University of Virginia Library

He left the chamber with its light and love,
And holy fellowship that breathed of heaven
More than of earth, and went into the night,
The dark, deep night; for not as yet the moon
Had risen o'er the slopes of Olivet.
Within his eye there burned a sullen fire,
Wan was his cheek, and on his lips a smile
So bitter it betrayed the hell within;
While on his brow there sat an angry scowl.
The words, as awful as a death-knell, rang
Still in his ears: “Do quickly that thou doest.”
And voices wild and weird came on the air,
And broke for him the silence of the night:
“Woe to the man by whom the Son of Man
Shall be betrayed; good had it been for him
If he had not been born.” And so his soul
Was smitten with strange awe, and rapidly
He hurried through the empty streets, as though
To flee from these dread voices; but in vain!
For ever smote upon his ears the words
Of doom,—“Good had it been for that man, good,—
If he had not been born.” But though a great
Dread shook his soul, not once his purpose failed;
The devil, who had entered his waste heart,
And took possession as its rightful lord,
Now led the willing captive to his doom.
The unhallowed bargain had been struck by which
Jesus should be betrayed unto His foes.
Some chaffering there had been and traffic close
Between the traitor and the Sanhedrim,
But all was settled now. The price arranged
At thirty silver pieces; for the greed
Of gain upon his heart had fed until
It grew a passion strong as death itself;
It mastered him, and swept him fiercely on,
As sweeps the tidal wave the helpless wrack
To shore. And now he hurries through the streets
The deed of infamy to do which shall
His name send down branded for evermore
A synonym for all that's base and foul.
And now his pitying angel, ere he leaves
The wretched man unto himself, will make
One effort more to save him from his doom,
And guides him all unwitting through a street,
Where he shall witness that may touch his heart.
Lo! as with quickened step he hurries on,
His eye is caught by sudden gleam of light,
Which from some torches flashing throws its glare
On group of men at work upon a cross,
Two others lying near already made,
This nearly finish'd. The iron hammer strikes
A hard and ringing sound upon the nails
That clench the transverse beams upon the stem.
He pauses,—looks,—and a great shudder runs
Through all his frame, and shakes him with a spasm
Of quick surprise,—remorse,—and ghastly dread.
Then came into his eyes a sad strange look,
Pathetic in its wildness and its awe.
He half turns back,—irresolute,—infirm,—
Then starts like some arrested felon, who
Is seized red-handed in the act of crime:
The hot blood rushes over cheek and brow,
And helpless wrath looks out from blood-shot eyes.
A bag which in his hands he holds is clasped
More closely to his palpitating heart;
And with one fearful glance at those who wrought,
And at the cross on which they worked in haste,
He hurries on like one close at whose heels
A demon treads,—so rushing to his doom.
The air seem'd fill'd with whisperings strangely sad,
With wailings and lamentings, and with sighs,
As if unfallen spirits mourned to see
A soul that of its own free will chose sin,
And was for ever castaway from God.

A band of men the High Priest promised him,
Who should attend him to the Garden, where
Jesus ofttimes resorted with His friends,
That by their help the prisoner might be ta'en.
When he the barracks gained, there were they all,
A company of soldiers clad in steel,
And armed with swords and staves, prepared and apt
For any deed of blood to which they might
Be called. Many had torches in their hands,
And lanterns; for although the moon was nigh
Full-orbed, the leafy olives threw a shade
Athwart the Garden paths, and Jesus might,
Were He so minded, 'scape their vigilance
And baffle their pursuit. No need there was
Of such a band,—of lighted torch no need,
Or glittering sword, or murderous staff no need;
Jesus stood calm, unmoved. Nay, when He heard
The tramp of hurrying footsteps, and the clang
Of armour, and as the red glare of lamp
Athwart the soft moonlighted pathways fell
Of the grey olive-yard, at once He came,
And fronted all with calm majestic mien.
A sign the traitor gave them, by which mark
They were to know the man they came to seize;
That sign, true friendship's token, was a kiss;
And so when Jesus stood before them all,
He hurried up as though he were a friend,
And with an evil smile cried, “Master, Hail!”
And then upon His worn and wasted cheek,
On which the bloody sweat still stood in drops,
Dared to implant a kiss which hurt the place
It touched. The last complaint of wounded love
Came sadly then upon the traitor's ear;
“Judas, betrayest thou with a kiss the Son
Of Man?” And Peter, with indignant rage,
Careless of odds against him, spake and said,
“Lord, shall we smite them with the sword?” But He,
Standing unarmed in lonely majesty,
Calm and unmoved, the moonlight streaming full
Upon a face majestic, and yet sad
With nameless sorrow, to his captors put
The question, “Whom seek ye?” They answered straight,
“Jesus of Nazareth.” Then came a voice,
Quiet and still as that small voice once heard
By great Elijah in dark Horeb's cave,
And like it full of God, deep as though charged
With thunder, which foreboded coming doom,
And held them awed as though upon their sight
The lightning soon would flash in judgment flames.
“I,—I am He,” it said in solemn tones,
And paralysed the traitor and His foes,
And smote them to the ground. As there they lay
In abject fear, again those searching words,
“Whom seek ye?” And again they answer made,
Recovering slowly from their sudden dread,
“Jesus of Nazareth.” He said again,
“I've told you I am He. If Me ye seek,
Let these men go their way.” Then Simon Peter,
With heart that throbbed with righteous wrath and shame,
Out from the darkness sprang, and drew his sword,
And smote the High Priest's servant, severing
His ear. But Jesus stayed the ill-timed strife.
“Put up thy sword into its sheath; for they
That take the sword shall perish with the sword.
The cup My Father giveth me to drink,
Shall I not drink it? Thinkest thou that I
Cannot unto my Father pray, and that
He presently shall give Me more than twelve
Legions of angels? But how then shall be
Fulfilled the Scriptures that it must be thus?”
Then to the soldiers turning who had hold
Of Him, He said, “Suffer ye thus far, sirs;”
And in one last great act of healing grace
He touched and healed the wound on Malchus' ear.
And as the multitudes came thronging round
From out the shadow of the olive-trees,
And from the Garden's dim and dark recess,
Amongst it priests, and officers, and Scribes,
He turned to them and said, “Be ye come out
As 'gainst a thief with swords and staves? When I
Was with you daily in the Temple, ye
No hand against me then stretched forth. But this,
This your hour is,—the Powers' of darkness too.”
Then at the Tribune's words His hands they bound,
And forming round Him a close guard and strong,
Led Him once more through shadows of the night
Over the Kedron to the High Priest's hall,
Then His disciples all forsook and fled.

But Judas, in his treachery secure,
Followed to see the end, and then beheld
The hasty trials, perjuries, and scorn,
The scourge, the savagery, and cruel hate,
The bleeding back, the twisted crown of thorns,
And heard Him sentenced to the shameful cross.
And all at once came there a sudden flash
Across his soul, in which there leaped to light
The greatness of his crime; and now he saw
With opened eyes the horror and the sin,
The hideous guilt and wickedness, and wrong.
A black gulf opened at his feet. For this
He scarce had reckoned on; until the last
He hoped his Master might escape such doom—
And wherefore not? for might not He whose power
Subdued all nature to His will,—who chained
The winds, and calmed the waves, and healed the sick,
And at whose word the dead had left the bed,
Rose from the bier, and from the sepulchre,
Himself deliver from the enemy,
And go upon His way unhurt, unscathed?
If Jesus were in truth the Son of God,
He could display a superhuman power
And put to utter shame the Sanhedrim,
Confound priest, Pharisee, and Scribe, and prove
To all the lofty majesty of God;
While he would reap his gains, and hold the bribe
For which he sold his Lord, nor did Him harm.
But when this hope was blasted, and he saw
That Jesus was condemned, quick anguish, rage,
And sharp remorse enfixed their horrid fangs
Within his shrinking soul. The traitor stood
Appalled. Then in a frenzy of despair
He hastened to the men who tempted him,
Fooled him, and found him ready dupe and tool;
And when he reached their presence as they sat
In council, dashed the silver pieces down
As though like scorching flame they burnt his hands;
And as they rang upon the Temple floor
He cried: “I've sinned in that I have betrayed
The innocent blood!” Then came the cold reply,
Contemptuous, sneering, like the serpent's hiss,
“What's that to us? See thou to that!” And now
He saw it all,—saw clearly,—blind before!
Fool that he was! A tool, as soon as used
Rejected, cast aside, despised, and scorned!
What was his late repentance unto them?
Their end was gained: his fate—what mattered it?
They laughed, “What's that to us? See thou to that!”
And then they lifted up the price of blood,
The wretched traitor's hire,—took it for use
And purpose of their own, and laughed to scorn
Their tool beguiled, and willingly deceived.
Oh, had he turned though late to Christ instead,
And at his Master's feet himself had thrown
To wash them with his tears, and through these tears
To look upon the face that he had just profaned
With that unhallowed kiss, and prayed for grace,
He had at once and freely been forgiven—
But stone his heart,—unsoftened,—unsubdued.
Then rose before the guilty man a face
All calm and beautiful, reproachful, sad,
And on his quickened ear there thrilled the words:
“Woe to the man by whom the Son of Man
Shall be betrayed: good had it been for him
If he had not been born.” And now,
Maddened, remorseful, filled with bitter rage
Against himself and those who tempted him,
And feeling, too, within his inmost soul
The desolation and the agony
Of one already lost, though not in hell—
One God-forsaken, at whose heart there gnawed
A deathless worm and burnt a quenchless fire,—
He rushed out to a solitary place,
And as the early morn broke over Olivet,
He hanged himself upon a blasted tree
That stood for ages in the Potter's Field.
Thus went the traitor down to his own place!