University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

In a wood near Joseph's house. Jesus and his Mother conversing.
Jesus.
You see the present, and the past still weighs
Heavy upon you, but before my eyes
Spreads wide and clear the future of our race.
Think'st thou that God alone to Abraham spoke,
To Moses and Elias—not to me?
Because thy pure blood courses through my veins
Think'st thou that God's eternal fatherhood
Will never claim its own, that through my eyes
Will never flash forth on the sons of men
My Father's undisputed majesty?
Woman, thou errest: by the laws o' the flesh
From thee I drew my life, this body of mine,
This human visible frame, to thee I owe,
But yet in other spheres my spirit breathed
Long ere my body quickened in thy womb.
Yea, from God's life my higher life I drew;
His royal blood flows tingling through my veins,
And when I see injustice, hate, or wrong,
I speak as I have heard my Father speak,
His holy anger lightens from my soul—
Just as his pity thrills me, when I see
The ceaseless silent suffering of the world.

Mary.
I search the scriptures patiently, my son.
What has been written by the hand of God
In those our priceless scriptures, I believe.
Upon the impregnable rock of holy writ
I stand—

Jesus.
I stand upon the impregnable rock
Of mine own soul.

Mary.
Beware of blasphemy.

Jesus.
No prophet ever yet spake to the world
Words fresh from God's lips but the world accused
That seer of blasphemy.

Mary.
The prophets spake
As God inspired them—thou dost speak not thus.
In thy presumption thou wouldst quite undo
The work of ages, set thyself above
Isaiah, Moses, Micah, thou a youth
Full of high thoughts, but inexperienced, weak
As yet in power to grasp the truth of things.

Jesus.
I am the truth.

Mary.
It wounds me to the heart
To hear thee speak thus.

Jesus.
And it wounds me, mother,
Far deeplier than thy soul can understand
To grieve thee—yes, in even the slightest point.
But, when the choice is set before me thus,
Mother or Father, things of earth or heaven,
Thy mandate or God's voice within my soul,
Which can I choose, which follow?

Mary.
It might be
Joseph might help thee—or Ben-Aaron might.
Hast ever stooped to ask advice of these?
Thy father understands the scriptures well:
So doth the Rabbi—he's a learned man
Who has spent his life in searching holy writ,
In searching and expounding—but thine heart
Is overmuch puffed-up with vanity.

Jesus.
Mother, enough—when sunlight no more shines,
When God no more lets fall upon the night
For man to see star-jewels from his crown,
When no more through the music of the waves
Of blue Gennesareth he speaks to me,
And through the snow-white lilies of the field,
And through the grass-blades and the waving corn,—
When I can see no God within the skies,
And hear no God within my own heart's depths
While watching lonely on the mountain-side,
When that shall be—if ever that shall be—
Then I will listen to thy Rabbi's speech
And follow in his steps.

Mary.
Wild utterance, son!

Jesus.
Nay, sober utterance, mother, for I speak
With reason's keen-edged sword within my hand,
The sword that cuts all ancient sophistries
And severs custom's maxims. But henceforth
Let us not speak upon these things. Go thou,
Mother, thy way in peace—let me go mine;
And when we meet before the throne of God
A thousand centuries hence, when all is done,
My gospel preached, the wide world won to me,
My labours finished—for my task extends
In scope beyond the extreme dim dusky point
Of heaven to which the farthest star could sail—
When all is o'er, and we, as spirits then
No more as mother and son, before God's throne
Meet, thou shalt own that though thou sawest the skirts
Of God's robe, I gazed straight within his eyes,
Caught up the words fresh-falling from his lips,
And felt the pressure of his hand in mine.
But for to-day farewell.

Mary.
Farewell, my son.

(Exeunt Jesus and Mary, at opposite sides of the stage).