The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith :: :: University of Virginia Library

It was the great Elijah in the chariot of heaven,
With the horses of Jehovah, by a mighty angel driven,
And the chariot wheels were rushing 'mid a mist of fiery spray,
Through glory of the night to higher glory of the day.

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It was the great Elijah—but meek and still was he,
For he trembled at the glory which his flesh was soon to see,
Going, girdled in his sackcloth, as the prophets were arrayed,
To the splendour of the Presence where the angels are dismayed.

Unwonted was the honour which his Master would accord
To his true and faithful witness, bravest servant of the Lord;
Yet better had he borne, I trow, the sad, old human way
Of entering by the gates of Death into eternal day.

Aye, better had he borne to turn his face unto the wall,
With his kindred in their kindness gathered round him, one and all,
And to lie down with his fathers in the dust for some brief space;
For the death, he once had dreaded, now appeared a tender grace.

It was the great Elijah; and the form that would dilate
In the presence of King Ahab, and his Councillors of State,
Now bowed its head in lowliness, as if it dared not cope
With the terror of the glory, and the wonder of the hope.

Away from earth they travelled; yet he somehow seemed to know
The road, as if his weary steps had trod it long ago:
And was not that the wilderness to which he once had fled?
And that the lonely juniper where he had wished him dead?

And was not that the cave where he had sat in sullen mood,
Until he heard the “still small voice” that touched his heart with good?
And was not that the road by which from Carmel he had run
Before the chariot of the king about the set of sun?

Yea, God was backward leading him to heaven along the path
Which he had erewhile travelled o'er in fear or grief or wrath,
That by its mingled memories his heart He might prepare
For the grandeur and the glory and the crown he was to wear.

Now, as they drove, careering, with the fire-flakes round the wheels,
And the sparks that rushed like shooting stars from the horses' flashing heels,
Lo! he was aware of a throng of men lay strewn along the road;
And straight at them the angel drave the chariot of God.

“Stay, stay!” then cried Elijah, “rein up the fiery steeds;
They will mangle those poor people lying there like bruised reeds;
See, they stir not; they are sleeping; or their thoughts are far away,
And they do not hear the wheels of God to whom perchance they pray.

“Full oft have I been praying so, and chiding His delay,
And lo! the work was done, or ere my lips had ceased to pray;
For our ears are dull of hearing; stay, and put them not to proof
Beneath the grinding of the wheel, and trampling of the hoof.”

“Nay, it boots not,” said the angel, “they are but the ghosts of #those
Three hundred priests of Baalim who fell beneath thy blows
That glorious day on Carmel; let them perish, as they cry
To the gods that cannot help them when they live, or when they die.

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“Drive on, ye horses of the Lord, across the weltering throng,
It is the great Elijah ye are bearing now along,
Let them see him once again in the triumph of his faith,
And hear the bitter mockery, and taste the bitter death.”

It was the great Elijah, the prophet stern and grand,
Faithful only to Jehovah he in all the faithless land,
Zealous even unto slaughter for the God of Israel
'Gainst Ahab and the minions of the Tyrian Jezebel.

But he answered, “Stay thy running, and let me here descend,
For the Lord has brought me hither surely for this very end:
Ah! this thing I had forgotten—day of glory and of dole—
And I wist not what did ail me, but its weight was on my soul.”

Then he stept down from the chariot, looking oh, so meek and mild,
For the burden of the glory made him humble as a child;
And he lifted up the prostrate head of one and then another,
For the burden of the greatness made him tender as a mother.

“Ye priests of ancient Sidon, and of purple Tyre,” he cried,
“I have heard a still small voice that hushed the storms of wrath and pride,
And God who was not in the fire, and was not in the wind,
Was in the still small voice that spake to the unquiet mind.

“O worshippers of Ashtaroth, and priests of Baalim,
I thought to please Jehovah, and I only grievèd Him;
I flouted you, and mocked you, and I deemed that I did well
When I smote you in the name of Him, the God of Israel.

“But He hath no pleasure in the death of any man that dies,
He delighteth not in blood or smoke of such a sacrifice;
Yea, not a worm is crushed, but the writhings of its pain
Touch a chord of His great pity who made nothing live in vain.

“He had patience with thee, Sidon, and patience I had none;
For the art of Tyre, perchance, He let the sin of Tyre alone,
Something He saw to stay His wrath; but I would nothing see;
Ye were the Priests of Jezebel, and hateful unto me.

“I did not think how hard it is to find the way of truth;
I did not think how hard it is to shake the faith of youth;
Yet, if I was walking in the light, the credit was not mine,
But God's who in His grace to me had made the light to shine.

“If ye were walking in the dark, and I was in the light,
I should have brought its help to you, and plied you with its might;
But I made my heart a flaming fire, my tongue a bitter rod,
And I did not hear the still small voice which is the voice of God.

“I said ye might have right to live in Tyre beside the sea,
But not in high Samaria, or fertile Galilee;
And I smote you there on Carmel, as I thought, by His commands,
But I smote my own heart also when your blood was on my hands.

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“For the strength departed from me as the pity in me died,
And in an unloved loneliness I nursed unhallowed pride;
And I wist there was none faithful on the earth, but only I,
And sat beneath the juniper, and prayed that I might die.

“For Jezebel and Ahab did as they had done before,
And the idols were exalted, and idolaters were more,
And the land was nothing better for the blood that had been shed,
And I sat beneath the juniper, and wished that I were dead.

“Then it was I heard the still small voice, and bowed me to the ground,
Humbled by the gracious burden of the mercy I had found,
But I may not enter into rest, or with the Lord abide,
Till ye humble with your pardon him that smote you in his pride.”

Then, one by one, he bore them gently from the angel's way,
And, one by one, he laid them down, and kissed them where they lay;
And he never was so human as in his meekness then,
And he never was so godlike till he was like other men.

And he said in yearning pity, “Oh that I might die for you,
Hapless souls that are in darkness, and who know not what they do!”
And the tearful eye was swimming, and he heaved a weary sigh;—
He was very near to glory with that great tear in his eye.

And the angel in his chariot sat, and watched him toiling long,
And the angel's face shone radiant, and he broke into a song;
For the choicest songs of angels are the anthems that begin
With the sorrow of a contrite heart a-breaking for its sin.

And ever as the prophet wept, the angel sang more loud,
And his face was shining more, the more the prophet's head was bowed;
Until the task was ended, and the flesh was crucified,
When lo! they were at the gate of heaven, and the door was opened wide.

Lo! they were at the gate of heaven, and there a mighty throng,
Ten thousand times ten thousand, raised their shout, and sang their song,
But the Lord remembered he was flesh, and downcast for his sin,
And Enoch who had walked with God came forth to lead him in.