Lazarus And other Poems By E. H. Plumptre. Fourth Edition |
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| III. | III. JAMES THE JUST. |
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 | Lazarus And other Poems |  |
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;
123
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.
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