
To where, hard by, a gushing streamlet fell
Adown the rocks into a quiet dell,
And from the windings of its reedy bed
A grateful verdure through the valley spread.
Here in the coolness of the long, sweet grass,
In deepest shadow of the high-cliff'd pass,
I laid him, while the murmur of the bees
Answer'd a whisper in the leafy trees.
The golden kingcups open'd as he came;
His presence broke their buds to living flame;
Pure lilies from his footprints sprang, and I
Plucked one and bear it still memorially.
Then drinking of the river, clear and cold,
And, feasting on fresh manna's honey'd gold,
That rain'd upon us from the upper air,
He swiftly gain'd new life and vigour there.
But say, O Cherub, why this altered guise,
And quivering of curv'd lips and downcast eyes?

Ch.
At first, my brother, with admiring thought,
I envied thee the joy that service brought;
And felt a keen pang of now vain desire
That I could then have left the singing choir,
And in humility and menial ways
Have offer'd to our Lord my love and praise.
I envied thee, but, ere the tale was done,
A swift remembrance through my brain did run,
And thy great mission seem'd a little thing!

Ser.
What was this sudden memory that did sting
Thy heart to such a change?

Ch.
It was the flower,
The lily-stem, which, on that solemn hour,
Thy hand had pluck'd, that bore the thought to me,
And on my brow wrote such strange charact'ry;
For, half-forgotten in the lapse of years,
Another lily through the darkness peers,
Borne by seraphic fingers. Let me tell
Thy courteous patience of this miracle.
I, sailing round the ether of a star,
Bound on some heavenly mission thence afar,
Saw far beneath me, most sublimely winging,
A fiery spirit, who with speed and singing
Mounted the air that kindled as he came;
Soon at my side his webs of crimson flame
He furl'd, and with a greeting full of grace
Hover'd beside me in that silent place;
Before his breast he held a lily tall
Whose flowers were purest white, save where did fall
Faint rose reflection from his shadowing wings;
And still he brooded with low murmurings
Over the stainless petals, and did press
Them to his lips with ardent tenderness.
Soon to my wondering ears he did unfold
The strangest story angel ever told!
Great was the grace, but ah! my clouded brain
Made all that rare narration void and vain;
For, till this hour, I never knew aright
The mysteries which thy kindness has made bright.
It seems, that day, he, sent by God Most High,
Had sought a maiden of mortality,
To say that she, a virgin undefil'd,
Should be the mother of a wondrous Child.
He found her in a garden wall'd and sure,
Fit emblem of her sweet life, calm and pure;
And in a vase before her door were set
Three lilies with the morning dew still wet.
His mission over, while the sudden news
Still did her cheeks with mantling flush diffuse,
He rose again to heaven, but bore away
One fragrant token of that solemn day.
No longer I must ponder this in vain,
The child was He who in this tomb is lain!

Ser.
But hark! what sound comes through the silent air?
What men are these with foreheads bow'd and bare?
Surely this little troop was wont to follow
Christ's sacred footsteps over hill and hollow,
And, with more love than knowledge, faith than wit,
Humbly, as listeners, round his feet to sit.

Down the hill, and by the garden, the Disciples slowly pass, singing:—
As they depart, Salome and Mary Magdalene timidly approach.
M.M.
Now these are gone, Salome, let us see
Where they have laid Him!

Sal.
Can it, can it be,
That Jesus, lovely Master, lies alone,
Beneath the pressure of that great white stone?

M.M.
My heart is there! I feel the bitter weight!
Oh! hold my hands till this sharp grief abate!
Salome, I could kill myself for sorrow:
The dismal night-time has a darker morrow.
Each day brings fresh despair; I feel within,
What brought this woe upon Him was my sin;
And Hope is gone for ever.

Sal.
Joy is gone,
But Hope, dear sister, kneeling at God's throne,
May not be thrust away. Hope is a lute
That gives sweet songs out, when the birds are mute,
In wintry weather. Though the Lord is dead,
Are not His words to be remembered?
Did He not say, “Whatever ye may want,
Ask of the Father, He will surely grant”?

M.M.
But He is dead! before his living feet
We might pour out our sorrow, might intreat
With weeping eyes and passionate confession,
His gracious pardon and great intercession;
But who shall go down to the gates of Night,
And through those portals find his way aright,
Question the gibbering ghosts and flitting shades
Whether his shadow yet their calm invades?
And, having found him, should a man embrace
Feet of a spirit, or a phantom face?
There sit the Kings, and He, a King, will take
His throne there in a silence none may break.

Sal.
But God,—our Father, as we learn'd to say,
By listening to his doctrine day by day,—
God is not dead: the earthly help may be
Remov'd, to clear dim eyes that will not see!
The glittering lines of morning mist are bright
With gold and purple gleams of tender light;
Their fairness tempts the eye to wish their stay,
And blame the beams that clear their veil away;
But when the sun has burst that cloudy prison,
And on the world in fullest glory risen,
Charm'd by his splendour, we no more regret
The loss that brought that blessing.

M.M.
Eyes are wet
In this wild world of sorrow for all woes,
Yet every mortal grief claims some repose
In lapse of time; but this despair of mine
Must be unchanging as the hopes divine
That were its source of being. Years may roll
Their deadening circles o'er my weary soul,
But respite from this aching weight of sin,
Nor prayer, nor patient suffering e'er can win!

Sal.
I still would hope! But if no other plea
Can wean you from this wailing misery,
Look up at least, and to your heart confess
This woman knows a deeper wretchedness!

M.M.
Mary! his mother! let us go, nor pain
Her broken heart with our distress in vain.

As they hurry away, the Mother of Jesus comes near, and throws herself down before the Tomb. After a silent interval she says:—
As she slowly moves away, the Angels resume:—
Ch.
Surely these human wailings must arise
Into God's hearing like sweet symphonies;
Not prayer itself can have more precious smell
Than frankincense of love made audible;
But all their sorrow is confus'd and wild,
Like sobbings of a half-awakened child,
Who finds itself in silence of the night
Lorn of its mother, and despairs of light.

Ser.
Thou wond'rest that they have so soon forgotten
The living faith once in their hearts begotten?

Ch.
Is it not strange? Could we forget to bless
The gracious God in any wretchedness?
If His good pleasure for a while should doom
Our beauty to a dark and earthy tomb,
Would not what consciousness our brains still kept
Be praising still the love that never slept?
Can these have been with Jesus, and yet dream
That the cold earth contains Him?

Ser.
Yea! I deem
The film of their mortality still covers
The glory from them where the new life hovers!
Were we as they are, clouds of doubt would hide
From us the light where now our souls abide.

Ch.
That can I feel,—for though my finer brain
Can reach a height their weakness may not gain,
Yet I myself am still too blind to see
What end to all this wonder there will be.
When, in the world's first morning, there was light,
And all the lucid air was calm and bright,
When Eden woke on Adam's opening eyes,
And God smil'd on his perfect Paradise,
E'en then the grating whine from Satan's lips
Clouded that beauty with a dun eclipse;
Elate with conquest, then he spread his sway
Over the earth, and man was forc'd obey;
For roses, thistles flourish'd; the pure sea
Grew salt and bitter with the poisonous tree
That bloom'd in Wormwood valley; Lust and Hate
Sprang up like weeds, and Love, disconsolate,
Flew on fair wings to heaven. But all this pain
We knew would end in some benignant reign,
Where God's own loveliness should chase away
All spectral shadows from the clouded day.
This soul whose tomb we guard is surely He,
Whose coming caused the men of God to see,
From earliest ages through the night forlorn,
Sweet glimpses of the golden hope of morn.
But tell me, Seraph, wherefore has He died,
And how has our arch-foe been mortified,
Since He is dead who was both God and man?

Ser.
Far up in heaven the Archangel proclaims silence.

While the air rings with “Christ is risen,” the two watchers rise and meet the descending choir. As they hover in mid-air, their song is heard above the harp-music.
CHORUS.

ANTI-CHORUS.