University of Virginia Library

I.—THE GREAT WITNESS.

“And God saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth. . . . And it repented the Lord that He had made man on the earth, and it grieved Him at His heart. And the Lord said, I will destroy man whom I have created from the face of the earth; both man, and beast, and the creeping thing, and the fowls of the air.”

Lo! sixteen centuries had passed away!
When God drove forth the pair, they fell a prey
To darkness and the panic of the night.
On three sides crouched their dread. In front, a light—
A fire—a sword smote every way to keep
The Tree of Life. Their terror made them creep
Nearer the sword. They maddened to escape
The horror without hands and without shape
That lurked in nature, waiting them. The twain
Crept closer. 'Twere less dreadful to be slain

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By that fierce splendour, in each other's sight,
Than perish in the vast unhuman night.
They lay beneath the sword; they felt the wind
It made.
This Man and Woman were mankind.
The sword showed him the Woman's face, showed her
The Man's. They shrank apart. Their faces were
More fearful than the darkness, than the sword.
Then God in pity gave them fire; the Lord
Gave them the fire for solace and a stay.
When sixteen hundred years had passed away
The whole earth was fulfilled of evil and woe.
The Man and Woman wandered to and fro
In hordes and tribes and nations. They did eat
Of every beast and tree. The track of feet
Lay wide through polar snow and tropic sand.
No ocean beat on any utmost land
But some wild fisher watched the heaving blue.
Tribes thronged the sunset and the dawn. They knew
The glow of arctic and antarctic skies.
In savage lands they lived in wolfish wise.

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The tree, the hanging rock, the cavern gave
Shelter for fire and slumber—and a grave.
Time changed them—colour and stature, hair and skin.
They knew not whence they came. They owned no kin.
The Man and Woman in them had forgot
All ancient days, the sad primeval lot,
The brotherhood of dust, the sword of fire.
Their god was hunger, and their law desire.
In ancient realms, from golden cities, bright
With lamps of revel, roared into the night
The orgies of the giants of the earth.
And men and beasts, by day, to make them mirth,
Slew and were slain. Their spearmen, early and late,
Drove virgin troops from every land to sate
The tigerish greed of their delirious lust.
The evil of their fame was blown, like dust—
A blinding drouth—through all the world's broad ways.
And they too had forgot the olden days,
The kinship of mankind, the sword of fire.
Their god was luxury, their law desire.

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Between the cities and the savage waste
Were men in myriads. These were they who chased
The elephant and ostrich; they who fed
On marrow of lions on the watershed
Of mighty rivers; they who lived on canes
And locusts; they who roamed in sail-drawn wains
With flocks and herds, and made the heavens their fold;
And serpent-eaters, wearing coils of gold;
And fisher-folk, who slept on rafts of logs,
And throve on river-fish and milk of dogs;
And last, in regions green with sun and rain,
The husbandmen who planted roots and grain,
And dwelt in huts of water-reeds and mud.
And all these had forgot the brotherhood
Of man, the Garden days, the sword of fire.
Their god was turbulence, their law desire.
And now, when after sixteen hundred years,
Beneath the whole wide heaven men's blood and tears

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Cried out to God; and God the Lord looked forth
And saw the violence that filled the earth,
The bloody worship and lascivious glee
Around the boulder and beneath the tree,
And all men's wickedness, it grieved the Lord
That He had made man's image. He abhorred
All flesh on earth, both man and creeping thing,
And every beast, and bird of every wing.
And God prepared the vengeance of His rain
To slay them, that all evil might be slain
And utterly destroyed before His face.
But Noah, who had walked with God, found grace—
Both Noah and his house.
And Noah hewed
Great trees within the forest, gopher-wood;
And mighty oxen travailed through the years
To draw the timber home.
In all men's ears
The fame of this and Noah's name made mirth.
But lo! an ancient of the morn o' the earth—
Hoary as winter, imperishable as stone,
O'ershadowing as a cloud which all alone

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Glooms half a realm for half a summer day—
Leaned on his spear, and watched his grandson lay
The Ark's foundations.
This was that sublime
Presentment of humanity and time,
Methuselah—the living man, whose eyes
Had seen the living Adam. Centuries
And nations near the figure of his life
Were dwarfed to pigmy images.
A strife
Of wrath and sorrow raged within his mind.
He felt himself the conscience of mankind—
God's evidence against man's evil. Lo!
Like God he knew if God were just or no.
His memory was an iron book wherein
Was graved a thousand years of human sin—
A thousand years of patience, mercy, love,
Outraged and scorned.
“Ye clouds, grow great above;
Be swift, ye waters, to obey his nod;
Break, thou great deep, and rain, thou rain of God!”

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Thus spoke he in his wrath, yet while he spoke,
The motherhood of Eve within him woke.
What man was he that he should curse the race
Her breasts had suckled!
Down his rugged face
The great tears of a world-wide pity ran.
All time and all good men in that one man
Seemed weeping.
Day by day for many years
That hoary Sorrow, gazing through his tears,
Watched the long toil, nor spoke to any one.
But when at last th' enormous work was done,
And all the Ark was wrought, on that same day
They saw the man's vast stature rock and sway,
Then fall his length. Without a cry or groan
He fell. He fell, as falleth some high stone
Pillared for worship as a god, and hurled
Headlong by God.
God took him from a world
All evil ere the doom of evil burst.
One grief was spared him—he who had seen the first
Saw not the last o' the race no prayer could save.
The sons of Noah dug his giant grave.