Lazarus And other Poems By E. H. Plumptre. Fourth Edition |
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| THE HOUSE OF THE RECHABITES. |
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 | Lazarus And other Poems |  |
97
THE HOUSE OF THE RECHABITES.
I. JEHONADAB.
“And when Jehu was departed thence, he lighted on Jehonadab the son of
Rechab coming to meet him: and he saluted him, and said to him, Is thine
heart right, as my heart is with thy heart?”
—2 Kings x. 15.
The shadows fall: before mine eyes there floats
The thick, black darkness. Ere my voice is hushed,
I fain would see you gather round my tent,
And speak my parting counsels. Ye, my sons,
The glory of the spring-tide of my years,
Warriors of God, whom I have watched in youth
Outrun the wild goat to the topmost crag,
Plunge into Jordan when the harvest flood
O'erflows its banks, and, battling with the stream,
Rise up victorious on the further shore,
Whose faces, scarred and seamed in many a fight,
Showed noblest hearts, all ignorant of fear;
And ye, who not by bonds of natural birth,
But sworn obedience, one in life and heart,
98
As sons of Rechab; come ye, one and all,
Men, women, children, hear the words of one
Who speaks as God has taught him. Through the years
Those words shall dwell with you for weal or woe,
Blessing or cursing. On your heads the vow
Shall rest for ever. Not for you the life
Of sloth and ease within the city's gates,
Where idol-feasts are held, and incense smokes
To Baalim and Ashtaroth; where man
Loses his manhood, and the scoffers sit
Perverting judgment, selfish, soft, impure:
Not yours the task of those that sow and reap,
Or plant the olive and the vine. Ye dwell,
Free as, of old, your fathers roamed the lands,
When Joshua led their hosts, and, Canaan won,
Gave them their lot in Israel. Still ye wend
From hill to hill, with camels and with sheep,
Asses and oxen, and your tents are seen
Outspread upon the pleasant Gilead land,
Blackened, yet comely. And the Nazarite's oath
Is still upon you. Not for you the cup
That sparkles with the crimson blood of grapes:
The wine that glads the heart of man and God
Ye may not taste. The wild, entrancing thrill
That stirs the veins with pulse of warm desire,
And swells the voice of song, and bids the feet
99
Leave this to lower natures. Ye have seen
The poison at its work, have watched the soul
Lose calmness, strength, and wisdom, rising high
To sink down low, all brutish, in the abyss
Where man forgets his God. But ye, the true,
The faithful, bound, as servants of the Lord,
With heart and strength to serve Him, stand ye fast,
Nor cloud your spirits with the fleshly taint,
Nor join in revel at the idol-feasts,
Nor turn your backs in craven fear of death.
Dark were the days when first within my soul
The stirrings of a message from the Lord
Woke, half-unfelt. The house of Omri trod
Its evil path, and Ahab's alien queen,
Priestess of Baal, swore to crush our faith.
The prophets of Jehovah died their death,
Or stoned, or sawn asunder, or in caves
By tens and fifties hid themselves for fear;
And Baal's altars smoked on every height,
And Baal's black-robed priests in every town
Took tithes and offerings; and by moonlight pale,
In shadowy groves, to Ashtaroth their queen,
Fair maidens danced adoring. Then the drought
Fell on us, and the famine; and the sky
Glared on us like a molten heaven of brass;
And the earth gaped for weariness and thirst;
And parchèd lips cursed God for pain of heart.
The stirrings of a message from the Lord
Woke, half-unfelt. The house of Omri trod
Its evil path, and Ahab's alien queen,
Priestess of Baal, swore to crush our faith.
The prophets of Jehovah died their death,
Or stoned, or sawn asunder, or in caves
By tens and fifties hid themselves for fear;
And Baal's altars smoked on every height,
And Baal's black-robed priests in every town
Took tithes and offerings; and by moonlight pale,
In shadowy groves, to Ashtaroth their queen,
Fair maidens danced adoring. Then the drought
Fell on us, and the famine; and the sky
Glared on us like a molten heaven of brass;
100
And parchèd lips cursed God for pain of heart.
And then the Tishbite came. His long, black hair
Flowed round him like a mantle, and he stood
On Carmel's height, and all day long the priests
Called on their god, and cut themselves with knives,
And poured their blood, and raised their cries in vain.
But when he prayed, as sank the westering sun,
The fire descended, and the wondering crowd
No longer halted, wavering between two,
Baal or Jehovah. Quivering, pale, dismayed,
Faint with the sickness of a hope deferred,
The priests and prophets of the stranger god
Were seized and slaughtered; and the torrent's bed,
Where water long had failed, now filled with blood,
Ran crimson to the sea. And then the cloud
Rose in the west, a speck of blackness, small
As is this hand, yet spreading fast and far,
With sound of many waters, and the rush
Of darkening tempest; and the glad showers fell,
And earth revived, and all the streamlets sang,
With joyful voices, and the mightier floods
Swept on and on exulting.
Flowed round him like a mantle, and he stood
On Carmel's height, and all day long the priests
Called on their god, and cut themselves with knives,
And poured their blood, and raised their cries in vain.
But when he prayed, as sank the westering sun,
The fire descended, and the wondering crowd
No longer halted, wavering between two,
Baal or Jehovah. Quivering, pale, dismayed,
Faint with the sickness of a hope deferred,
The priests and prophets of the stranger god
Were seized and slaughtered; and the torrent's bed,
Where water long had failed, now filled with blood,
Ran crimson to the sea. And then the cloud
Rose in the west, a speck of blackness, small
As is this hand, yet spreading fast and far,
With sound of many waters, and the rush
Of darkening tempest; and the glad showers fell,
And earth revived, and all the streamlets sang,
With joyful voices, and the mightier floods
Swept on and on exulting.
Yet awhile
Deliverance came not. Still the foul disease
Remained, unhealed; and Ahab's evil ways
Cried to the Heavens for vengeance. Faint and sad,
Weary of life, as one who stands alone,
The last survivor of a fallen faith,
Elijah fled to Horeb. None may know
The mystery of that vision on the mount,
The fire, the earthquake, and the whirlwind; last,
The still small voice. And soon the vengeance fell
On Ahab and his house. We heard afar
The deed of wrong, the tyrant's fond desire,
The vineyard seized, and Naboth foully slain,
The last, great guilt that filled the o'erflowing cup;
And then it came. The chance-drawn bow smote down
The coward king who sought to 'scape disguised,
And dogs licked up his blood in Jezreel.
Of all the prophet's words none fell to earth
Fruitless and vain, and though his course was run,
And soon he left us, in the fiery car
Mounting to brighter skies of Paradise,
Himself an army, stay of all our hopes,
The chariot and the horseman of our strength,
Our father and our guide, the years fulfilled
Each slighted warning. Shame, disgrace, and death
Poured down in quick succession, and our hearts
Rejoiced to think deliverance near at hand.
But most I joy to live those hours again,
When Nimshi's son had wrought his deed of doom,
And Ahab's sons, and queenly Jezebel,
Lay low in dust. All flushed with pride and zeal,
He met us in his chariot. I was there
With you, my sons, and over all the hills
Our tents were scattered, and our myriad sheep
Came to their shearing, and our warriors tried
Made up an army. And the new-made king
Knew how to use us. Israel's king, I say,
In all the pride of conquest, sought to clasp
My hand in friendship, though of alien blood,
And half of alien creed (for Jehu still
Bowed down before the golden calves that stood
In Bethel and in Dan); and now, behold,
We rode together, I, the Kenite chief,
And he, the king. And over all the land
Went forth the summons, “Come, ye priests, that serve
At Baal's altars. Come ye, all who bow
At Baal's shrine. The king will hold a feast,
And offer up a mightier sacrifice
Than Ahab ever dreamt of.” So they came,
From East and West, the false apostate crew,
From North and South, all striving, eager, hot,
To be among the foremost. In they streamed,
In garments dyed with purple, such as come
From Tyrian looms; and soon the Temple-gates
Closed in upon the thronging, weltering crowd;
And then our moment came. I gave the sign,
And ye, your bright swords flashing in the air,
Went in to do your work. Not hand to hand,
In equal fight, not struggling hard for life,
But helpless, powerless, taken in the snare,
Ye found your victims, and with firm, fixed eye,
And hands unflinching till the wearied arm
Refused its office, slew, and slew, and slew
Your startled, trembling foes. The red sun fell
On that red stream that gurgled past the walls,
And over pallid faces threw its gleam
Of ghastly brightness. Ah, my soul leaps up
At that remembrance. Not a whit behind
That sacrifice on Carmel, which I saw,
Was this my hands had wrought. We crushed the snake
Our master bruised. Remember, O my God,
That slaughter of Thy foes. A whisper runs
(I know it) that some dreamer in his cell,
Who counts himself a prophet, has condemned
That deed of vengeance. Let him dream his dreams
Of pitying love, and talk of curses dark
That rest upon that day of Jezreel,
And claim fulfilment. New and strange to me
Such thoughts as these. My soul was early trained
To smite and slay the haters of my God,
To use or tongue, or hand, or sword, or stone,
As each was fittest. Who will blame my deed,
And spare Elijah's? And if aught of wrong
Have mixed itself with either, Thou, O God,
Wilt pardon it as over-eager zeal.
The willing slave who does his lord's behest,
O'erstepping, here or there, the bounds of right,
In very strength of love which hates the foes
His Lord condemns, may claim the guerdon high
Of faithful service. Thou, my King, my God,
Wilt own Thy servant, and my name shall live
As lives the name of Jehu, through the years,
Linked with that day of Jezreel. Ye, my sons,
Shall make that name immortal. Still your flocks
Shall feed on Gilead's hills, and in your tents
Ye and your sons shall dwell, and shall not taste
The purpling draught that maddens all the sense,
And numbs the soul; but still your food shall be
The curdled goat's milk, and the golden store
That drops, all fragrant, from the flinty rock,
And water clear and cool shall quench your thirst;
And so your days shall lengthen in the land,
As mine have lengthened. Now I go my way
I know not whither, but my sleep is sweet,
Sweet as the night to him who all day long
Has chased the hart upon the mountain height;
And I pass on to where my fathers dwell,
Each in his rock-hewn couch; and I shall see
The prophets I have known, and they, I think,
Will give me welcome, and a change will come
O'er sense and spirit making all things clear:
And there, it may be, I shall see once more
The great Elijah, whom the fiery car
Bore from us, and shall greet him, as of old,
“My father, O my father, we thy sons,
Sons of the chariot of our Israel's strength,
Still hold thy name in honour, do thy deeds,
And live thy life.” And then from out the clouds
His voice may answer, even as Jehu's did,
“Give me thine hand.” And I, who rode of yore
In Jehu's chariot, mounting higher yet
To greater glory, side by side may stand
(The angels round me, and the steeds of fire
Through golden clouds advancing to the Throne)
With him, the mightiest seer, till I, too, see
The King in all His beauty, and my voice
Joins in the shout of all the sons of God.
Deliverance came not. Still the foul disease
Remained, unhealed; and Ahab's evil ways
101
Weary of life, as one who stands alone,
The last survivor of a fallen faith,
Elijah fled to Horeb. None may know
The mystery of that vision on the mount,
The fire, the earthquake, and the whirlwind; last,
The still small voice. And soon the vengeance fell
On Ahab and his house. We heard afar
The deed of wrong, the tyrant's fond desire,
The vineyard seized, and Naboth foully slain,
The last, great guilt that filled the o'erflowing cup;
And then it came. The chance-drawn bow smote down
The coward king who sought to 'scape disguised,
And dogs licked up his blood in Jezreel.
Of all the prophet's words none fell to earth
Fruitless and vain, and though his course was run,
And soon he left us, in the fiery car
Mounting to brighter skies of Paradise,
Himself an army, stay of all our hopes,
The chariot and the horseman of our strength,
Our father and our guide, the years fulfilled
Each slighted warning. Shame, disgrace, and death
Poured down in quick succession, and our hearts
Rejoiced to think deliverance near at hand.
But most I joy to live those hours again,
When Nimshi's son had wrought his deed of doom,
102
Lay low in dust. All flushed with pride and zeal,
He met us in his chariot. I was there
With you, my sons, and over all the hills
Our tents were scattered, and our myriad sheep
Came to their shearing, and our warriors tried
Made up an army. And the new-made king
Knew how to use us. Israel's king, I say,
In all the pride of conquest, sought to clasp
My hand in friendship, though of alien blood,
And half of alien creed (for Jehu still
Bowed down before the golden calves that stood
In Bethel and in Dan); and now, behold,
We rode together, I, the Kenite chief,
And he, the king. And over all the land
Went forth the summons, “Come, ye priests, that serve
At Baal's altars. Come ye, all who bow
At Baal's shrine. The king will hold a feast,
And offer up a mightier sacrifice
Than Ahab ever dreamt of.” So they came,
From East and West, the false apostate crew,
From North and South, all striving, eager, hot,
To be among the foremost. In they streamed,
In garments dyed with purple, such as come
From Tyrian looms; and soon the Temple-gates
Closed in upon the thronging, weltering crowd;
And then our moment came. I gave the sign,
103
Went in to do your work. Not hand to hand,
In equal fight, not struggling hard for life,
But helpless, powerless, taken in the snare,
Ye found your victims, and with firm, fixed eye,
And hands unflinching till the wearied arm
Refused its office, slew, and slew, and slew
Your startled, trembling foes. The red sun fell
On that red stream that gurgled past the walls,
And over pallid faces threw its gleam
Of ghastly brightness. Ah, my soul leaps up
At that remembrance. Not a whit behind
That sacrifice on Carmel, which I saw,
Was this my hands had wrought. We crushed the snake
Our master bruised. Remember, O my God,
That slaughter of Thy foes. A whisper runs
(I know it) that some dreamer in his cell,
Who counts himself a prophet, has condemned
That deed of vengeance. Let him dream his dreams
Of pitying love, and talk of curses dark
That rest upon that day of Jezreel,
And claim fulfilment. New and strange to me
Such thoughts as these. My soul was early trained
To smite and slay the haters of my God,
To use or tongue, or hand, or sword, or stone,
As each was fittest. Who will blame my deed,
104
Have mixed itself with either, Thou, O God,
Wilt pardon it as over-eager zeal.
The willing slave who does his lord's behest,
O'erstepping, here or there, the bounds of right,
In very strength of love which hates the foes
His Lord condemns, may claim the guerdon high
Of faithful service. Thou, my King, my God,
Wilt own Thy servant, and my name shall live
As lives the name of Jehu, through the years,
Linked with that day of Jezreel. Ye, my sons,
Shall make that name immortal. Still your flocks
Shall feed on Gilead's hills, and in your tents
Ye and your sons shall dwell, and shall not taste
The purpling draught that maddens all the sense,
And numbs the soul; but still your food shall be
The curdled goat's milk, and the golden store
That drops, all fragrant, from the flinty rock,
And water clear and cool shall quench your thirst;
And so your days shall lengthen in the land,
As mine have lengthened. Now I go my way
I know not whither, but my sleep is sweet,
Sweet as the night to him who all day long
Has chased the hart upon the mountain height;
And I pass on to where my fathers dwell,
Each in his rock-hewn couch; and I shall see
The prophets I have known, and they, I think,
Will give me welcome, and a change will come
105
And there, it may be, I shall see once more
The great Elijah, whom the fiery car
Bore from us, and shall greet him, as of old,
“My father, O my father, we thy sons,
Sons of the chariot of our Israel's strength,
Still hold thy name in honour, do thy deeds,
And live thy life.” And then from out the clouds
His voice may answer, even as Jehu's did,
“Give me thine hand.” And I, who rode of yore
In Jehu's chariot, mounting higher yet
To greater glory, side by side may stand
(The angels round me, and the steeds of fire
Through golden clouds advancing to the Throne)
With him, the mightiest seer, till I, too, see
The King in all His beauty, and my voice
Joins in the shout of all the sons of God.
September, 1864.
106
II. JAAZANIAH.
“Then I took Jaazaniah the son of Jeremiah, the son of Habaziniah, and
his brethren, and all his sons, and the whole house of the Rechabites, and I
brought them into the house of the Lord.”
—Jerem. xxxv. 3.
It is not that our hearts have waxen faint,
Or wills grown false. We blush not to confess
Our father's name, and still the vows we keep
By which he bound us. But the times were hard;
The great King's armies ravaged all the land,
Bitter and hasty, mad with lust and rage,
And all our flocks and herds they tore away,
Nor spared or infant smiling at the breast,
Or hoary-headed age. And so we dwell
Within the city's walls, who, long years past,
Ne'er slept beneath a roof, but still in tents
Lived as our fathers lived. We loathe the change:
The bright, keen air that swept the uplands wild,
Sweet with the fragrance of the fields of God,
We breathe no more; but, stifling, dense, and thick,
Charged with the taint of pestilence and death,
Foul as the draught-house which, of olden time,
Reared its proud height exulting, as a shrine
Where Baal sat enthroned, which he, our sire,
The son of Rechab, stript of all its pride,
The city's vapours choke us. And our garb,
Our speech, our customs, all are put to shame;
The revellers and the drunkards make their songs
Because we feast not with them, and they tempt
Our purer youth to stain their souls with sin;
And, in the twilight, where the cross-ways meet,
The harlot-stranger greets them with her wiles,
And lures them to the chambers of the dead;
And so the cry goes up, as once it went
From Admah and Zeboim, and the cup
Fills evermore, till soon the wrath of God
Shall overflow in fury. Base and foul
This life of cities: now we see and know
The wisdom of the oath that bade us shun
And hate it evermore.
Or wills grown false. We blush not to confess
Our father's name, and still the vows we keep
By which he bound us. But the times were hard;
The great King's armies ravaged all the land,
Bitter and hasty, mad with lust and rage,
And all our flocks and herds they tore away,
Nor spared or infant smiling at the breast,
Or hoary-headed age. And so we dwell
Within the city's walls, who, long years past,
Ne'er slept beneath a roof, but still in tents
Lived as our fathers lived. We loathe the change:
The bright, keen air that swept the uplands wild,
Sweet with the fragrance of the fields of God,
We breathe no more; but, stifling, dense, and thick,
Charged with the taint of pestilence and death,
107
Reared its proud height exulting, as a shrine
Where Baal sat enthroned, which he, our sire,
The son of Rechab, stript of all its pride,
The city's vapours choke us. And our garb,
Our speech, our customs, all are put to shame;
The revellers and the drunkards make their songs
Because we feast not with them, and they tempt
Our purer youth to stain their souls with sin;
And, in the twilight, where the cross-ways meet,
The harlot-stranger greets them with her wiles,
And lures them to the chambers of the dead;
And so the cry goes up, as once it went
From Admah and Zeboim, and the cup
Fills evermore, till soon the wrath of God
Shall overflow in fury. Base and foul
This life of cities: now we see and know
The wisdom of the oath that bade us shun
And hate it evermore.
And yet we found
E'en there a remnant, faithful friends and true,
Servants of God, and all our hearts leapt up,
When through the Temple's gates, and stately courts,
We passed adoring. Not till then our eyes
Had looked on that full splendour, nor our ears
Heard the clear trumpets which the priests of God
Blow loud and long, or that great shout of praise,
When Hallelujah from the white-robed choir
Rises on high, and thousand voices chant,
Re-echoing Hallelujah, wave on wave,
The sound of many waters. All our days
Till now, when Sabbaths bade us rest from toil,
Or new-moon feast filled every soul with joy,
We gathered here or there, in tent or grove,
Where'er a prophet met us; and we prayed,
And he declared his message, and we heard,
And so we went our way. But now we tread
The courts of God, which He of old chose out
To set His Name there; and the cedarn roof,
Fretted and bossed with gold of Ophir, carved
With all the workman's cunning, wins our gaze.
Here, where great David's greater son stood up,
And prayed his prayer; where, bright and lustrous, shone
The glory of the Presence, sapphire gleams
And amber brightness, blent with orient rays
Of amethyst and emerald; here to kneel,
And watch the thousand pilgrims as they pass,
And see the sheep and oxen, flocks and herds,
Driven to the altars,—this is joy, indeed;
And fain our steps would tread the hallowed way,
And fain our voice would swell the surging praise,
And rather would we stay to keep the doors,
And sweep the pavement of the House of God,
Than dwell where all the proud ones in their tents
Exult in conquest.
E'en there a remnant, faithful friends and true,
Servants of God, and all our hearts leapt up,
When through the Temple's gates, and stately courts,
We passed adoring. Not till then our eyes
Had looked on that full splendour, nor our ears
Heard the clear trumpets which the priests of God
Blow loud and long, or that great shout of praise,
When Hallelujah from the white-robed choir
108
Re-echoing Hallelujah, wave on wave,
The sound of many waters. All our days
Till now, when Sabbaths bade us rest from toil,
Or new-moon feast filled every soul with joy,
We gathered here or there, in tent or grove,
Where'er a prophet met us; and we prayed,
And he declared his message, and we heard,
And so we went our way. But now we tread
The courts of God, which He of old chose out
To set His Name there; and the cedarn roof,
Fretted and bossed with gold of Ophir, carved
With all the workman's cunning, wins our gaze.
Here, where great David's greater son stood up,
And prayed his prayer; where, bright and lustrous, shone
The glory of the Presence, sapphire gleams
And amber brightness, blent with orient rays
Of amethyst and emerald; here to kneel,
And watch the thousand pilgrims as they pass,
And see the sheep and oxen, flocks and herds,
Driven to the altars,—this is joy, indeed;
And fain our steps would tread the hallowed way,
And fain our voice would swell the surging praise,
And rather would we stay to keep the doors,
And sweep the pavement of the House of God,
Than dwell where all the proud ones in their tents
Exult in conquest.
109
Not in vain that wish:
They welcomed us, the prophets and the priests,
As friends and brothers, and with open hearts
Gave all we needed. Chief among them all,
Stood forth the pale, sad seer of Anathoth,
The man of many woes, whose gleaming eyes
Told of a fire still burning, and whose lips
Now slow and feeble, now of mightiest speech,
Make known the thoughts of God. He owned in us
A kindred life, for he, too, dwelt apart,
An exile from his own, and would not tread
The house of feasting; and at him they scoffed
Who scoffed at us, and evermore they cried,
“Lo! the mad prophet: hear him rave again.”
They welcomed us, the prophets and the priests,
As friends and brothers, and with open hearts
Gave all we needed. Chief among them all,
Stood forth the pale, sad seer of Anathoth,
The man of many woes, whose gleaming eyes
Told of a fire still burning, and whose lips
Now slow and feeble, now of mightiest speech,
Make known the thoughts of God. He owned in us
A kindred life, for he, too, dwelt apart,
An exile from his own, and would not tread
The house of feasting; and at him they scoffed
Who scoffed at us, and evermore they cried,
“Lo! the mad prophet: hear him rave again.”
One morn he came to us. The prophet's hour
Was on him; not with common speech, or mien
Of wonted calmness, but in heat of soul,
With clear, fixed eye, and voice that whispered low,
As one on whom the hand of God weighs hard,
He spake his will, and bade me follow him
With all my father's house. Through gate and court
He led the way to where the eastern tower
Looks down on Kidron. There the chamber stands
Where Hanan's followers gather up the words
Their Master speaks, and there he bade us stay;
And then from out the treasure of the House
He brought the golden goblets chased of old
By Hiram's workmen (such as 'scaped the spoil
When Shishak plundered), crusted thick with gems,
Embossed and graven. Wine he brought, the best
That Eshcol's vineyards boast of, sweet and bright,
And, pouring, bade us drink. Yes, he, the seer,
The prophet of the Lord, stood forth to tempt,
As Satan tempts. To break the vows of God,
To do dishonour to our father's name,
To taste the cup those dying lips had cursed;—
To this he called us. Wondering eyes we turned,
All startled at the suddenness of change,
But yield we might not. No, nor prophet's voice,
Nor angel's message floating through the air,
Nor lengthened skill and subtlety of speech
Might bend us from our purpose. So we told
Our simple tale. “The oath of God was strong,
Stronger than all things else. Our souls were bound
To keep our father's hest. Stern need alone
Had driven us from our tents, but all the rest
We still obeyed.” “Oh, ask us not to taste,
Thou prophet of the Lord, lest we too fall
Beneath the curse.”
Was on him; not with common speech, or mien
Of wonted calmness, but in heat of soul,
With clear, fixed eye, and voice that whispered low,
As one on whom the hand of God weighs hard,
He spake his will, and bade me follow him
With all my father's house. Through gate and court
He led the way to where the eastern tower
Looks down on Kidron. There the chamber stands
Where Hanan's followers gather up the words
Their Master speaks, and there he bade us stay;
110
He brought the golden goblets chased of old
By Hiram's workmen (such as 'scaped the spoil
When Shishak plundered), crusted thick with gems,
Embossed and graven. Wine he brought, the best
That Eshcol's vineyards boast of, sweet and bright,
And, pouring, bade us drink. Yes, he, the seer,
The prophet of the Lord, stood forth to tempt,
As Satan tempts. To break the vows of God,
To do dishonour to our father's name,
To taste the cup those dying lips had cursed;—
To this he called us. Wondering eyes we turned,
All startled at the suddenness of change,
But yield we might not. No, nor prophet's voice,
Nor angel's message floating through the air,
Nor lengthened skill and subtlety of speech
Might bend us from our purpose. So we told
Our simple tale. “The oath of God was strong,
Stronger than all things else. Our souls were bound
To keep our father's hest. Stern need alone
Had driven us from our tents, but all the rest
We still obeyed.” “Oh, ask us not to taste,
Thou prophet of the Lord, lest we too fall
Beneath the curse.”
And then the mystery cleared;
Not luring us to sin, but trusting well
Our strong obedience, he would find in us
A pattern unto Israel. We had kept
Our father's word, but Judah had been false,
And Israel frail. In vain the Lord had sent
His prophets, rising early; and in vain
Had pleaded with His children. Therefore came
On us the blessing, and on them the doom:
For them a city captured, homes destroyed,
A life of exile; and for us the praise
Which God, not man, awards to faithful souls,
A name to live through all the age to come;
Yea, more than all, beyond our hope or dream,
The words went forth that met our heart's desire;—
“The son of Rechab shall not want a man
To stand before my face for evermore.”
As stand the sons of Aaron when, in robes
Of linen white and clean, they tread the courts,
Or wave the incense,—as the Levites stand,
Choir facing choir, and chant their hymns at night,
Through the still darkness breathing praise to God,
To cheer the watchman on his lonely round,
The soldier on his turret; so shall we
Dwell, night and day, within the holy house
Which God has called his own: our lips shall bring
Their daily offering, and our hands shall sweep
The strings of harp or psaltery. Pure and cleansed,
The chosen band of Nazarites shall own
Our tried endurance. In the months to come,
Or few, or many, we shall find our home,
As finds the swallow, in the courts of God.
Not luring us to sin, but trusting well
Our strong obedience, he would find in us
111
Our father's word, but Judah had been false,
And Israel frail. In vain the Lord had sent
His prophets, rising early; and in vain
Had pleaded with His children. Therefore came
On us the blessing, and on them the doom:
For them a city captured, homes destroyed,
A life of exile; and for us the praise
Which God, not man, awards to faithful souls,
A name to live through all the age to come;
Yea, more than all, beyond our hope or dream,
The words went forth that met our heart's desire;—
“The son of Rechab shall not want a man
To stand before my face for evermore.”
As stand the sons of Aaron when, in robes
Of linen white and clean, they tread the courts,
Or wave the incense,—as the Levites stand,
Choir facing choir, and chant their hymns at night,
Through the still darkness breathing praise to God,
To cheer the watchman on his lonely round,
The soldier on his turret; so shall we
Dwell, night and day, within the holy house
Which God has called his own: our lips shall bring
Their daily offering, and our hands shall sweep
The strings of harp or psaltery. Pure and cleansed,
The chosen band of Nazarites shall own
Our tried endurance. In the months to come,
112
As finds the swallow, in the courts of God.
And if the days are dark, and doom of woe
Hangs o'er us; if the dread Chaldæan scourge
Shall sweep the land and leave it desolate;
If cedar beams and carvèd roof shall burn,
And columns lie, all shattered, in the dust;
And golden vessels serve for idol-feasts,
And all the music of the choirs be hushed,
And groans and curses rend the startled air;—
If, exiles wandering on Euphrates' banks,
We hang our harps upon the pale, grey trees,
Whose weeping branches plash the wide, waste flood,
And, when they bid us, in their mirth and pride,
Sing at their feasts the chief of Zion's songs,
Make answer, “How in this strange land and drear
Can hallowed songs, the hymns of God, be ours?”
And then in speech they know not, breathe our soul,
Cursing, not blessing:—if all this shall come
On us and on our children, still our hearts
Shall live in hope. The word is sure and fixed
As are the everlasting hills of God,
And still the sons of Rechab shall not fail
To stand before the Lord; and still their feet
Shall tread His courts, their voices speak His praise.
And thou, O Prophet, Seer of Anathoth,
Shalt see, in vision, all thy word fulfilled;
And the old order, waxing dim, shall pass
Away before the new, and words of God
Written on fleshly tablets of the heart,
Shall win from all obedience, trust, and love.
So all thy woes shall end, thy restless grief
Shall rest at last, and near the throne of God
Thou still shalt stand, and for thy people pray,
Thy grey hairs crowned with glory; while, on earth,
The sons of Rechab treasure up thy words,
And live, expectant of the mightier time,
When He, the Lord our Righteousness, shall come,
And call His people from the East and West
To dwell for ever in the Eternal Light,
At rest within the Paradise of God.
Hangs o'er us; if the dread Chaldæan scourge
Shall sweep the land and leave it desolate;
If cedar beams and carvèd roof shall burn,
And columns lie, all shattered, in the dust;
And golden vessels serve for idol-feasts,
And all the music of the choirs be hushed,
And groans and curses rend the startled air;—
If, exiles wandering on Euphrates' banks,
We hang our harps upon the pale, grey trees,
Whose weeping branches plash the wide, waste flood,
And, when they bid us, in their mirth and pride,
Sing at their feasts the chief of Zion's songs,
Make answer, “How in this strange land and drear
Can hallowed songs, the hymns of God, be ours?”
And then in speech they know not, breathe our soul,
Cursing, not blessing:—if all this shall come
On us and on our children, still our hearts
Shall live in hope. The word is sure and fixed
As are the everlasting hills of God,
And still the sons of Rechab shall not fail
To stand before the Lord; and still their feet
Shall tread His courts, their voices speak His praise.
113
Shalt see, in vision, all thy word fulfilled;
And the old order, waxing dim, shall pass
Away before the new, and words of God
Written on fleshly tablets of the heart,
Shall win from all obedience, trust, and love.
So all thy woes shall end, thy restless grief
Shall rest at last, and near the throne of God
Thou still shalt stand, and for thy people pray,
Thy grey hairs crowned with glory; while, on earth,
The sons of Rechab treasure up thy words,
And live, expectant of the mightier time,
When He, the Lord our Righteousness, shall come,
And call His people from the East and West
To dwell for ever in the Eternal Light,
At rest within the Paradise of God.
September, 1864.
114
III. JAMES THE JUST.
“But whilst they were thus stoning him, one of the priests of the sons of
Rechab the sons of Rechabim, who are mentioned by the prophet Jeremiah,
cried, ‘Stop, what do ye, the Just One prays for you.’”
—Hegesippus, in Euseb. Hist. Ecc. ii. 23.
You ask me, friend, the story of my life,
How came it that for years I held my peace,
Half-doubting, half-believing, went my way,
And did my work, as if the Nazarene
Had never taught, or died, or risen again;
Whilst thou, e'er yet the stir and rush were o'er
Of that great Pentecost, as fully His,
Did'st join the Galileans. So thy path
Was taken, and it parted us. For thee,
No longer, service in the Temple's courts,
Slaying oxen, burning incense, but the work
To spread thy Lord's good tidings o'er the world
To Jew or Gentile, visiting the sick,
Clothing the naked, gauging earth's abyss
Of hopeless sorrow, where in dungeons foul
Men curse their God, or fret their loathsome lives
In galleys or in mines, and still in each
Uplifting high the Cross on which thy self
Was crucified with Christ. And now we meet,
The long years ended like a tale that's told,
And never more shall clouds of incense float
To gilded rafters, never more shall eye
Of wondering traveller glance from height to height,
And count those towers of Zion. Low in dust
They lie, those goodly columns, and the fire
Has charred the sculptured cedar, and the song
Is turned to wailing. Yes, we meet again;
And I, the doubter, faltering, half-convinced,
Am one with thee in heart, and faith, and life,
Call Christ my Lord, and seek to make Him mine.
“How was it?” I will tell thee. Long ago
(Thou mind'st the time), when yet the gathering down
Grew on my youthful cheek, and first I took
My place among the Levites in their choir,
There came a rumour that the hour had come,
Long hoped-for, long deferred, when God should raise
A prophet unto Israel. Stiff and cold,
And poor and dead the teaching of our scribes,
Hillel and Shammai, vexing all our souls
With grievous burdens, telling o'er again
Their thrice-told tales. And all our hearts leapt up
At this good news. The Spirit had not failed,
The Lord's arm was not shortened. Once again
The Word had come, and he, the Baptist, stood
As stood of old, Elijah. We were sent,
Levites and priests, to test the preacher's claim,
And search his teaching. Others came away,
Hating or scorning, “He is mad,” they said,
“A demon holds him. Here is one of us,
A priest as we are, and he lives a life
That shames us, turns away from all his friends,
From feasts, and song, and garments soft and rich,
The honours of the priesthood and the scribes,
And makes his dwelling in the wilderness,
And lives on locusts like the wandering sons
Of Ishmael, and will rob the wild bee's store,
And drink the stream that gushes from the rock.”
How came it that for years I held my peace,
Half-doubting, half-believing, went my way,
And did my work, as if the Nazarene
Had never taught, or died, or risen again;
Whilst thou, e'er yet the stir and rush were o'er
Of that great Pentecost, as fully His,
Did'st join the Galileans. So thy path
Was taken, and it parted us. For thee,
No longer, service in the Temple's courts,
Slaying oxen, burning incense, but the work
To spread thy Lord's good tidings o'er the world
To Jew or Gentile, visiting the sick,
Clothing the naked, gauging earth's abyss
Of hopeless sorrow, where in dungeons foul
Men curse their God, or fret their loathsome lives
In galleys or in mines, and still in each
115
Was crucified with Christ. And now we meet,
The long years ended like a tale that's told,
And never more shall clouds of incense float
To gilded rafters, never more shall eye
Of wondering traveller glance from height to height,
And count those towers of Zion. Low in dust
They lie, those goodly columns, and the fire
Has charred the sculptured cedar, and the song
Is turned to wailing. Yes, we meet again;
And I, the doubter, faltering, half-convinced,
Am one with thee in heart, and faith, and life,
Call Christ my Lord, and seek to make Him mine.
“How was it?” I will tell thee. Long ago
(Thou mind'st the time), when yet the gathering down
Grew on my youthful cheek, and first I took
My place among the Levites in their choir,
There came a rumour that the hour had come,
Long hoped-for, long deferred, when God should raise
A prophet unto Israel. Stiff and cold,
And poor and dead the teaching of our scribes,
Hillel and Shammai, vexing all our souls
With grievous burdens, telling o'er again
Their thrice-told tales. And all our hearts leapt up
At this good news. The Spirit had not failed,
The Lord's arm was not shortened. Once again
The Word had come, and he, the Baptist, stood
116
Levites and priests, to test the preacher's claim,
And search his teaching. Others came away,
Hating or scorning, “He is mad,” they said,
“A demon holds him. Here is one of us,
A priest as we are, and he lives a life
That shames us, turns away from all his friends,
From feasts, and song, and garments soft and rich,
The honours of the priesthood and the scribes,
And makes his dwelling in the wilderness,
And lives on locusts like the wandering sons
Of Ishmael, and will rob the wild bee's store,
And drink the stream that gushes from the rock.”
So they in scorn and wonder, but my soul
Went forth to him, admiring. Here I found
A life which bore on every lineament
The stamp of that old greatness which our sire,
The son of Rechab, bade us strive to keep,
Age after age. Elijah walked again
This earth of ours: and half I could have deemed
The Christ had come in him, but prophets old
Forbade the thought, and told of David's seed
And David's city, and himself confessed,
“I am not he, the Anointed, whom ye seek,”
And told us of another yet to come
Whom then we knew not.
Went forth to him, admiring. Here I found
A life which bore on every lineament
The stamp of that old greatness which our sire,
The son of Rechab, bade us strive to keep,
Age after age. Elijah walked again
This earth of ours: and half I could have deemed
The Christ had come in him, but prophets old
Forbade the thought, and told of David's seed
And David's city, and himself confessed,
“I am not he, the Anointed, whom ye seek,”
And told us of another yet to come
Whom then we knew not.
Soon we knew too well:
The people's rumours took another turn,
Another prophet rose, and mighty deeds,
Wrought by His hands, proclaimed Him more than John;
And mighty words were spoken, and there ran,
From peasants by the fair Tiberias' lake,
Yea, among priests and scribes who feared to speak,
The whisper, “This is Christ.” My soul was stirred
To question further: and I saw the man,
Found much to love, admire, do homage to,
And but for one thing perfect. But the flaw
Seemed fatal. He, the Galilean prophet, came
Eating and drinking, as the sons of men
Eat flesh, drink wine. He mingled with the feasts,
Where men make merry: yea, He gave the wine,
Put forth His power to give it, copious store
To last a twelvemonth. Could I trust in one
Who stooped to this? Or could I faithless prove
To all my fathers, cast aside their life
As vain self-torture, profitless, and poor,
The bondage of a time of ignorance,
Now gone for ever? So I held my peace,
Half-pitying, half-admiring, waiting on
To see the issue. Then they worked their will,
Annas and Caiaphas, and the slave-like crew
That look to Cæsar; and the prophet hung,
All stript and bleeding, on the accursèd cross
And then, we heard, He rose. The rumour ran
Through Tyropœon up the Temple steps,
Passed on from priest to priest, “The man ye slew
Is risen from the dead.” It might be so;
They spoke it bravely, those, the faltering friends
Who once forsook Him. Now they did not doubt
Were not faint-hearted, stood before the Scribes,
The Priests, the Elders, constant in their tale;
And thou, friend, did'st believe them; but for me
The old doubt was not cleared. They also drank
The wine we may not taste. From hand to hand
They passed the cup, memorial of their Lord,
Bond of their union. None might join their sect
Except he drank it. But I might not drink,
And therefore could not join: and still I said,
As once Gamaliel spoke in full debate,
“God will make clear His purpose; I, at least,
Can wait in silence.”
The people's rumours took another turn,
117
Wrought by His hands, proclaimed Him more than John;
And mighty words were spoken, and there ran,
From peasants by the fair Tiberias' lake,
Yea, among priests and scribes who feared to speak,
The whisper, “This is Christ.” My soul was stirred
To question further: and I saw the man,
Found much to love, admire, do homage to,
And but for one thing perfect. But the flaw
Seemed fatal. He, the Galilean prophet, came
Eating and drinking, as the sons of men
Eat flesh, drink wine. He mingled with the feasts,
Where men make merry: yea, He gave the wine,
Put forth His power to give it, copious store
To last a twelvemonth. Could I trust in one
Who stooped to this? Or could I faithless prove
To all my fathers, cast aside their life
As vain self-torture, profitless, and poor,
The bondage of a time of ignorance,
Now gone for ever? So I held my peace,
Half-pitying, half-admiring, waiting on
To see the issue. Then they worked their will,
Annas and Caiaphas, and the slave-like crew
That look to Cæsar; and the prophet hung,
All stript and bleeding, on the accursèd cross
And then, we heard, He rose. The rumour ran
Through Tyropœon up the Temple steps,
118
Is risen from the dead.” It might be so;
They spoke it bravely, those, the faltering friends
Who once forsook Him. Now they did not doubt
Were not faint-hearted, stood before the Scribes,
The Priests, the Elders, constant in their tale;
And thou, friend, did'st believe them; but for me
The old doubt was not cleared. They also drank
The wine we may not taste. From hand to hand
They passed the cup, memorial of their Lord,
Bond of their union. None might join their sect
Except he drank it. But I might not drink,
And therefore could not join: and still I said,
As once Gamaliel spoke in full debate,
“God will make clear His purpose; I, at least,
Can wait in silence.”
So the years passed on:
Ere long I marked each day within our courts,
A Nazarite form, in linen pure and white,
As each set service summoned men to prayer,
Still at the third hour, and the sixth, and ninth,
As one to whom the Temple was a home;
Pale, calm, and worn with fasting, there he stood,
And never costly oil bedewed his brow,
And never wine-cup touched the saintly lips,
Save, it might be, one drop, the merest sign,
The token of his brotherhood in Christ.
Silent he was, and gentle, never word
Of anger 'scaped him. Here was one, indeed,
Our father Jonadab would own as his,
One whom I might admire, and seek to make
His heart as my heart. And this man, they said,
Was Jacôb, brother of the Crucified,
Once doubting as we doubted, now convinced
By what he saw, and owning now no more
The fleshly kindred, seeing on the Throne
His brother, all men's brother. And the priests
Gave him free entry, would not turn him back,
Threw open all the gates. They knew the man
And bowed before his spotlessness of life,
And thought the risk less great to let him pass,
Seeing how gentle, worn, subdued he stood,
Than cause an uproar. But at last their wrath
Was kindled: blinded in their rage, they seized
Their victim, and, mistaking all his life,
Unknowing all the steadfastness of soul
That slumbered, waiting for its hour to come,
They urged confession. “Speak, thou Just One, speak;
Thou knew'st the Nazarene, whose followers speak
Blaspheming words against our Holy Place,
As against Moses. Thou hast never joined
In aught our law forbids. Thy lips are free
From all pollution. Zealous for the law,
We honour thee as one more zealous still,
True to the death. Well then, be bold at last,
To disavow the leader, as in act
Thou joinest not the followers. Speak one word,
The word which parts thee from the Name we hate,
And then thou shalt be ours for evermore;
And much we will concede thee, highest place,
And priestly honours, yea, and priestly robes.”
Ere long I marked each day within our courts,
A Nazarite form, in linen pure and white,
As each set service summoned men to prayer,
Still at the third hour, and the sixth, and ninth,
As one to whom the Temple was a home;
Pale, calm, and worn with fasting, there he stood,
And never costly oil bedewed his brow,
And never wine-cup touched the saintly lips,
Save, it might be, one drop, the merest sign,
The token of his brotherhood in Christ.
Silent he was, and gentle, never word
119
Our father Jonadab would own as his,
One whom I might admire, and seek to make
His heart as my heart. And this man, they said,
Was Jacôb, brother of the Crucified,
Once doubting as we doubted, now convinced
By what he saw, and owning now no more
The fleshly kindred, seeing on the Throne
His brother, all men's brother. And the priests
Gave him free entry, would not turn him back,
Threw open all the gates. They knew the man
And bowed before his spotlessness of life,
And thought the risk less great to let him pass,
Seeing how gentle, worn, subdued he stood,
Than cause an uproar. But at last their wrath
Was kindled: blinded in their rage, they seized
Their victim, and, mistaking all his life,
Unknowing all the steadfastness of soul
That slumbered, waiting for its hour to come,
They urged confession. “Speak, thou Just One, speak;
Thou knew'st the Nazarene, whose followers speak
Blaspheming words against our Holy Place,
As against Moses. Thou hast never joined
In aught our law forbids. Thy lips are free
From all pollution. Zealous for the law,
We honour thee as one more zealous still,
True to the death. Well then, be bold at last,
120
Thou joinest not the followers. Speak one word,
The word which parts thee from the Name we hate,
And then thou shalt be ours for evermore;
And much we will concede thee, highest place,
And priestly honours, yea, and priestly robes.”
And so they led him where the Temple's tower
Looks down o'er Kidron, and from either court
They gazed, expectant: and, at last, he spake:
“Ye slayers of the Just One, I have prayed,
As prayed my Master, that this hour might pass,
And leave you guiltless, prayed that ye might turn,
Believe, and live; but, lo! ye will not hear.
Your blood be on your head; my soul is free:
I bear my witness. Know ye, all who hear,
How from my heart I worship Him ye slew,
No longer as my brother, but my Lord,
Yea, as my King, my God. The stainless life
I knew long since, the mighty deeds of love;
Yet still I wavered. But, at last, there came
The victory over doubt. These eyes have seen
Risen from the dead the brother whom I knew;
And now I know Him, mighty to redeem,
As wise to teach. I hear His footstep's fall
Through all the world's wild clamour. At the door
He stands and knocks, and pleads, and calls in vain,
And soon will come as Judge. The cry goes up
To Heaven, and all the martyr-souls, that wait
Beneath the altar, shout, nor shout in vain,
‘How long, O Lord, how long!’ And then the End:
This Temple where I worship day and night,
Shall stream with blood of men, and desolate
With that abomination dark and dread,
Accursed of God, and trampled on by men,
Shall sink in flames. And then the hour shall come,
When shadows, types, and symbols falling off,
That sheathed the truth and hid it, all shall know
The mystery of the Kingdom. Greek and Jew,
The seed of Japhet, and the sons of Shem,
And Ham's swarth brood shall offer up their prayer,
And all alike be heard. The middle wall
Is broken down, and God's great love expands
Beyond the utmost sea.”
Looks down o'er Kidron, and from either court
They gazed, expectant: and, at last, he spake:
“Ye slayers of the Just One, I have prayed,
As prayed my Master, that this hour might pass,
And leave you guiltless, prayed that ye might turn,
Believe, and live; but, lo! ye will not hear.
Your blood be on your head; my soul is free:
I bear my witness. Know ye, all who hear,
How from my heart I worship Him ye slew,
No longer as my brother, but my Lord,
Yea, as my King, my God. The stainless life
I knew long since, the mighty deeds of love;
Yet still I wavered. But, at last, there came
The victory over doubt. These eyes have seen
Risen from the dead the brother whom I knew;
And now I know Him, mighty to redeem,
As wise to teach. I hear His footstep's fall
Through all the world's wild clamour. At the door
He stands and knocks, and pleads, and calls in vain,
And soon will come as Judge. The cry goes up
To Heaven, and all the martyr-souls, that wait
121
‘How long, O Lord, how long!’ And then the End:
This Temple where I worship day and night,
Shall stream with blood of men, and desolate
With that abomination dark and dread,
Accursed of God, and trampled on by men,
Shall sink in flames. And then the hour shall come,
When shadows, types, and symbols falling off,
That sheathed the truth and hid it, all shall know
The mystery of the Kingdom. Greek and Jew,
The seed of Japhet, and the sons of Shem,
And Ham's swarth brood shall offer up their prayer,
And all alike be heard. The middle wall
Is broken down, and God's great love expands
Beyond the utmost sea.”
Thus far he spake;
The rest wild yells cut off. They gnashed their teeth,
They tore their garments, cursed, and spat on him;
And then a moment's pause, and then a rush,
And we who stood below beheld his form
Fall headlong. On the Temple stones he lay,
All bruised and bleeding; but life still was there,
And slow, faint words came forth from quivering lips,
“Father, forgive them.” Then a giant form
Strode through the crowd, and with a fuller's club
(The man was one of those who do their work
Down by En-rogel) gave the final stroke,
And all was over. Then my soul was moved;
The fire was kindled. I had waited long
For truth to silence doubt, and now it came,
The token that I craved for. This man's life
Was one long worship. He who died this death,
Bearing this witness, had not lived a lie;
The hope that gave him strength, the love that taught
With good to conquer evil, were no dreams,
No vision of the night, no idle tale;
And therefore I believed: And so I spake,
“O fools, and blind. The blood ye shed will cry
From out the earth for vengeance. Once again
Ye slay the Just One. Lo, the cup is full,
The wine is mixed, the wine of God's great wrath,
And ye shall drink it even to the dregs:
I flee for refuge from that wrath to come
To Him, the One deliverer. All the past
I count but loss, if I may gain but that:
The place of honour in the Levites' chair,
The blessing that the sons of Rechab boast,
The long descent through lineage undefiled,
The vow that binds us to our father's name,
All these I cast aside to win but Thee,
Thou Christ of God.”
The rest wild yells cut off. They gnashed their teeth,
They tore their garments, cursed, and spat on him;
And then a moment's pause, and then a rush,
And we who stood below beheld his form
Fall headlong. On the Temple stones he lay,
All bruised and bleeding; but life still was there,
And slow, faint words came forth from quivering lips,
“Father, forgive them.” Then a giant form
Strode through the crowd, and with a fuller's club
(The man was one of those who do their work
122
And all was over. Then my soul was moved;
The fire was kindled. I had waited long
For truth to silence doubt, and now it came,
The token that I craved for. This man's life
Was one long worship. He who died this death,
Bearing this witness, had not lived a lie;
The hope that gave him strength, the love that taught
With good to conquer evil, were no dreams,
No vision of the night, no idle tale;
And therefore I believed: And so I spake,
“O fools, and blind. The blood ye shed will cry
From out the earth for vengeance. Once again
Ye slay the Just One. Lo, the cup is full,
The wine is mixed, the wine of God's great wrath,
And ye shall drink it even to the dregs:
I flee for refuge from that wrath to come
To Him, the One deliverer. All the past
I count but loss, if I may gain but that:
The place of honour in the Levites' chair,
The blessing that the sons of Rechab boast,
The long descent through lineage undefiled,
The vow that binds us to our father's name,
All these I cast aside to win but Thee,
Thou Christ of God.”
They heard; the cries,
Redoubled, rose. They led me to the gates;
They laid upon my head the dark, dire curse,
And sent me forth Anathema. Alone,
Homeless, dishonoured, reft of name and fame,
I hid myself by day, and wandered forth
When evening fell, not knowing where I went;
But through the shadow and the darkness shone
The presence of the Christ; and all night long
The heavens were opened. And the angels came,
Descending, rising, passing to and fro;
The lonely slope of Olivet became
A house of God, the very gate of Heaven;
And in the morn they welcomed me, the friends
Whom now I saw as angels, one in heart
And soul, and, all regardless of the curse
The priests had spoken, gave me rest and food.
They washed me in the stream that cleanses sin,
They broke the bread, and poured the wine or Christ;
And so I call thee brother; so old ties
Are knit again more closely, and our lives,
Long time divided, meet for evermore,
And we are priests within the Eternal Home,
The Temple of the City of our God.
Redoubled, rose. They led me to the gates;
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And sent me forth Anathema. Alone,
Homeless, dishonoured, reft of name and fame,
I hid myself by day, and wandered forth
When evening fell, not knowing where I went;
But through the shadow and the darkness shone
The presence of the Christ; and all night long
The heavens were opened. And the angels came,
Descending, rising, passing to and fro;
The lonely slope of Olivet became
A house of God, the very gate of Heaven;
And in the morn they welcomed me, the friends
Whom now I saw as angels, one in heart
And soul, and, all regardless of the curse
The priests had spoken, gave me rest and food.
They washed me in the stream that cleanses sin,
They broke the bread, and poured the wine or Christ;
And so I call thee brother; so old ties
Are knit again more closely, and our lives,
Long time divided, meet for evermore,
And we are priests within the Eternal Home,
The Temple of the City of our God.
September, 1864.
| Lazarus And other Poems | |