Seatonian Poems By the Rev. J. M. Neale |
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KING JOSIAH. |
 | Seatonian Poems |  |
227
KING JOSIAH.
1862.
229
Who, with apparel stained of crimson hue,
—Like one that treads the winefat, or as chief
Returning victor from the field of blood—
Comes softly thro' the woodland?—Who but He,
The God of Autumn, guarding plighted troth,
Troth, then first plighted when He stretched the bow
From Ararat to Elbrouz, “while earth lasts,
Seedtime and harvest, day and night, shall be”?—
He speaks the word: and leafy chapels, late
Rich with the music of a thousand songs,
Green shrines, where nightingales from eve till morn
Poured antiphonal joy, and loftier Aisles,
Sweet with the wild doves' gurgling note of love,
Assume the sunset of the year. The elm
Dissolves in golden showers: the maple sends
A flock of red leaves, like the rainbow-birds
Of tropic forests, wandering through the air;
And the brave oak tears off his purpler vest.
“God made not death:” and autumn had no rule
In His first Paradise, nor shall have place
In that, the better Paradise, which One,
On the dim evening of a stormy day,
With dying lips foretold to dying ears,
Saying, “To-day shalt thou be with Me there.”
—Like one that treads the winefat, or as chief
Returning victor from the field of blood—
Comes softly thro' the woodland?—Who but He,
The God of Autumn, guarding plighted troth,
Troth, then first plighted when He stretched the bow
From Ararat to Elbrouz, “while earth lasts,
Seedtime and harvest, day and night, shall be”?—
He speaks the word: and leafy chapels, late
Rich with the music of a thousand songs,
Green shrines, where nightingales from eve till morn
Poured antiphonal joy, and loftier Aisles,
Sweet with the wild doves' gurgling note of love,
230
Dissolves in golden showers: the maple sends
A flock of red leaves, like the rainbow-birds
Of tropic forests, wandering through the air;
And the brave oak tears off his purpler vest.
“God made not death:” and autumn had no rule
In His first Paradise, nor shall have place
In that, the better Paradise, which One,
On the dim evening of a stormy day,
With dying lips foretold to dying ears,
Saying, “To-day shalt thou be with Me there.”
Yes: Autumn is of Earth: and Earth hath too
An Autumn of the nations. Then the sap
Which, in its young wild life, joined land to land,
Turned forests into cities, made the sea
White with a thousand sails, sent lion-hearts
To found new empires, making glad the waste
With woman's love and beauty, children's smiles,
And man's brave honest toil, and all that bids
The sad and solitary land rejoice,
Dies at its very fountain. Then strong arms
Falter and tremble: then strong hearts grow faint:—
And efforts dwarf and dwindle, and the night
Cometh when none can work. So nations' years
Draw to the mournful autumn of their close;
And such an autumn knows no second spring.
An Autumn of the nations. Then the sap
Which, in its young wild life, joined land to land,
Turned forests into cities, made the sea
White with a thousand sails, sent lion-hearts
To found new empires, making glad the waste
With woman's love and beauty, children's smiles,
And man's brave honest toil, and all that bids
The sad and solitary land rejoice,
Dies at its very fountain. Then strong arms
231
And efforts dwarf and dwindle, and the night
Cometh when none can work. So nations' years
Draw to the mournful autumn of their close;
And such an autumn knows no second spring.
So Israel's autumn now; as shortening days,
And rising winds, and gathering clouds, proclaim.
Yet, as in Western forests, ere the snow
Wraps the whole earth in Winter's bridal veil,
Ere nature's pulses cease, ere yet the wolf
Wakes the gaunt echoes of the leafless trees,
The Indian knows of gentler gales,—of flowers
Decked in half-vernal beauty,—knows of skies
Cloudless, or flecked with soft-winged specks, that drop
Their playful shadows where the warm wind breathes,
—And all the more presages that the end,
The dead year's winding-sheet, is therefore nigh:
Or, as when hectic's deadly rose hath burnt
Some maiden cheek,—and kindled up the eye
To deeper beauty, while each waning day
Gives troth more earnest to the last great Foe;
And they, the hopeless watchers, know her lot
No other bridal chamber than the grave:
Perchance, in that last conflict, nature wakes
Her utmost efforts, and, a moment, Life
Winning her last, last field, keeps Death at bay:
Yet not the less, poor Mother, dost thou see
The glazing eye, damp brow, and all that makes
The laying down the flesh so hard, at hand:—
So Israel trod the last steep steps of death.
And rising winds, and gathering clouds, proclaim.
Yet, as in Western forests, ere the snow
Wraps the whole earth in Winter's bridal veil,
Ere nature's pulses cease, ere yet the wolf
Wakes the gaunt echoes of the leafless trees,
The Indian knows of gentler gales,—of flowers
Decked in half-vernal beauty,—knows of skies
Cloudless, or flecked with soft-winged specks, that drop
Their playful shadows where the warm wind breathes,
—And all the more presages that the end,
The dead year's winding-sheet, is therefore nigh:
Or, as when hectic's deadly rose hath burnt
Some maiden cheek,—and kindled up the eye
To deeper beauty, while each waning day
232
And they, the hopeless watchers, know her lot
No other bridal chamber than the grave:
Perchance, in that last conflict, nature wakes
Her utmost efforts, and, a moment, Life
Winning her last, last field, keeps Death at bay:
Yet not the less, poor Mother, dost thou see
The glazing eye, damp brow, and all that makes
The laying down the flesh so hard, at hand:—
So Israel trod the last steep steps of death.
A helpless, hopeless struggle thine, O King,
Last very King of Judah! Yet not less
I deem that chief's a glorious part, who now,
Outnumbered, outmanœuvred, sure of fate,
While arm can strike, or heart can beat, fights on.
Nor less the pilot's, who, when utmost skill
Hath done its part, and done its part in vain,
With mainmast by the board, and bulwarks gone,
And boats swept off, while right ahead, the deep
Churns, on the jaws of some near reef, its foam,
Stands by the helm, and faithful to the last,
Rules the devoted vessel. Them, if not
The meed of man, the Crown of God, awaits.
Last very King of Judah! Yet not less
I deem that chief's a glorious part, who now,
Outnumbered, outmanœuvred, sure of fate,
While arm can strike, or heart can beat, fights on.
Nor less the pilot's, who, when utmost skill
Hath done its part, and done its part in vain,
With mainmast by the board, and bulwarks gone,
And boats swept off, while right ahead, the deep
Churns, on the jaws of some near reef, its foam,
Stands by the helm, and faithful to the last,
233
The meed of man, the Crown of God, awaits.
Wherefore let God's great temple, that dear House
Of Israel's praises, raise its head once more!
Once more with trumpet peal, and gentler lute,
And dulcimer and psaltery, pour the strain
Over the thousand victims! Let the Priests,
The sons of Aaron, in their courses wait:
And choose ye out the Lamb, and strike the blood
On lintel and on doorpost, while the tale
Of Israel's great salvation passes round:
And eat with girded loins, and staff in hand,
And bitter herbs: while orphan lips rehearse
The glories of that Red Sea march, and tell
Of horse and rider thrown into the sea:
And let the great shout rise—“For He is good,
His Mercy is for ever,”—echoed back
From Sion to Mount Olivet, and o'er
The Hill of Evil Counsel. There are ears
Now drinking in this jubilance of praise,
That, pass how short a space! shall hear the roar
Of flame-cones shooting high above those towers;
The wild Chaldean yell,—the groan of death,
The sob of mortal anguish, and the shriek
Of maiden's last despair. And eyes which now
Behold the goodly cohort, that arrayed
In linen vest and ephod, as one man,
Pour from a thousand trumpets God's great praise,—
Those eyes shall see the marble halls enwrapped
In smoke and fire, while streams of molten gold
Run down the glorious pavement, and the air
In far-off vales and palmgroves breathes the scent
Of cedar roofs consuming. But not yet:
While Judah's monarch lives, her life is charmed:
So spake, by woman's voice, the Lord of Hosts:
“Thou shalt be gathered to thy grave in peace,
And shalt not see the evil.” So the Feast
Was Queen of all past Festals:—and the King,
If hopeless of his country's future, still
Goes forth to wreak God's vengeance on the shrines
That thus have wrought her ruin.
Of Israel's praises, raise its head once more!
Once more with trumpet peal, and gentler lute,
And dulcimer and psaltery, pour the strain
Over the thousand victims! Let the Priests,
The sons of Aaron, in their courses wait:
And choose ye out the Lamb, and strike the blood
On lintel and on doorpost, while the tale
Of Israel's great salvation passes round:
And eat with girded loins, and staff in hand,
And bitter herbs: while orphan lips rehearse
The glories of that Red Sea march, and tell
Of horse and rider thrown into the sea:
And let the great shout rise—“For He is good,
His Mercy is for ever,”—echoed back
234
The Hill of Evil Counsel. There are ears
Now drinking in this jubilance of praise,
That, pass how short a space! shall hear the roar
Of flame-cones shooting high above those towers;
The wild Chaldean yell,—the groan of death,
The sob of mortal anguish, and the shriek
Of maiden's last despair. And eyes which now
Behold the goodly cohort, that arrayed
In linen vest and ephod, as one man,
Pour from a thousand trumpets God's great praise,—
Those eyes shall see the marble halls enwrapped
In smoke and fire, while streams of molten gold
Run down the glorious pavement, and the air
In far-off vales and palmgroves breathes the scent
Of cedar roofs consuming. But not yet:
While Judah's monarch lives, her life is charmed:
So spake, by woman's voice, the Lord of Hosts:
“Thou shalt be gathered to thy grave in peace,
And shalt not see the evil.” So the Feast
Was Queen of all past Festals:—and the King,
If hopeless of his country's future, still
235
That thus have wrought her ruin.
Aye, strike on!
Still in thine ear those curses ring,—still glare
Those letters in thine eyes: “If thou shalt turn
To such foul gods of wood and stone, the fear
Of those devoted nations, then accursed
In city art thou, and in field accursed:
Accursed in going out and coming in:
Accursed in basket and in store: Accursed
In fruit of body, and in fruit of land;
In increase of thy kine and of thy sheep:
Then shall the plague, the thing that walks by night,
Stalk through thy dwelling: then consumption seize
The flower of all thine offspring: then the Lord
Shall smite thee with the mildew and the blight,
The blasting, and the burning, and the scab:
Then shall the heaven above thee turn to brass,
The earth beneath be iron. Thou shalt grope
At noonday in the darkness that is felt:
Thou shalt betroth a bride in all her youth
And all her beauty; and her beauty' and youth
Others shall rifle. So shalt thou become
A byeword and a hissing and a curse:
One way shalt thou go forth against thy foes;
Ten ways shalt flee before them.”
Still in thine ear those curses ring,—still glare
Those letters in thine eyes: “If thou shalt turn
To such foul gods of wood and stone, the fear
Of those devoted nations, then accursed
In city art thou, and in field accursed:
Accursed in going out and coming in:
Accursed in basket and in store: Accursed
In fruit of body, and in fruit of land;
In increase of thy kine and of thy sheep:
Then shall the plague, the thing that walks by night,
Stalk through thy dwelling: then consumption seize
The flower of all thine offspring: then the Lord
Shall smite thee with the mildew and the blight,
The blasting, and the burning, and the scab:
Then shall the heaven above thee turn to brass,
The earth beneath be iron. Thou shalt grope
At noonday in the darkness that is felt:
236
And all her beauty; and her beauty' and youth
Others shall rifle. So shalt thou become
A byeword and a hissing and a curse:
One way shalt thou go forth against thy foes;
Ten ways shalt flee before them.”
So he stands
Amid that cypress grove, where autumn suns
Diffuse a mournful splendour: where they lie
Who passed away—I say not, fell asleep—
In worship of the hate of Israel's God.
Amid that cypress grove, where autumn suns
Diffuse a mournful splendour: where they lie
Who passed away—I say not, fell asleep—
In worship of the hate of Israel's God.
—Thou seest yon forest where the great oaks cast
Their broken and fantastic shades athwart
The greensward glades, where, but for them, the sun
Had ploughed his golden furrows on the lea?—
Yes; they have seen, since that great day of wrath,
Four centuries of foliage. Then he came,
The Prophet of the Living God,—he told
God's vengeance on the Altar and the King.
Oh wise for others! madman for himself!
He ventured on the Martyr's path: he saw
The Monarch's hand outstretched: he saw it struck
And palsied in the very act of sin:
Then rose his prayer like incense to the skies,
And so the sin was pardoned. Yet not less
Himself was faithless,—yet not less himself
Obeyed an alien teacher. So he left
A monument to other years of sin
So hardly punished, that, in future days,
God's Prophet may obey the Lord he tells:
God's Seer may be God's Saint.
Their broken and fantastic shades athwart
The greensward glades, where, but for them, the sun
Had ploughed his golden furrows on the lea?—
Yes; they have seen, since that great day of wrath,
Four centuries of foliage. Then he came,
The Prophet of the Living God,—he told
God's vengeance on the Altar and the King.
Oh wise for others! madman for himself!
He ventured on the Martyr's path: he saw
237
And palsied in the very act of sin:
Then rose his prayer like incense to the skies,
And so the sin was pardoned. Yet not less
Himself was faithless,—yet not less himself
Obeyed an alien teacher. So he left
A monument to other years of sin
So hardly punished, that, in future days,
God's Prophet may obey the Lord he tells:
God's Seer may be God's Saint.
Now 'midst the tombs
Under the cypress trees,—those mossy stones
Grey with the lichens of four hundred years,
He rests, rests well at last. “Let him alone:
Let no man move his bones.” The heavy guilt
Hath heavily been punished: he shall now
Stand forth the safeguard of the treacherous friend,
And lured by him to death, preserve in death.
Nor doubt that, by a short rough path, he went
To happier fields: “no lion shall be there;
Nor any evil beast go up thereon.”
And will not all avail? The tears, the prayers,
The rendering back its beauty to God's shrine,
The casting down of idols? Shall not this
Plead for the guilt of many a year of sin?—
No more than all the tears of autumn-dew
Can call back spring's poor flowers: no more than gales
Rich with September-fragrance, can awake
May's fresh green foliage on the forest bough.
“There is a sin to death:” there is a time
When God shuts up the future: leaving there
A certain looking for of fiery wrath.
Woe, woe for him that hangs about the gate,
Which entered, hope departs! And yet despite
Of warning and of mercy, spite of all
That his good Angel, in mysterious way,
Whispers in those dim chambers of the heart,
In spite of utmost danger, man sins on.
Thou, glorious King of Judah, thou shalt save
Thyself before the ruin: thou shalt find
Before the ship goes down, a blessed port:
But Israel's doom was fixed, what time she shed
The blood of all those Martyr-seers, what time
There stood an idol in the house of God:
Some stoned, some sawn asunder, some with sword
Sent to their glory: they of whom the world
Was not found worthy: they who wandered, clad
In sheepskins and in goatskins, far and wide,
Tormented and afflict and destitute:
And chiefly him, the eagle-seer, who soared
So far above things earthly—who proclaimed
“A Virgin shall conceive and bear the Son;”
The Monarch That should reign, but reign by death,
Should be rejected and despised of men,
Afflicted, and deserted, and contemned:
Who saw the goodly Land, to which That King
Should call His followers, in His time, to share
The many mansions of His Father's House.
“The sun shall be no more thy light by day,
Neither for brightness shall the moon,” he cried;
“The Lord shall be Thine everlasting light,
And all thy mourning days have found their end.”
That blood calls still, calls bitterly: the years
Of idol-worship, join their cry to that.
Look backward to the glory of that day,
When gold and gems, and utmost heart conjoined
Built up that glorious temple. Step by step,
Conquest on conquest, loss by loss, it fell.
Under the cypress trees,—those mossy stones
Grey with the lichens of four hundred years,
He rests, rests well at last. “Let him alone:
Let no man move his bones.” The heavy guilt
Hath heavily been punished: he shall now
Stand forth the safeguard of the treacherous friend,
And lured by him to death, preserve in death.
Nor doubt that, by a short rough path, he went
To happier fields: “no lion shall be there;
Nor any evil beast go up thereon.”
238
The rendering back its beauty to God's shrine,
The casting down of idols? Shall not this
Plead for the guilt of many a year of sin?—
No more than all the tears of autumn-dew
Can call back spring's poor flowers: no more than gales
Rich with September-fragrance, can awake
May's fresh green foliage on the forest bough.
“There is a sin to death:” there is a time
When God shuts up the future: leaving there
A certain looking for of fiery wrath.
Woe, woe for him that hangs about the gate,
Which entered, hope departs! And yet despite
Of warning and of mercy, spite of all
That his good Angel, in mysterious way,
Whispers in those dim chambers of the heart,
In spite of utmost danger, man sins on.
Thou, glorious King of Judah, thou shalt save
Thyself before the ruin: thou shalt find
Before the ship goes down, a blessed port:
But Israel's doom was fixed, what time she shed
239
There stood an idol in the house of God:
Some stoned, some sawn asunder, some with sword
Sent to their glory: they of whom the world
Was not found worthy: they who wandered, clad
In sheepskins and in goatskins, far and wide,
Tormented and afflict and destitute:
And chiefly him, the eagle-seer, who soared
So far above things earthly—who proclaimed
“A Virgin shall conceive and bear the Son;”
The Monarch That should reign, but reign by death,
Should be rejected and despised of men,
Afflicted, and deserted, and contemned:
Who saw the goodly Land, to which That King
Should call His followers, in His time, to share
The many mansions of His Father's House.
“The sun shall be no more thy light by day,
Neither for brightness shall the moon,” he cried;
“The Lord shall be Thine everlasting light,
And all thy mourning days have found their end.”
That blood calls still, calls bitterly: the years
240
Look backward to the glory of that day,
When gold and gems, and utmost heart conjoined
Built up that glorious temple. Step by step,
Conquest on conquest, loss by loss, it fell.
Oh manifold oblations—threefold feasts
That drew all Israel, whether Paschal Lamb
Called them—or when they kept the Festal “Weeks,”
Or sojourned under tents! These all must cease;
Must cease—and they shall sit by other streams,
And sing the Lord's song in an alien land.
May they not plead on high?—those glorious Kings,
True both in act and suffering,—from the day
When Zephathah saw Ethiopian hosts
In numbers numberless, o'erwhelmed;—and when,
Far in the wilderness, the rising sun
Turned into crimson every newborn spring;—
And when the Assyrian host, arrayed about
The battlements of Sion, vaunted high
“Where is the King of Eden? where the King
Of Hena and of Ivah? Have their gods
Delivered Judah's people from my hands?”
And when,—oh wonder not on earth alone,
But reaching to the Heavens! the sun went back,
And every planet heard His voice, Who rules
Arcturus and the Pleiades, and girds
Peerless Orion with his golden belt:
And ten degrees were added to the world,
And all its cares and joys and woes;—and when
The Angel of the Lord went out by night,
A gloomy night, when mist enwrapped the earth
As with its funeral pall, and midst the tents
That girded Salem, sent, in one same hour,
One hundred fourscore thousand to their doom:
—May not these Saints now plead on high? Themselves
They have delivered: they have gained the seat
On the right hand of mercy: they shall quaff
The river of His pleasures evermore:
But none can save his brother; none can make
Agreement unto God for him: it cost
More to redeem their souls: and he must needs
Let that alone for ever.
That drew all Israel, whether Paschal Lamb
Called them—or when they kept the Festal “Weeks,”
Or sojourned under tents! These all must cease;
Must cease—and they shall sit by other streams,
And sing the Lord's song in an alien land.
May they not plead on high?—those glorious Kings,
True both in act and suffering,—from the day
When Zephathah saw Ethiopian hosts
In numbers numberless, o'erwhelmed;—and when,
Far in the wilderness, the rising sun
Turned into crimson every newborn spring;—
And when the Assyrian host, arrayed about
The battlements of Sion, vaunted high
“Where is the King of Eden? where the King
Of Hena and of Ivah? Have their gods
241
And when,—oh wonder not on earth alone,
But reaching to the Heavens! the sun went back,
And every planet heard His voice, Who rules
Arcturus and the Pleiades, and girds
Peerless Orion with his golden belt:
And ten degrees were added to the world,
And all its cares and joys and woes;—and when
The Angel of the Lord went out by night,
A gloomy night, when mist enwrapped the earth
As with its funeral pall, and midst the tents
That girded Salem, sent, in one same hour,
One hundred fourscore thousand to their doom:
—May not these Saints now plead on high? Themselves
They have delivered: they have gained the seat
On the right hand of mercy: they shall quaff
The river of His pleasures evermore:
But none can save his brother; none can make
Agreement unto God for him: it cost
More to redeem their souls: and he must needs
Let that alone for ever.
242
Who is this
That, entering from the Northern Gate, rides on
Adown the hill of David? This is he,
Envoy of Israel's ancient foe,—to claim
Freedom of passage over Israel's realm.
O hapless people, own the voice of God!
Hear it, O Son of David! Now the ship
Is driven into the “place where two seas meet:”
On this side and on that the high, high waves
Would dash thy little bark to pieces. Now
Own thou the word of God, albeit proclaimed
From lips unused to speak it. He, who once
Said, “Israel's God I know not, nor will let
The tribes of Israel's God go free,”—he now,
(In generations long adown the line,
The golden line of thousand years,) demands
Like passage here God's children asked for there.
That, entering from the Northern Gate, rides on
Adown the hill of David? This is he,
Envoy of Israel's ancient foe,—to claim
Freedom of passage over Israel's realm.
O hapless people, own the voice of God!
Hear it, O Son of David! Now the ship
Is driven into the “place where two seas meet:”
On this side and on that the high, high waves
Would dash thy little bark to pieces. Now
Own thou the word of God, albeit proclaimed
From lips unused to speak it. He, who once
Said, “Israel's God I know not, nor will let
The tribes of Israel's God go free,”—he now,
(In generations long adown the line,
The golden line of thousand years,) demands
Like passage here God's children asked for there.
Woe! when amidst the darkness of the mine,
Long toiled for, hoped for long, the glorious gem
Gladdens the heart, and flashes on the eyes
Of them whose strong right arms with eager toil
Have delved to gain it—if perchance that gem
Priceless, except one flaw, by that one flaw,
Weighed in the scales, is robbed of half its worth
Thou think'st, O King of Judah! that to thee
And thee alone, God speaks; but know thou this:
God by an alien voice can teach His law
True, as by holiest prophets. Thou wouldst keep
His land by alien footsteps undefiled.
But what if this thy trial? what if this
The lesson that thou, learning, might'st redeem
So many a lesson by thy tribes unlearned?
Oh if thou wouldst but hear him! Oh if now,
Thou, even thou, at least in this thy day,
Wouldst listen to the things that touch thy peace!
—It may not be; the sentence had gone forth:
The sentence then enrolled, what time the cry
Went up from earth to heaven, of all the blood,
The martyr-blood, of them that died for Him,
“Which the Lord would not pardon.”
Long toiled for, hoped for long, the glorious gem
Gladdens the heart, and flashes on the eyes
Of them whose strong right arms with eager toil
243
Priceless, except one flaw, by that one flaw,
Weighed in the scales, is robbed of half its worth
Thou think'st, O King of Judah! that to thee
And thee alone, God speaks; but know thou this:
God by an alien voice can teach His law
True, as by holiest prophets. Thou wouldst keep
His land by alien footsteps undefiled.
But what if this thy trial? what if this
The lesson that thou, learning, might'st redeem
So many a lesson by thy tribes unlearned?
Oh if thou wouldst but hear him! Oh if now,
Thou, even thou, at least in this thy day,
Wouldst listen to the things that touch thy peace!
—It may not be; the sentence had gone forth:
The sentence then enrolled, what time the cry
Went up from earth to heaven, of all the blood,
The martyr-blood, of them that died for Him,
“Which the Lord would not pardon.”
Go then forth,
Go, King of Judah, battle with thy God!
Thou, who so long hast fought the glorious fight,
Run the true race so long, and kept the faith,—
And must thou turn astray at last? He speaks—
Hear it, or hear it not,—from God's Own Mouth.
Go, King of Judah, battle with thy God!
244
Run the true race so long, and kept the faith,—
And must thou turn astray at last? He speaks—
Hear it, or hear it not,—from God's Own Mouth.
O fearful balance! Israel's scales are poised;
Their sins on this side, God's dear love on that:
And tekel is the verdict.
Their sins on this side, God's dear love on that:
And tekel is the verdict.
Therefore now,
God's Own elected Jewel, to the fight!
Thou shalt be His when He makes up His own,
Safe in the golden shrine wherein the true
And brave ones are His own predestinate:
But dream thou not of earthly victories won;
Of Alleluias which shall echo back
From every hill round Salem. Thou hast once
Offered the holiest Passover of all;
Now shalt thou be the victim. Forth he went
In his own strength, O Sion, to the fight:
Now he returns in other guise: the hand
That held so late the royal sceptre, touched
And withered by the grave. Now God's Own House
Hath seen its latest glories. Triumph now,
O Judah's earliest, Judah's latest Foe!
This is the last of reckonings up: this hour
Takes the long line of Judah's ancient kings,
Weighs in the balances, and finds them fail.
God's Own elected Jewel, to the fight!
Thou shalt be His when He makes up His own,
Safe in the golden shrine wherein the true
And brave ones are His own predestinate:
But dream thou not of earthly victories won;
Of Alleluias which shall echo back
From every hill round Salem. Thou hast once
Offered the holiest Passover of all;
Now shalt thou be the victim. Forth he went
In his own strength, O Sion, to the fight:
Now he returns in other guise: the hand
That held so late the royal sceptre, touched
And withered by the grave. Now God's Own House
245
O Judah's earliest, Judah's latest Foe!
This is the last of reckonings up: this hour
Takes the long line of Judah's ancient kings,
Weighs in the balances, and finds them fail.
Woe, woe for these! Joy, joy for him! For them
That struggle still amidst the storm, that yet
Strive hard amidst the battle, almost whelmed
Amidst the peril of its eddies, woe!
Woe to the men that shall behold the house,—
“The beautiful and holy house,” enwrapped
In Babylonian fire!
That struggle still amidst the storm, that yet
Strive hard amidst the battle, almost whelmed
Amidst the peril of its eddies, woe!
Woe to the men that shall behold the house,—
“The beautiful and holy house,” enwrapped
In Babylonian fire!
But joy to him,
So early called to fight, so soon to peace!
Who would not gladly gird his armour on,
If, wearing it a moment, he might hang
That armour forthwith in the hall of Rest?
The fight he fought, the toils he bore, are ours;
Like his, our idols also; hand to hand
With them our warfare; only now no more
The battle-field is visible: 'tis deep
In the recesses of the inmost heart;
“The good I would I do not”—there the strife—
“The evil that I would not that I do.”
So early called to fight, so soon to peace!
Who would not gladly gird his armour on,
If, wearing it a moment, he might hang
That armour forthwith in the hall of Rest?
The fight he fought, the toils he bore, are ours;
Like his, our idols also; hand to hand
With them our warfare; only now no more
The battle-field is visible: 'tis deep
246
“The good I would I do not”—there the strife—
“The evil that I would not that I do.”
And Judah's Monarch won the truer crown;
But won it by his death. And how shall we,
God's own elected Israel, triumph now,
Till when, in that last battle with the Foe,
Egypt then crushed for ever, we shall fall?
But won it by his death. And how shall we,
God's own elected Israel, triumph now,
Till when, in that last battle with the Foe,
Egypt then crushed for ever, we shall fall?
| Seatonian Poems | |