I slept not, though the wild bees made A dreamlike murmuring in the shade, And on me the warm-fingered hours Pressed with the drowsy smell of flowers.
Before me, in a vision, rose The hosts of Israel's scornful foes,-- Rank over rank, helm, shield, and spear, Glittered in noon's hot atmosphere.
I heard their boast, and bitter word, Their mockery of the Hebrew's Lord, I saw their hands His ark assail, Their feet profane His holy veil.
No angel down the blue space spoke, No thunder from the still sky broke; But in their midst, in power and awe, Like God's waked wrath, our child I saw!
A child no more!--harsh-browed and strong, He towered a giant in the throng, And down his shoulders, broad and bare, Swept the black terror of his hair.
He raised his arm--he smote amain; As round the reaper falls the grain, So the dark host around him fell, So sank the foes of Israel!
Again I looked. In sunlight shone The towers and domes of Askelon; Priest, warrior, slave, a mighty crowd Within her idol temple bowed.
Yet one knelt not; stark, gaunt, and blind, His arms the massive pillars twined,-- An eyeless captive, strong with hate, He stood there like an evil Fate.
The red shrines smoked,--the trumpets pealed He stooped,--the giant columns reeled; Reeled tower and fane, sank arch and wall, And the thick dust-cloud closed o'er all!
Above the shriek, the crash, the groan Of the fallen pride of Askelon, I heard, sheer down the echoing sky, A voice as of an angel cry,--
The voice of him, who at our side Sat through the golden eventide; Of him who, on thy altar's blaze, Rose fire-winged, with his song of praise.
"Rejoice o'er Israel's broken chain, Gray mother of the mighty slain!
Rejoice!" it cried, "he vanquisheth!
The strong in life is strong in death!
"To him shall Zorah's daughters raise Through coming years their hymns of praise, And gray old men at evening tell Of all he wrought for Israel.
"And they who sing and they who hear Alike shall hold thy memory dear, And pour their blessings on thy head, O mother of the mighty dead!"
It ceased; and though a sound I heard As if great wings the still air stirred, I only saw the barley sheaves And hills half hid by olive leaves.
I bowed my face, in awe and fear, On the dear child who slumbered near; "With me, as with my only son, O God," I said, "Thy will be done!"
1847.
MY SOUL AND I
Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark I would question thee, Alone in the shadow drear and stark With God and me!
What, my soul, was thy errand here?
Was it mirth or ease, Or heaping up dust from year to year?
"Nay, none of these!"
Speak, soul, aright in His holy sight Whose eye looks still And steadily on thee through the night "To do His will!"
What hast thou done, O soul of mine, That thou tremblest so?
Hast thou wrought His task, and kept the line He bade thee go?
Aha! thou tremblest!--well I see Thou 'rt craven grown.
Is it so hard with God and me To stand alone?
Summon thy sunshine bravery back, O wretched sprite!
Let me hear thy voice through this deep and black Abysmal night.
What hast thou wrought for Right and Truth, For God and Man, From the golden hours of bright-eyed youth To life's mid span?
What, silent all! art sad of cheer?
Art fearful now?
When God seemed far and men were near, How brave wert thou!
Ah, soul of mine, thy tones I hear, But weak and low, Like far sad murmurs on my ear They come and go.
I have wrestled stoutly with the Wrong, And borne the Right From beneath the footfall of the throng To life and light.
"Wherever Freedom shivered a chain, God speed, quoth I; To Error amidst her shouting train I gave the lie."
Ah, soul of mine! ah, soul of mine!
Thy deeds are well: Were they wrought for Truth's sake or for thine?
My soul, pray tell.
"Of all the work my hand hath wrought Beneath the sky, Save a place in kindly human thought, No gain have I."
Go to, go to! for thy very self Thy deeds were done Thou for fame, the miser for pelf, Your end is one!
And where art thou going, soul of mine?
Canst see the end?
And whither this troubled life of thine Evermore doth tend?
What daunts thee now? what shakes thee so?
My sad soul say.
"I see a cloud like a curtain low Hang o'er my way.
"Whither I go I cannot tell That cloud hangs black, High as the heaven and deep as hell Across my track.
"I see its shadow coldly enwrap The souls before.
Sadly they enter it, step by step, To return no more.
"They shrink, they shudder, dear God! they kneel To Thee in prayer.
They shut their eyes on the cloud, but feel That it still is there.
"In vain they turn from the dread Before To the Known and Gone; For while gazing behind them evermore Their feet glide on.
"Yet, at times, I see upon sweet pale faces A light begin To tremble, as if from holy places And shrines within.
"And at times methinks their cold lips move With hymn and prayer, As if somewhat of awe, but more of love And hope were there.