 | Poems, Ballads and Bucolics |  |
DEAD MAN'S POOL.
At the top of the hill right over the wood?
It was there that I who had sinned was healed—
The Lord is good.
I was wild in my day, I wasted my youth,
But a preacher came in a caravan,
He spoke God's truth.
It is forty years since I made my vow,
He has followed me on to the daylight's end,
He is with me now.
Of telling how spirit can body renew,
Of flesh and thew.
But the cold got into my marrow bones,
The pains grew bad, then I went to the work
Of breaking stones.
But hope grew less, and at every stroke
A piece right out of my body flew—
My heart was broke.
And then, for I felt I was not worth pay,
I left the job, my strength it was done;
She toiled away.
On Sunday never a butter pat,
And butter is any day better than lard!
She was fond of the cat,—
And the dog I had loved as a child of my own,
For ‘no meat! no bone!’
We heard the bell at the Union chime,
I saw the tear on my old wife's cheek,
It was workhouse time.
He brought another who thumped and stared,
And all the words that that other said
Were—“Be prepared.”
For forty years I have lived and striven
To meet my God continually
On earth, in heaven.
As up in heaven He sends His grace
To the souls who are ready through pain or mirth
To see His face.
And my wife she moaned in her sleep all night,
As clear as light.
And healed the halt and maimed with a word;
Then somehow the woman came to mind
Who besought the Lord
The table, and asked for a crumb as dole,
And heard the blessing, “Great is thy faith,
Thy child is whole.”
In the Book of Kings, it is plain to be seen—
He was angry, but went to the Jordan's ford,
Washed and was clean;
And his flesh came soft as the flesh of a child,
And I thought of the pool on the hill o'er the wood
And I fairly smiled.
Wash seven times in the Dead Man's pool!”
Lie still, poor fool!”
But at dawn when the valley was wrapped in grey
I crept on my knees to the door from my bed
And crawled away.
Grant me the pool on the moor to win!
And a voice said mocking, “Thy faith is vain,
Great was thy sin.”
And the sin of my youth was a heavy weight,
And home that day I was forced to creep
Disconsolate.
He brought me crutches—I spoke no word,
But I felt the good deed that the lad had done
Was meant by the Lord.
In the power of prayer, I stumbled slow,
How the sun did glow!
I felt God's presence was at my side,
I cast myself on the silent sward
And prayed and cried:
And men who in pain for their bread must strive,
Bless Thou this Dead Man's pool on the moor
To make alive.”
Knelt and prayed till I felt the beads
Drop from my brow, for prayer is toil
When a man's soul needs.
The wild birds verily passed it by,
It lay as white as a dead man's face
Beneath the sky.
Stood out in its feathery loveliness,
The water-cress.
To change his Damascus rivers clear
For the Jordan's yellow tide, and wroth
Still turned to hear.
Who led me on to that lonely pool,
Though the Voice in muffled mockery cried,
“Believe not, Fool!”
“Father and Son and the Holy Ghost”;
I minded the man in the leper's case,
Lord of the host.
He in the valley, I on the hill—
And I felt new wonderful strength was given
By God's good will.
And his flesh like a child's flesh came again,
I left my pain.
New melody thrilled in the blue above,
For I stood once more like a man on my feet
To labour and love.
And health and hope, each step that I trod
On earth seemed heaven, and heaven seemed home.
I praised my God.
By the live man's spring and the dead's man's pool—
One cries, “Be whole, for thy faith is great!”
The other, “Believe not, Fool!”
I am indebted to Miss F. P. Cobbe for the story of Thomas Odell's faith and healing, and have by her kind leave extracted from a proof of her article on Faith-healing and Fear Killing, which appeared in the Contemporary Review of 1887, the account she had intended to give of it, but withdrew from publication on hearing that Odell was still at that time alive. “I recorded,” she wrote, “my interview with the man the next day, and shall here print my memorandum as it stands, merely omitting names and places. The simple-hearted faith of the good fellow as he told me his story was to me exceedingly touching.
“When we reached the village Thomas O. was absent. On our return down the road we saw him striding over a low hedge and walking firmly across the field to meet us. On my expressing respectful curiosity about his case, he invited us into his cottage: a small one, but very tidy. He sat down with us at a little table and told his story.
“‘You know, sir,’ O. began, turning to the rector, ‘how dreadful ill I was, and how you found me the last time you called, lying in great pain on a mat before the fire.’ This the rector had already told me. ‘Well, ma'am, the doctors they gave me up. Dr. S. of this parish, and Dr. G. of B. who was called in, said there was no hope for me, and I must prepare myself. Well, I could have laughed at them, for I've been trying to prepare myself nigh these forty years; and I don't fear to go whenever God calls me. But I was thinking of all this one night, a fortnight ago—a Thursday night; and I went over in my mind all the miracles that Christ did when He was on earth: how He cured the blind man; and how, when the woman came to Him about her daughter, He said: “It is not meet to take the children's bread and give it to dogs.” And she said: “Truth, Lord; yet the dogs eat of the crumbs that fall from their master's table.” And Christ said to her: “O woman! great is thy faith.” And I thought what wonderful things faith could do, and then I thought of Naaman, and how he was cured by dipping seven times in Jordan.”
“‘Ay,’ I interrupted, ‘I have dipped seven times in Jordan too.’
“‘Lord bless you, ma'am, did you? Well, I couldn't, you see, because I don't know where Jordan is; but I do know where the spring is in Dead Man's field. You know, sir, where it is—on the top of the hill over the wood.’ (It is a remarkable-looking pool on the summit of a hill, which I had noticed by chance the previous day in my walk. It has never hitherto been supposed to have any healing quality.) ‘And so a Voice said to me, “Go and wash in that spring, and you will be cured.” And I thought and thought about it all night. And then another Voice said, “Don't go; the cold water will do you harm.” And I knew very well whose voice that was. It was the voice of the Devil. He wanted to stop me going. And so I was determined to try to get up the hill. And I tried hard the first day, but I had to turn back: I couldn't get on, I was so bad. And the next day was the same. Oh! I was terrible weak and bad. And the next day my neighbour here’—(the carpenter, I think he said)—‘came in the evening, and brought with him a pair of crutches which he said he had made for me, thinking they would help me to go about the village. And I knew the Lord had put it into his head to make the crutches, to help me to get to the spring; and I was thankful.
“‘Well, next mornin' I says to my missis: “What sort of day is it?” And she says, “It is a very fine day.” And I took my crutches and set off, but I didn't tell her, nor nobody, where I was going. It was terrible hard work to walk all the way, and I often thought I should never get there; but at last I did get up to the side of the spring. And then I took out my handkerchief, and I knelt down upon it, and prayed God to bless the water to me and cure me of my disease, if it was His will. And I washed myself seven times, and I said, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,” and then I knelt down again and thanked God.
“‘Well, when I got up I was like another man. The pain was gone, and I felt ever so much stronger. And I first took up my crutches and carried them home; and from that day to this I have been getting better every day, and have got no pain. And I'm getting fine and strong, and am able to set potatoes and go about a little; and I hope I may get quite well. Anyway I'm very thankful to the Lord for the relier; but I'm ready to live or die as He pleases.’”
| Poems, Ballads and Bucolics | |