Lazarus And other Poems By E. H. Plumptre. Fourth Edition |
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 | Lazarus And other Poems |  |
30
II.
The morning came, and then they met once more,The grey-haired saint, whose second path of life
Was near its end, and he, in youth's full strength,
The wanderer seeking truth, and light, and help.
They both had told their story, and their hearts
Were opened, and as face doth answer face,
So talked they freely, mirroring the thoughts,
Each of the other. And the younger spake,
“Thy words, my father, dwell within my soul,
Like fire that burns and cleanses. For myself
The path is clear, the way that leads to God,
Through tears, and dread, and darkness: evermore
To bear within my heart His perfect Law,
His Word that cleaves the secret depths of life;
To conquer self, renounce the glittering world,
My life being hid with Christ. And, if alone
I stood, or strove, as those who run their race,
To win my prize, regardless of the rest,
31
Massilia's streets, far other thoughts than these
Came thronging on me. From this holy shade
Wherein thou liv'st I passed to Babel's glare,
Mad songs of riot, words of shameless lust,
Foul misery plunging into fouler mire,
Hard-toiling men, their day of labour done,
Sleeping brute-sleep, to whom no vision comes
Of life full-orbed, or God's o'erstretching Love;
And, as I looked and thought, the question grew
Distinct and clear, and would not be denied,
Which never till thy word had changed my life
I dreamt of asking. These poor, wandering sheep,
What have they done that they should pass away
To those dark shadows of the drear abyss?
They do the world's rough work, they delve and toil,
None caring for their souls, and pass away
Without one ray of light that falls on us,
Without one hope that looks beyond the grave.
These harlot-girls who flaunt along the streets
With pencilled brows, and filmy, saffron vests,
And warbled song, and winning, wanton dance;
These boys with gleaming eyes and golden hair,
Their waving locks all wet with odorous nard,
Who, knowing not the baseness, stain their youth;
These Gauls and Thracians, torn from distant shores,
Herding, like brutes, by hundreds in their dens,
32
That throng the marts, the ships, the camps of men,
What future lies before them? Must I think
That one great torrent sweeps them on to Hell,
That they who never heard the name of God,
Nor knew His righteous will, shall first awake
To that clear knowledge in the hopeless fires?
I look around, and here and there I see
One lonely soul who struggles after truth:
But, far and wide, the thousands live and die,
Unknowing of the greatness of their lives;
And when I travel o'er the tracts of space,
Or look behind me on the expanse of time,
The same drear vision meets me. And I ask,
‘Can this be all that Christ has come to win?
Is this the bruising of the serpent's head?
Is this the triumph of the victor's car?
Sees He in this the travail of His soul,
And with it rests content?’ I spake but now
Of men and women who have lived their lives;
But what of all the myriad souls that pass
Their few short hours on earth, and then are gone?
That child of harlot-mother, born in sin
And left to perish;—has God's gift of life
For those few pain-fraught moments brought on it
The woe that runs through all the endless years?
Or if you tell me that His Love is wide,
33
Cleansed by the healing waters, then I ask,
Can all the future age of woe or weal
Turn on that chance which they nor know nor care
To ask for, or refuse? Or if, once more,
You tell me of a Love diviner still,
Embracing all, baptized or infidel,
To whom death comes as infant's gentle sleep,
Then subtle questioning brings the doubt again;
‘If they are safe within the arms of God,
Through all the eternal ages, sure to fail,
If childhood's life pass on to conscious will,
Why should not then a mother's tenderest love,
Stifling her nature's instinct, crush the life
That from her draws its nurture, prizing more
That endless bliss than all the smiles and tears,
The waxen touches and the clinging grasp,
Which joy a mother's heart? If this be true,
Our hearts should leap for joy and give God thanks,
When harlots slay the issue of their shame,
When nations, sunk in darkness, cast their babes
A prey to dogs and vultures, when the plague
Sweeps o'er the earth and lays its thousands low,
Or earth's deep fires burst forth from inward depths,
And pour their boiling torrents, as of late,
On fair Pompeii down Vesevus' slope,
Enshrouding in that tomb of burning dust
The mothers and their children.’ Woe is me!
34
The thoughts that haunt me. In thine eyes, perchance,
They seem too bold. They trespass on the ground
Where men must walk in darkness. But to thee
I open all my heart, for thou hast seen
What others have not. Thou canst meet my doubts,
And tell me of Gehenna; thou must know
The armies of the lost, and of the saved;
And therefore blame me not, if I, in words
All rough and hasty, bring those doubts to thee.”
He ceased; and then the old man looked on him,
Not with uplifted hands, and brow that told
Of holy horror, but with wistful thought,
Admiring, pitying, loving. And he spake:
“Fear not, my son, to tell me all thy soul;
Thy doubt outspoken may perchance pass on
To purer faith. The fault that saps the life
Is doubt half-crushed, half-veiled; the lip-assent
Which finds no echo in the heart of hearts;
The secret lie, which, conscious of its guilt,
Atones for falsehood by intenser zeal.
These questionings of thine, I know them all,
Know too they come but as the signs of life:
Our Rabbis heed them not: they read and pray,
Debating in their synagogues and schools,
Detecting this man's faults, and grudging that
The honour he has earned. They little care
What happens to the crowd. They look with scorn
Upon that crowd, ‘the people of the earth’;
Filling high places at the feasts of men,
They count on higher at the feast of God,
And that suffices. But from thee, my son,
Far be that poor content: speak out thy thought
As Abraham spake it, when he asked of God,
‘Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?’
As Job, when, smarting in his sore distress,
He claimed acquittal. I condemn thee not:
And yet, my son, I cannot grant thy prayer;
I cannot solve the problems of thy soul.
In those few days I passed beyond the veil
I learnt to know myself, to fear and love
The Lord my Maker; but that lore sufficed;
I could not rise to yon supernal height
Whence all the wonder of the world is seen,
And all the ages in their ordered plan.
That secret dawns not on the new-born life;
The mystery of God remains uncleared;
Into these things the angels seek to look,
Yet see not far. Let others dream their dreams,
Map out the world of Hades, mark the lines,
As though they knew the country, I, for one,
Must own I know it not, and if I speak
As one whose eyes are opened, know, the Light
Shines on me from within. No fearful forms
Of spectral horrors float before mine eyes,
But Christ, my Lord, has led me on to truth;
His Spirit quickens all my power to see.
And yet, my son, it may be that thou ask'st
Not wisely of this matter. I have known,
Ere now, that craving. Many eyes have looked
Across the abyss, and many lips have asked,
With varying accents, ‘Are the saved ones few?’
Some seek that knowledge in their pride of heart,
As finding greater glory in the thought
Of crowds beneath them, failing where they win;
And some in selfish fear lest place should fail
For them in heaven; and some, my son, like thee,
In wistful love and pity. But to none
Is the full answer given: and, evermore,
The veil, uplifted for a moment's space,
Falls once again, and hides the rest from view.
So was it once when Christ our Master taught,
And one came eager, asking as thou ask'st,
And answer found: ‘Strive thou to enter in,
For strait the gate and narrow is the way
That lead to life.’ So was it once again,
When Cephas, asking of Jochanan's fate,
Received his answer, ‘What is that to thee?’
He bids us walk by faith and not by sight;
He bids us trust His all-embracing love,
His Father's righteous purpose.
Not with uplifted hands, and brow that told
Of holy horror, but with wistful thought,
Admiring, pitying, loving. And he spake:
“Fear not, my son, to tell me all thy soul;
Thy doubt outspoken may perchance pass on
To purer faith. The fault that saps the life
Is doubt half-crushed, half-veiled; the lip-assent
Which finds no echo in the heart of hearts;
The secret lie, which, conscious of its guilt,
Atones for falsehood by intenser zeal.
These questionings of thine, I know them all,
Know too they come but as the signs of life:
Our Rabbis heed them not: they read and pray,
35
Detecting this man's faults, and grudging that
The honour he has earned. They little care
What happens to the crowd. They look with scorn
Upon that crowd, ‘the people of the earth’;
Filling high places at the feasts of men,
They count on higher at the feast of God,
And that suffices. But from thee, my son,
Far be that poor content: speak out thy thought
As Abraham spake it, when he asked of God,
‘Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?’
As Job, when, smarting in his sore distress,
He claimed acquittal. I condemn thee not:
And yet, my son, I cannot grant thy prayer;
I cannot solve the problems of thy soul.
In those few days I passed beyond the veil
I learnt to know myself, to fear and love
The Lord my Maker; but that lore sufficed;
I could not rise to yon supernal height
Whence all the wonder of the world is seen,
And all the ages in their ordered plan.
That secret dawns not on the new-born life;
The mystery of God remains uncleared;
Into these things the angels seek to look,
Yet see not far. Let others dream their dreams,
Map out the world of Hades, mark the lines,
As though they knew the country, I, for one,
Must own I know it not, and if I speak
36
Shines on me from within. No fearful forms
Of spectral horrors float before mine eyes,
But Christ, my Lord, has led me on to truth;
His Spirit quickens all my power to see.
And yet, my son, it may be that thou ask'st
Not wisely of this matter. I have known,
Ere now, that craving. Many eyes have looked
Across the abyss, and many lips have asked,
With varying accents, ‘Are the saved ones few?’
Some seek that knowledge in their pride of heart,
As finding greater glory in the thought
Of crowds beneath them, failing where they win;
And some in selfish fear lest place should fail
For them in heaven; and some, my son, like thee,
In wistful love and pity. But to none
Is the full answer given: and, evermore,
The veil, uplifted for a moment's space,
Falls once again, and hides the rest from view.
So was it once when Christ our Master taught,
And one came eager, asking as thou ask'st,
And answer found: ‘Strive thou to enter in,
For strait the gate and narrow is the way
That lead to life.’ So was it once again,
When Cephas, asking of Jochanan's fate,
Received his answer, ‘What is that to thee?’
He bids us walk by faith and not by sight;
37
His Father's righteous purpose.
“Yet He taught
Enough to put to shame our narrowing hearts,
And quicken wider hopes. From out the Book,
Where Scribes and Rabbis find abounding proof
That they alone may call the Lord their God,
He read the tokens of a love that streams
On Jew and Gentile, over bad and good,
As shines the sun in heaven. And thence He told
Of outcasts who had sought the light of God,
Of heathens, whom Jehovah owned as His;
The Syrian leper, cleansed in Jordan's flood,
Sarepta's widow, with her cruse of oil,
The men of Nimrod's city, crouching low
In dust and ashes at the prophet's word,
The queen who, coming from the furthest south,
Communed with David's son of all the thoughts,
Deep, wide, and wondrous, that had stirred her heart:
And thus, through all His life He gave us proof,
While working still by self-imposèd law
Within a narrower limit, that His heart
Went forth to all. He shrank not from the touch
Of harlot's hands, or flood of harlot's tears;
He turned not back when that adulterous wife
At Jacob's well spoke with him,—went and dwelt
For two whole days within Samaria's gates;
And when that outcast of a cursed race
Knelt to Him in her woe, and found at first
Reluctance, silence, sternness, yet the change
Came soon; His eye had read her secret soul,
And all she asked He gave. The soldier rough,
Trained in Rome's legions to a life of war,
Was owned by Him as having nobler faith
Than we of Israel. Yea, the words went forth:
‘From east and west, from north and south, shall come
Thousands, and tens of thousands, sitting down
With Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, at the feast
Of God's great kingdom.’ Bolder, stranger still,
He drew two pictures of that last great day:
On one side stood the greatest of our Scribes,
Honoured and trusted, rigorous in their fasts,
Punctual in prayers, paying tithes of all;
And, on the other, those whose names we loathe,
The dwellers of the Cities of the Vale,
The men of Tyre and Sidon, sunk, as they,
In pride, and lust, and baseness. ‘And for these,’
So ran the words, ‘shall be the lighter doom,
The fewer stripes, the easier pain and loss;
For those, the outer darkness, and the wail
Of sharpest woe.’ And then, my son, He told
What oft has given me comfort when dark thoughts
Like those thou speak'st of, haunt and vex my soul,
Words which lift up one corner of the veil,
And show hope's brighter vision; ‘lighter doom’;
So spake He; ‘for had they too seen my works,
And heard my words, in sackcloth and in dust
Long since they had repented.’ Wondrous words!
Which none might speak but He, the Judge of all,
Who reads the inner depths of each man's heart,
And calls the things that are not into life,
Counting as though they were. He sees the gleams
Of better thoughts across the murkiest gloom,
The seeds of good amid the howling wastes,
And perfects them at last; and, in the depths
Of His divine forbearance, suffereth long,
And passeth by transgression. Those who wait
To meet the bridegroom, they must trim their lamps,
And seek the oil from heaven; and those who own
Him Master, and from Him their gifts receive,
Must bring their talents—ten, or five, or one—
With usury to their Lord. But that vast throng,
The multitude of peoples, nations, tongues,
Shall stand before His throne, and every act
Of human kindness He will own as His,
And crown as service rendered unto Him.
Oh! doubt not, then, my son, but fight thy way
In clearer faith against bewildering fears:
Believe that He who in His pitying love
Embraced the children, not of saintly sires,
Or wise, or mighty, but the low-born babes
Of peasant mothers, whom the cleansing flood
Of baptism never reached, and laid His hands,
Mighty to bless, upon their infant heads;
Doubt not that He looks on, embracing still
All new-born souls that taste the breath of life.
That child of harlot-mother, in His sight
Who judges all, is precious as the babe
Which slumbers peaceful in the enfolding arms
Of saintliest matron. Nor do years alone
Determine childhood. Those who live and die,
Children in knowledge, ignorant, and blind,
Children in spirit, simple, kind, and true,
Children in temper, wayward, changeful, weak,
These too He pities, these He seeks to bless;
Their angels stand as highest near the throne.
So evermore His sentence overturns
Our feebler judgment. Outcasts, whom thou spurn'st,
Shall stand before their God arrayed in white,
And sing for joy, the last become the first;
And Rabbis, saints, and teachers, if they hope
For pardon and for peace, must take their place
Low down with shame, the first become the last.
So in the end the eternal Love will shine;
So at the last the mists and clouds will clear:
Till then from out the cloud there comes the voice
Which speaks in trumpet-tones through every land:
‘O house of Israel! O thou church of God!
O parties, sects, disputers! own ye not
Your ways unequal, Mine all just and true?’”
Enough to put to shame our narrowing hearts,
And quicken wider hopes. From out the Book,
Where Scribes and Rabbis find abounding proof
That they alone may call the Lord their God,
He read the tokens of a love that streams
On Jew and Gentile, over bad and good,
As shines the sun in heaven. And thence He told
Of outcasts who had sought the light of God,
Of heathens, whom Jehovah owned as His;
The Syrian leper, cleansed in Jordan's flood,
Sarepta's widow, with her cruse of oil,
The men of Nimrod's city, crouching low
In dust and ashes at the prophet's word,
The queen who, coming from the furthest south,
Communed with David's son of all the thoughts,
Deep, wide, and wondrous, that had stirred her heart:
And thus, through all His life He gave us proof,
While working still by self-imposèd law
Within a narrower limit, that His heart
Went forth to all. He shrank not from the touch
Of harlot's hands, or flood of harlot's tears;
He turned not back when that adulterous wife
At Jacob's well spoke with him,—went and dwelt
For two whole days within Samaria's gates;
38
Knelt to Him in her woe, and found at first
Reluctance, silence, sternness, yet the change
Came soon; His eye had read her secret soul,
And all she asked He gave. The soldier rough,
Trained in Rome's legions to a life of war,
Was owned by Him as having nobler faith
Than we of Israel. Yea, the words went forth:
‘From east and west, from north and south, shall come
Thousands, and tens of thousands, sitting down
With Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, at the feast
Of God's great kingdom.’ Bolder, stranger still,
He drew two pictures of that last great day:
On one side stood the greatest of our Scribes,
Honoured and trusted, rigorous in their fasts,
Punctual in prayers, paying tithes of all;
And, on the other, those whose names we loathe,
The dwellers of the Cities of the Vale,
The men of Tyre and Sidon, sunk, as they,
In pride, and lust, and baseness. ‘And for these,’
So ran the words, ‘shall be the lighter doom,
The fewer stripes, the easier pain and loss;
For those, the outer darkness, and the wail
Of sharpest woe.’ And then, my son, He told
What oft has given me comfort when dark thoughts
Like those thou speak'st of, haunt and vex my soul,
Words which lift up one corner of the veil,
39
So spake He; ‘for had they too seen my works,
And heard my words, in sackcloth and in dust
Long since they had repented.’ Wondrous words!
Which none might speak but He, the Judge of all,
Who reads the inner depths of each man's heart,
And calls the things that are not into life,
Counting as though they were. He sees the gleams
Of better thoughts across the murkiest gloom,
The seeds of good amid the howling wastes,
And perfects them at last; and, in the depths
Of His divine forbearance, suffereth long,
And passeth by transgression. Those who wait
To meet the bridegroom, they must trim their lamps,
And seek the oil from heaven; and those who own
Him Master, and from Him their gifts receive,
Must bring their talents—ten, or five, or one—
With usury to their Lord. But that vast throng,
The multitude of peoples, nations, tongues,
Shall stand before His throne, and every act
Of human kindness He will own as His,
And crown as service rendered unto Him.
Oh! doubt not, then, my son, but fight thy way
In clearer faith against bewildering fears:
Believe that He who in His pitying love
Embraced the children, not of saintly sires,
Or wise, or mighty, but the low-born babes
Of peasant mothers, whom the cleansing flood
40
Mighty to bless, upon their infant heads;
Doubt not that He looks on, embracing still
All new-born souls that taste the breath of life.
That child of harlot-mother, in His sight
Who judges all, is precious as the babe
Which slumbers peaceful in the enfolding arms
Of saintliest matron. Nor do years alone
Determine childhood. Those who live and die,
Children in knowledge, ignorant, and blind,
Children in spirit, simple, kind, and true,
Children in temper, wayward, changeful, weak,
These too He pities, these He seeks to bless;
Their angels stand as highest near the throne.
So evermore His sentence overturns
Our feebler judgment. Outcasts, whom thou spurn'st,
Shall stand before their God arrayed in white,
And sing for joy, the last become the first;
And Rabbis, saints, and teachers, if they hope
For pardon and for peace, must take their place
Low down with shame, the first become the last.
So in the end the eternal Love will shine;
So at the last the mists and clouds will clear:
Till then from out the cloud there comes the voice
Which speaks in trumpet-tones through every land:
‘O house of Israel! O thou church of God!
O parties, sects, disputers! own ye not
Your ways unequal, Mine all just and true?’”
41
Yet once again, half-shamed to speak again,
Pausing as one who, having asked for help,
And gained it, fears, though wanting more, to ask,
The seeker uttered all his deep desire.
Pausing as one who, having asked for help,
And gained it, fears, though wanting more, to ask,
The seeker uttered all his deep desire.
“Thy words give comfort, Father: I can look
With less despair on those poor heathen souls
That throng around me. I can now believe,
As my dear master taught me, that the death
Of Christ our Lord availed for all the world
To purchase peace and pardon. I can feel
One common bond of brotherhood with all:
They too are ransomed, and the Light that shines
On us illumines them. And yet there floats
(Bear with me, Father, if I speak it out)
A vague, dim doubt around me. Deem not, then,
My thoughts too bold or subtle; but there comes
This question, and I cannot find reply:—
‘If this be so, if all alike shall stand
On equal ground before the great white throne,
If heathen outcasts gain eternal life,
By law unwritten, or by deeds of love,
What needs this message of the Cross of Christ?
Why leave we not the heathen as they are,
Sure that they too will reach the goal at last?
Why go our teachers forth from land to land,
Braving all terrors of the shore, or deep,
To call those wandering, shipwrecked souls to God;
When, as it seems, they spend their strength in vain,
And add no jot to all their chance of bliss?’
And yet once more: the souls that stand condemned,
Or by the Word revealed, or Law unwrit,
Yet graven in their hearts, what fate is theirs?
Are they for ever doomed to penal fires?
Does God delight to torture? Can it be
His love abates when sudden stroke of death
Cuts off the soul whom that forbearing Love
Was leading to repentance? Here on earth
The will is plastic: stained with many a crime
It yet can struggle upward, and renew
Its vigour like the eagle's. Dare we say
That freedom ends with death? Has God's decree
For ever fixed the casual mood of soul
Of that last moment? Does His will condemn
To endless sin? Or welcomes He, at last,
When sin no longer reigns, the wandering soul
That wakes through death to life? Oh, glorious thought,
That wraps the future with a golden dawn,
Where old familiar words and new-born hopes
Seem melting into one! ‘The Son of God,
Destroys the works of Sin, the power of Death;’
‘Great was the trespass, greater still the love.’
‘A time shall come when all shall pass away,
All foes o'ercome, and guilt and darkness gone,
And God be all in all, the eternal Love
Prevailing, conquering, binding men to God.
Ah me! my Father; now I dream my dream
Of one broad, mighty, everlasting peace,
The concord of a universe at rest;
And now once more the mists and shadows come
Between my soul and God, and fear shuts out
That full assurèd hope, and sterner words
Come back unbidden, shattering all my joy.
Broad were the lines He traced, the Lord of Love,
The sheep and goats, the lost ones and the saved;
And evermore, when speaking of the doom
Of that great day, He spake of endless woe,
The quenchless fire, the worm that cannot die,
The punishment which with the life must be
Co-equal, co-eternal. And yet,—and yet;
(Oh! pardon thou these wandering thoughts of mine)
New words recur of hope. One only sin,
So spake He, neither in the world that is,
Nor in the world that comes, can ever gain
Forgiveness. Only of the traitor's soul
Were the words spoken, ‘It were good for him
That he had ne'er been born.’ I ask myself,
Might not that doom, if former fears were true,
Be written on the universe of God,
On all the countless myriads that have passed
In darkness to the grave? If thou canst solve
These riddles, O my Father! if thy soul
Has gone beyond the doubts that come and go,
Unfold the secret. One has told, I know,
Of torments lasting their appointed time,
Of fires that, burning, cleanse the sin-stained soul,
Of cycles strange through which our spirits pass,
Tasting new forms of life, or man or brute,
Tested and tried till they too rise to God,
And in the fields Elysian find their rest,
Or lose their separate being, to the All
Returning once again. But these, perchance,
Are but a poet's fancies. Thou canst guide
My tottering feet through these bewildering mists
In which I wander, wavering and perplexed,
Staggering like drunken man in fevered dreams.”
With less despair on those poor heathen souls
That throng around me. I can now believe,
As my dear master taught me, that the death
Of Christ our Lord availed for all the world
To purchase peace and pardon. I can feel
One common bond of brotherhood with all:
They too are ransomed, and the Light that shines
On us illumines them. And yet there floats
(Bear with me, Father, if I speak it out)
A vague, dim doubt around me. Deem not, then,
My thoughts too bold or subtle; but there comes
This question, and I cannot find reply:—
‘If this be so, if all alike shall stand
On equal ground before the great white throne,
If heathen outcasts gain eternal life,
By law unwritten, or by deeds of love,
What needs this message of the Cross of Christ?
Why leave we not the heathen as they are,
Sure that they too will reach the goal at last?
Why go our teachers forth from land to land,
Braving all terrors of the shore, or deep,
To call those wandering, shipwrecked souls to God;
When, as it seems, they spend their strength in vain,
42
And yet once more: the souls that stand condemned,
Or by the Word revealed, or Law unwrit,
Yet graven in their hearts, what fate is theirs?
Are they for ever doomed to penal fires?
Does God delight to torture? Can it be
His love abates when sudden stroke of death
Cuts off the soul whom that forbearing Love
Was leading to repentance? Here on earth
The will is plastic: stained with many a crime
It yet can struggle upward, and renew
Its vigour like the eagle's. Dare we say
That freedom ends with death? Has God's decree
For ever fixed the casual mood of soul
Of that last moment? Does His will condemn
To endless sin? Or welcomes He, at last,
When sin no longer reigns, the wandering soul
That wakes through death to life? Oh, glorious thought,
That wraps the future with a golden dawn,
Where old familiar words and new-born hopes
Seem melting into one! ‘The Son of God,
Destroys the works of Sin, the power of Death;’
‘Great was the trespass, greater still the love.’
‘A time shall come when all shall pass away,
All foes o'ercome, and guilt and darkness gone,
And God be all in all, the eternal Love
43
Ah me! my Father; now I dream my dream
Of one broad, mighty, everlasting peace,
The concord of a universe at rest;
And now once more the mists and shadows come
Between my soul and God, and fear shuts out
That full assurèd hope, and sterner words
Come back unbidden, shattering all my joy.
Broad were the lines He traced, the Lord of Love,
The sheep and goats, the lost ones and the saved;
And evermore, when speaking of the doom
Of that great day, He spake of endless woe,
The quenchless fire, the worm that cannot die,
The punishment which with the life must be
Co-equal, co-eternal. And yet,—and yet;
(Oh! pardon thou these wandering thoughts of mine)
New words recur of hope. One only sin,
So spake He, neither in the world that is,
Nor in the world that comes, can ever gain
Forgiveness. Only of the traitor's soul
Were the words spoken, ‘It were good for him
That he had ne'er been born.’ I ask myself,
Might not that doom, if former fears were true,
Be written on the universe of God,
On all the countless myriads that have passed
In darkness to the grave? If thou canst solve
These riddles, O my Father! if thy soul
44
Unfold the secret. One has told, I know,
Of torments lasting their appointed time,
Of fires that, burning, cleanse the sin-stained soul,
Of cycles strange through which our spirits pass,
Tasting new forms of life, or man or brute,
Tested and tried till they too rise to God,
And in the fields Elysian find their rest,
Or lose their separate being, to the All
Returning once again. But these, perchance,
Are but a poet's fancies. Thou canst guide
My tottering feet through these bewildering mists
In which I wander, wavering and perplexed,
Staggering like drunken man in fevered dreams.”
Then Eleazar spake. “Ah me! my son,
Thy questions come as fast and wild as winds
Of autumn; and they vex thee, as the blasts
Vex the deep waters of a mountain lake.
Here once again I bid thee walk by faith:
Nor I, nor thou, can see the mystery clear.
But wonder not, if thoughts should lead thee on,
Each starting from divinest, wisest words,
To issues which agree not. Evermore
We see the sides of truth, and cannot grasp,
So low we stand, the greatness of the whole.
Thus God elects, yet man is free to choose;
And God, foreseeing evil, lets it be,
Yet evil is not His; and Christ our Lord,
One with the Father in His boundless might,
Is one with us in all that makes us weak;
And God hath shown His Love in sending Christ,
Yet Christ by death hath reconciled to God
The creatures else condemned; and God is One,
Yet evermore we praise the threefold Name,
The Father, and the Spirit, and the Son.
So fares it with all mysteries of God;
Men cannot bring them to the rule and line
Of earthly wisdom, or with subtle art
Build up their systems. Broad, o'erarching all,
They float above us, and with hopes or fears
We watch their changing aspects. And we need
Both hopes and fears: we may not cast aside
One truth that Christ has spoken, may not say
To all the heedless souls that turn from God,
‘Go on, and sin; the end is still the same,
The journey only longer;’—dare not close
The door of hope which Christ Himself throws wide,
Nor lose from sight the many stripes, and few,
The lighter, heavier woes. Our feebler thoughts
Dwell on the outward symbols of the doom,
The worm, the fire, the darkness, and the scourge
But thou, my son, hast learnt the doom itself.
These are but signs and figures of the true,
Shadows of things that are. The enduring pain
Is memory of evil seen at last
As evil, hateful, loathsome. Pleasant sins,
Which here the doer of the wrong recalls
With faint vibrations of the former sense,
There evermore are present to the soul
In all their foulness, and we feel the wrath
Eternal then unveiled. And hence the woe
Is endless: there we cannot drug our souls,
Or blot from sight the ever hateful past,
The feignèd semblance, or the open shame.
We cannot change that past; through all the years
Its woe is with us, shading all the life
In gloom of twilight, or in thickest night
Deepening the blackness. To the souls that sinned
In ignorance of God, His grace may come
In mercy wide and free, revealing Light
To those in darkness, blotting out the guilt
Of sins of wild confusion, leaving still,
Through endless æons, all the inward pain
Which waits on conscious sin. To cancel that
Were to undo the eternal work of God,
And leave them still in blindness. And to dream,
As some have dreamt, of agony of sense,
The burning flame, and thick-ribbed ice in turn,
As having power to purify and cleanse,
As greater terrors than the accusing thoughts,
The voice that speaks in thunder, and the wrath
Eternal of the All-knowing and All-good,
This is to take the shadow for the truth,
And live in outward symbols. Golden throne,
Bright gates of pearl, and walls of amethyst,
The pure clear river, and the mystic tree,—
These are but tokens of the inward bliss,
The vision of our God, to pure hearts given
As life, and peace, and joy. And so the woe,
Which makes the doom of evil, is to see
That face averted. God, whose Name is Love,
Condemns the unloving: so we see in Him
That Light eternal, that consuming Fire;
And still the question meets us as of old,
‘What child of man can face that ceaseless flame,
And dwell with burnings everlastingly?’
And evermore, as once from Prophet's lips,
The strange, bold answer reaches unto us,
‘He who the truth hath spoken, right hath done,
Who, fearing God, has conquered self and sin,
He need not fear the fire.’ It burns and burns,
Consuming what is worthless, cleansing still
The pure, bright gold, the treasure of our God.
Thy questions come as fast and wild as winds
Of autumn; and they vex thee, as the blasts
Vex the deep waters of a mountain lake.
Here once again I bid thee walk by faith:
Nor I, nor thou, can see the mystery clear.
But wonder not, if thoughts should lead thee on,
Each starting from divinest, wisest words,
To issues which agree not. Evermore
We see the sides of truth, and cannot grasp,
So low we stand, the greatness of the whole.
Thus God elects, yet man is free to choose;
And God, foreseeing evil, lets it be,
45
One with the Father in His boundless might,
Is one with us in all that makes us weak;
And God hath shown His Love in sending Christ,
Yet Christ by death hath reconciled to God
The creatures else condemned; and God is One,
Yet evermore we praise the threefold Name,
The Father, and the Spirit, and the Son.
So fares it with all mysteries of God;
Men cannot bring them to the rule and line
Of earthly wisdom, or with subtle art
Build up their systems. Broad, o'erarching all,
They float above us, and with hopes or fears
We watch their changing aspects. And we need
Both hopes and fears: we may not cast aside
One truth that Christ has spoken, may not say
To all the heedless souls that turn from God,
‘Go on, and sin; the end is still the same,
The journey only longer;’—dare not close
The door of hope which Christ Himself throws wide,
Nor lose from sight the many stripes, and few,
The lighter, heavier woes. Our feebler thoughts
Dwell on the outward symbols of the doom,
The worm, the fire, the darkness, and the scourge
But thou, my son, hast learnt the doom itself.
These are but signs and figures of the true,
Shadows of things that are. The enduring pain
46
As evil, hateful, loathsome. Pleasant sins,
Which here the doer of the wrong recalls
With faint vibrations of the former sense,
There evermore are present to the soul
In all their foulness, and we feel the wrath
Eternal then unveiled. And hence the woe
Is endless: there we cannot drug our souls,
Or blot from sight the ever hateful past,
The feignèd semblance, or the open shame.
We cannot change that past; through all the years
Its woe is with us, shading all the life
In gloom of twilight, or in thickest night
Deepening the blackness. To the souls that sinned
In ignorance of God, His grace may come
In mercy wide and free, revealing Light
To those in darkness, blotting out the guilt
Of sins of wild confusion, leaving still,
Through endless æons, all the inward pain
Which waits on conscious sin. To cancel that
Were to undo the eternal work of God,
And leave them still in blindness. And to dream,
As some have dreamt, of agony of sense,
The burning flame, and thick-ribbed ice in turn,
As having power to purify and cleanse,
As greater terrors than the accusing thoughts,
The voice that speaks in thunder, and the wrath
Eternal of the All-knowing and All-good,
47
And live in outward symbols. Golden throne,
Bright gates of pearl, and walls of amethyst,
The pure clear river, and the mystic tree,—
These are but tokens of the inward bliss,
The vision of our God, to pure hearts given
As life, and peace, and joy. And so the woe,
Which makes the doom of evil, is to see
That face averted. God, whose Name is Love,
Condemns the unloving: so we see in Him
That Light eternal, that consuming Fire;
And still the question meets us as of old,
‘What child of man can face that ceaseless flame,
And dwell with burnings everlastingly?’
And evermore, as once from Prophet's lips,
The strange, bold answer reaches unto us,
‘He who the truth hath spoken, right hath done,
Who, fearing God, has conquered self and sin,
He need not fear the fire.’ It burns and burns,
Consuming what is worthless, cleansing still
The pure, bright gold, the treasure of our God.
“And if these thoughts still leave a darkened space
Through which no light can pierce, if awful words
Speak of persistent evil, wills that, fixed
In hate, defiance, scorn, reject the Light,
Increasing through the endless age their woe,
As adding still fresh deeds of deeper guilt,—
Who then am I to question and to judge?
I bow before the judgment, and am dumb;
I cannot tell how evil first began,
Or why through all the mystery of the world
It runs its course, and all creation groans
In bondage, panting, struggling to be free.
I cannot tell if it shall cease to be,
Or when or how, the final victory won,
The conquering Christ shall yield his throne to God;
Or if the conquest shall destroy the works
Of sin and death, or leave them as they are,
His curse upon them. All I know is this,
That God is holy, and that righteous wrath
Must fall for ever on the soul that sins;
That God is Love, and willeth not the death,
Or here, or there, of any soul of man.
And if I see not how, in secret depths,
(The light and darkness melting into one)
The discords of the world are harmonised,
The truths that clash brought once again to peace,
I find my stay in old, familiar words,
The key-note of my life, and all its thoughts,
True of that life through all its wondrous course,
True of the world through all its circling years,
True of the endless ages as they pass,—
Words that rebuke the doubter, bow our pride,
Refresh the mourner, strengthen all our prayers,
The words for thee, my son, when vexing thoughts
Distract thy soul, and fill thy heart with fears;
Make answer thou, with firm unwavering faith,
Against those doubts, as Christ made answer once,
‘Impossible with man, but not with God.’
Through which no light can pierce, if awful words
Speak of persistent evil, wills that, fixed
In hate, defiance, scorn, reject the Light,
Increasing through the endless age their woe,
As adding still fresh deeds of deeper guilt,—
Who then am I to question and to judge?
48
I cannot tell how evil first began,
Or why through all the mystery of the world
It runs its course, and all creation groans
In bondage, panting, struggling to be free.
I cannot tell if it shall cease to be,
Or when or how, the final victory won,
The conquering Christ shall yield his throne to God;
Or if the conquest shall destroy the works
Of sin and death, or leave them as they are,
His curse upon them. All I know is this,
That God is holy, and that righteous wrath
Must fall for ever on the soul that sins;
That God is Love, and willeth not the death,
Or here, or there, of any soul of man.
And if I see not how, in secret depths,
(The light and darkness melting into one)
The discords of the world are harmonised,
The truths that clash brought once again to peace,
I find my stay in old, familiar words,
The key-note of my life, and all its thoughts,
True of that life through all its wondrous course,
True of the world through all its circling years,
True of the endless ages as they pass,—
Words that rebuke the doubter, bow our pride,
Refresh the mourner, strengthen all our prayers,
The words for thee, my son, when vexing thoughts
49
Make answer thou, with firm unwavering faith,
Against those doubts, as Christ made answer once,
‘Impossible with man, but not with God.’
“For thee, at least, the path is clearly traced:
Do thou thy Master's bidding. If He came,
Enduring all the torture and the death,
To speak to all men of His Father's love,
Thou, too, if thou hast learnt to think His thoughts,
Must speak to them of Him. Thou may'st not leave
Those souls to wander in their hopeless night,
Nor make the mercy of thy God a cloak
For coward sloth, nor, rapt in visions high,
Forget the present. If thou see'st the wrong,
Rebuke it; if the many sin and die,
In pity to their souls, hold not thy peace,
But warn them of the Everlasting Fire,
And win them with the Everlasting Love.
And oh! my son, beware lest pride of heart,
Or yearning pity, or thy zeal for God,
Lead thee to change His order. Not in vain,
Taught He at first, by fear of endless woe,
In parable and drama shadowing forth
The doom of evil. Men must learn to hate
The accursèd self that keeps their souls from God;
Must learn to feel the burden of their guilt,
As measured by the woe which God assigns
In that dark prison which the Eternal Love
Hath ordered in its wisdom and its might:
And some may find the lesson hard to learn,
And, knowing not thy thoughts, may miss their way,
If thou should'st leave the simple, open path
Which Christ hath trodden. Teach as He hath taught,
Not halving truths, in haste of jealous strife,
Nor twisting words awry with subtle art,
Not speaking where the voice of Christ was dumb,
Nor silent where He spake. Judge thou thyself,
And leave the greater task to greater power;
Commit thy friends, thy brothers, yea, thy foes,
The myriads, past, and present, and to come,
To Him who sitteth on the Eternal Throne,
The Son of Man, and yet the Lord of All,
The Judge, the Priest, the Saviour, and the Friend.
Thou canst not gauge His drear abyss of wrath,
Thou canst not fathom all His boundless love,
Thou canst not track His footsteps on the deep;
And still if doubt, or grief, or hope, or fear
Perplex thee for the future or the past,
Cling to His cross for shelter, own thy guilt,
Thy shame, thy blindness, and with veilèd face,
Low in the dust, be silent and adore.”
Do thou thy Master's bidding. If He came,
Enduring all the torture and the death,
To speak to all men of His Father's love,
Thou, too, if thou hast learnt to think His thoughts,
Must speak to them of Him. Thou may'st not leave
Those souls to wander in their hopeless night,
Nor make the mercy of thy God a cloak
For coward sloth, nor, rapt in visions high,
Forget the present. If thou see'st the wrong,
Rebuke it; if the many sin and die,
In pity to their souls, hold not thy peace,
But warn them of the Everlasting Fire,
And win them with the Everlasting Love.
And oh! my son, beware lest pride of heart,
Or yearning pity, or thy zeal for God,
Lead thee to change His order. Not in vain,
Taught He at first, by fear of endless woe,
In parable and drama shadowing forth
The doom of evil. Men must learn to hate
The accursèd self that keeps their souls from God;
Must learn to feel the burden of their guilt,
As measured by the woe which God assigns
50
Hath ordered in its wisdom and its might:
And some may find the lesson hard to learn,
And, knowing not thy thoughts, may miss their way,
If thou should'st leave the simple, open path
Which Christ hath trodden. Teach as He hath taught,
Not halving truths, in haste of jealous strife,
Nor twisting words awry with subtle art,
Not speaking where the voice of Christ was dumb,
Nor silent where He spake. Judge thou thyself,
And leave the greater task to greater power;
Commit thy friends, thy brothers, yea, thy foes,
The myriads, past, and present, and to come,
To Him who sitteth on the Eternal Throne,
The Son of Man, and yet the Lord of All,
The Judge, the Priest, the Saviour, and the Friend.
Thou canst not gauge His drear abyss of wrath,
Thou canst not fathom all His boundless love,
Thou canst not track His footsteps on the deep;
And still if doubt, or grief, or hope, or fear
Perplex thee for the future or the past,
Cling to His cross for shelter, own thy guilt,
Thy shame, thy blindness, and with veilèd face,
Low in the dust, be silent and adore.”
May, 1864.
| Lazarus And other Poems | |