The story of Judeth : a tale of Bethany, with poems of home, heart, and hearth

Front matter

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.

A TALE OF BETHANY

WITH POEMS OF HOME, HEART, AND HEARTH

Preface

In presenting this volume to the public, the Author feels that he has but imperfectly accomplished that which he sought to do, and that the work is but a dim shadow of the ideal which he would reach. Whatever faults there are, and there are many and serious ones, are in the infirmity of the writer, and not in the subject. It may seem presumption, and he is conscious of the justness of the charge against him, to attempt a work so far beyond his ability to do it the justice it merits. But in its reception by the public he hopes, that, while the work itself may not reach the standard he has sought to attain, yet the subject may receive that fair and candid consideration which it merits ; and that, looking beyond the Author and his work, the higher ideal may be reached by the reader. Should this be achieved, he is content to be considered but as the guide leading the way to the beautiful gardens of Hesperides, although not being permitted to enter.

Before the simple and fragmentary story of the death and resurrection of Lazarus, given in the Gospels, we have stood wondering why a thing so momentous in its bearing and effect, not only in the life and future of the dead brought to life, but to the world of mankind, should be so lightly passed over, and left in utter silence. Far be it from us to seek to supply aught to this story, either in continuation or in supposition, well knowing that such attempt would well merit the bitterest rebuke that could be administered to our temerity. As it is given we leave it, adding nothing, nor detracting aught from it.

The method and purpose of the story of Judeth is seem-

VI PREFACE

ingly so plain and simple that it appears to the writer unnecessary to even allude to its design. If this is not the case, then the whole is a dismal failure, and any explanation that might be made or elucidation given would not save it from absolute and merited condemnation, and an immediate banishment to that limbo of purposeless writings, the ragman's cart.

What is writ is writ, and it now goes to that inexorable judge, the public, to receive approval or condemnation. We may await its decree as the criminal the decision of the court of last resort, who, though sustained by a conscious knowledge of his innocence, knows that only the slender thread of attenuated hope hangs on the word of fallible man, and if that fail he is lost : yet, like that condemned man, we may be pardoned if we should with him feel that, if justice be awarded us, the decree will not be against

THE AUTHOR.

Contents

PAGE

Song ' 368

Music that is ever New 369

II. Lazarus

Judeth, how strong That picture there presents of eager soul Striving to reach its destiny. The goal, Which first invitingly in reach appears, Sweeps farther outward, farther yet, as nears The hoped-for rest ; and yet with tireless wings It soars and soars, and soaring ever sings Its joyful song of hbpe unquenched.

JUDETH.

The Soul!

I would not pain you with my doubt, nor roll The darkling shadow of my life athwart The golden sunshine of your hope, with swart, Uncertain night, which settles close upon The grave, when in it all of life is gone, Yet such is my belief. The light gone out, The house is cold and dark!

LAZARUS.

What! Then you doubt?

JUDETH.

Nay, I do more than doubt ; for I stand not Uncertain of my faith, nor have forgot The teaching of my youth, that man is clay, The grave his home, and dust, when laid away, Is all there is of him. My friend, in me, Of straitest sect, behold a Sadducee.

III. Lazarus

Nay, you but jest ! In you and me, 't is true,

Flows the rich blood of Israel's ardent Jew —

In fact, so intermingled in our veins

That little else in them save that remains !

From it the warmth, the fire — hot passion — love,

Lurk hidden in our hearts in test to prove

We can be true in hate, in love, in pride,

True to our faith, the chief of all beside ;

Our fathers' faith, religion, empire, name, —

Ours, blood-inherited, Altars and Fame !

JUDETH.

Religion ! Well, yes ; by that name as well As any, if our meaning we may tell ; Mine is too plain. The god I serve this life, And close the book at that. The vexing strife Of Souls seeking their homes in fleshless dress Is not a pleasant thought. If God will .bless,

Let it be here and now with bounteous hand ; I want no sweeter and no fairer land ! Why should we seek a better ? You and I Clasp hands and walk beneath this sunny sky, With flowers beneath our feet songs in our ears And hearts, while beautiful the earth appears, In all the varied hues of Nature's dress Clothes her fair form and sits in loveliness ! Is this not Heaven ? Ah ! well I know for me No brighter day dawns through Eternity. What, then, would you ask more ?

IV. Lazarus

These fleeting years Are sweet, fair Judeth, but too full of tears : While Joy's few days are not enough for me. My life, a Soul eternal born and free, In dull obscurity but faintly glows, — Just catches on this earth the quick'ning throes Of being born to launch at last in song, As yon sweet bird the brighter fields among, Eternity's first day in opening dawn Before me spread.

JUDETH.

I know that you are drawn, Through the blind hoodwink of a blinder faith, To a belief no witness, even, hath. For who, of all the dead, returning bears Remotest proof of Soul-life ? Where, too, fares The risen dead whose sojourn sure would be Sometime on earth through its eternity ? You dream, kind friend ! This clay you call the mould Is all, and all must die when it is cold. How cometh joy or pain to that which hath Nor nerves nor vital parts ? How can God's wrath, Or his great love, touch that which this weak hand Can brush away, I cannot understand ! God's love and his great mercy speak through Death, To us this consolation, Life is breath.

LAZARUS.

If I could do such sacrilege to God To even dare to think you but a clod, Yet to yourself, the choicest earthly bloom, I dare not do injustice. In the Tomb, The withered, dead, decaying sweetness lies Forever hid from tear-o'erburdened eyes ; Can this be lost forever ? But one mould In all the world can your fair likeness hold ! God works not all in vain, and no blind Chance Here stumbles on divine resemblance : Ah ! no : immortal hands immortal made Such beauty so that it should never fade !

JUDETH.

You lose yourself in compliments to me. The grossest forms immortal, too, must be, Else God would be but partial and not just.

VI. And there you fail again : of fairest dust

The beautiful its fadeless beauty keeps —

More lovely grows as heavenward on it sweeps,

Refined, refining through the dateless years.

In grosser flesh the struggling soul appears

From the coarse chrysalis the sun has warmed,

Comes struggling forth from its close-crowded home

The worm which has a butterfly become.

See ! how it writhes to burst its prison cell —

Shakes from its wings its flight-impeding shell,

Pants at each breath in life's ecstatic pain,

Thrills with its pleasure until death again

Seems seizing on its vital powers, while wing

And body in the throes are shuddering.

But this is life, not death ; and fold on fold

The cramped and crumpled wings are soon unrolled,

And, stretching wide their growing length, they gleam

In all the beauty of an artist's dream !

A few soft breathings of the buoyant air,

To try their strength and for its flight prepare ;

Then, spurning its dull cell with proud disdain,

Soars skyward through the bright, unknown domain,

In flight forever leaving far behind

The prison-house where it lay dwarfed and blind.

So the freed soul from gross, imprisoning clay,

Clothed in God's beauty, deathless soars away.

VII. Judeth

Your picture is most beautiful ! If true,

I would be glad. The moth described by you

I, too, have seen ; and when I saw it soar —

For I have watched them from my garden bower —

So beautifully painted, through the sky,

I oft have thought if I, too, thus could fly

To search a life of sunshine and of gold,

And leave forever here this sad and old

Abode — But how I prate ! such cannot be,

Except for you and moths ; 't is not for me.

LAZARUS.

Already stirs that soul within your breast

In its fierce longings for a sweeter rest :

Content not here, it gazes with an eye

Which, as from book, reads in the bending sky

Some mystery of which it hath a part,

And, reading thus, appeals to hope and heart.

JUDETH.

What moves you, brother, now in speech so grave To talk of old things newly clad ? I crave You now unbend that face with brow austere, And, with such words as is my wont to hear From lips till now of levity the vent, Speak in sweet phrase and simple.

LAZARUS.

Sister, pent

In this proud heart Ambition had its rule, As you well know, and learning in such school But feeds the thirst for more, and thus consume The forces as the fruit absorbs the bloom Until the sweetness and the freshness born Of gentle blood were withered ere the morn Of manhood touched the day, as you may know, Who oft have watched and chid my dark'ning brow, And I grew cynic.

VIII

And that was what best pleased Me as I thought of you as brother. How I teased You just to let me call you so, for I Have none, nor sister ! you might one supply, And Mary will the other. Life is lone To go through it still having neither one. You are my brother, are n't you ? Do not frown, As you have always done, and face me down. Ashamed, somehow I feel, when in your eye I read your strange, mysterious reply. Are you ashamed to call me sister ?

But we our theme forget.

No,

Oh, no ; true, though, I did ask why you had so changed of late, But I did scarcely mean it, I so hate Philosophy, and those much harder names Of things unknowable. My pride but shames My ignorance, and it, in truth made plain, Shows but a heart as shallow as 't is vain.

IX. Lazarus

Fair Judeth, — sister, if that please you best, — The passions which stir in the human breast

Are deep, unsearchable ; but at the spring

We drink of truth, where never withering

Are flowers that bloom eternal on its course,

Full of the life that bubbles from its source.

He who drinks there thirsts not. Soul cleaves to Soul ;

Like born of like, inseparable and whole

Becomes, as fruit from mingled juices grown,

The stock engrafted bearing fruit alone.

And feeding on such fruits the grosser part,

The mortal draws from the immortal heart

Its own eternal Immortality.

judeth.

Your speech to you is plain, no doubt ; to me It is most vague and mystical. Whence brought This fine Philosophy which darkens thought ?

Philosophy is truth and truth is light : They fail to see who lack discerning sight ; The light shines but within, the outward eye But night alone and darkness can descry ; You need the inner light, where through the soul The rays of truth their floods dilating roll.

JUDETH.

The Soul ! What mean you ? I, as truth, deny

All source of vision save the mortal eye.

True, to the mind some truths come vague and dim,

Like wavering lights on the horizon's rim

When morn is breaking.

LAZARUS.

Why these lights you see ?

Why ? Sure the answer is most simple, " He

Who runs may read." That faint and quivering ray

Is the fore-promise of the coming day :

Behind it speeds the swift and fiery Sun,

And Night, uncovered, blushes hot and dun.

X. Lazarus

Because the sun is there, you see the light : Without its rays all is eternal night. Is not this true ? The twilight of the mind Is but the gleam of the great soul behind. That soul eternal, through the prison bars Sheds the soft lustre of the risen stars.

JUDETH.

I said Philosophy and I were twain;

Its whys and wherefores are to me but vain

And empty vaporings. I only know

That, as to me things seem, they must be so.

Philosophy, if I read right, should make all plain,

Else Wisdom, save for few, to man is vain :

Beyond that line lies dark and waste a land,

If I see not, how can I understand ?

There lies the darkness, and, outstretched, my hand

Pierces its desert shadow, yet I feel

No touch upon me. Ghostly somethings steal

Still nearer to me, until from the night

Drops down the curtain o'er unquickened sight ;

And so the light shut close within me lies

A portion of the darkness, and my eyes,

As if they never saw, to me are blind,

Save to bright pictures glowing in the mind.

LAZARUS.

Those pictures glow not, save from light within :

The veil obscuring lies so sere and thin,

The shadow's fall across our waking eyes

Reveals the starlight in the Soul's clear skies.

The stars are there ; it needs but keener power

To trace their glowing at the noontide hour :

So we, when life's day merges into gloom

Where fall the shadows round the hastening tomb,

With eyes earth-dimmed look forth with quickened sight

" Lo ! It is morning, let there now be light ! "

XL

JUDETH.

My friend, — my brother, — tell me whence this change ?

This wondrous wisdom, old and yet so strange,

Your heart has filled and schooled your lips to teach

With words prophetic and impassioned speech ?

Has, in your absence, chanced it to your lot

To visit him, — you know, I name him not, —

Who by the Jordan's steep and rocky strand,

And thence throughout its valley's sweeter land,

Like prophet clad, Elias come again,

Cries doleful warnings unto all the plain ?

John Baptist ? Nay, him I have not yet seen,

But travelled much the land where he has been ;

And wonderful the tales one of him hears !

Wherever now this godly man appears

Great multitudes the desert places fill,

And follow him who leads them as he will,

With eager lips hang on his slightest word,

By fear or faith to deep conviction stirred.

God's Word he preaches from the Prophet's page,

And with its truths their waiting minds engage ;

Their sins denouncing, scorns their pleasures dear,

Their pride, self-love, race, creed, in terms severe :

God's withering curse, a siroc's burning storm,

Is heaped on them who serve him but in form ;

While Love and Pity ever wait upon

Those who to him in faith and trust have gone.

So great his fame, to him the Pharisee,

And with him came also the Sadducee,

To learn what mighty power was his to draw

The people to him ; and to learn the law,

If such there be, by which he holds them thrall

To his strange teaching warring with them all.

Not that they hope'' to find in him aught good

For them to share, or for the multitude ;

But that his words against him they may use,

Or turn his holy warnings to abuse,

Then mock, revile, denounce him as a fraud

They will expose though all the world applaud !

And seeing these, their lives and hearts he reads,

Weighs all through worth and judges each by creeds.

With scorn ineffable, such as the soul

Intensely pure must feel upon it roll,

The battle on, nor thought of compromise,

Thus to the vain, self-righteous throng he cries :

" Ye viper's brood, of earth the vilest scum,

Who warneth you to flee the wrath to come ?

You must repent ; the axe lies at the root

Of every tree that beareth not good fruit.

Unto the Lord shall be the soul's desire ;

The barren tree is cast into the fire.

You Abraham for father boast ! If need,

God unto him of stones shall raise up seed.

Your ways are dark, your steps take hold on Hell ;

Already burn with fires unquenchable

Your shrivelled souls ! repent while yet you may ;

For you the night of Death shall have no day :

God's mercies cease when hearts will not receive ;

Rejected pardon hopes not for reprieve."

XII

This much I tell, yet not the half I heard,

And telling this perhaps somewhat have erred.

The spirit of the truth proclaimed pervades

The very air : before his teaching fades

All opposition, and both high and low,

As penitents, for his baptizing bow.

His word is mighty ; and throughout that land

Come flocking multitudes on every hand,

As if the wondrous teaching of the word

The deepest depths of human feeling stirred ;

And whispering lips, awe-touched and white with fear,

Are asking, "Will Messiah soon appear ? "

What meaneth it I know not, nor can well

Divine its purport ; only thus I tell

The story as I heard.

JUDETH.

Your words have strange

And subtle power e'en over me. The range

Of this unlettered dweller in the hills,

Whose magic eloquence so moves and thrills

The hearts of men, hath in it mystery

That I would fain unveil. Not that in me

Alone, dare I now hope, lies hid the power

That may be equal to such task or hour ;

My weakness left alone must ever fail ;

God gave Sisera to the hand of Jael :

When Truth and Error to the death contend,

How meagre oft the means are to the end !

But in the right the weak are ever strong,

While might's high citadel is sapped by Wrong.

So runs the tale from synagogue oft read,

How Jonah, when from duty he had fled,

Escaped the seas, at last to Ninus came,

Where he was sent God's vengeance to proclaim* —

Nor messenger such message ever bore, —

" Yet forty days, and Ninus is no more ! "

And yet they heed that warning strange, and hear

In it the voice of judgment speaking clear :

God's pardoning favor they in faith implore,

And Vengeance stalks regretful from the shore.

I oft have wondered how, in form uncouth

And maniac's cry, that people found the truth :

Why should the wise, the great, the powerful flee

Out from their sinful lives for such as he ?

XIII. Because behind and in his footsteps trod

The Messenger of an avenging God.

No swifter fled proud Ahab's trembling steeds

Where fast before the girded Prophet speeds,

Than turned the heathen from his path accursed,

Before the cloud destroying on him burst.

JUDETH.

So I believe of these ; but can it be

That God in spirit speaks through such as he ?

Is our estate to topple to its fall.

And niighty things confounded be by small ?

LAZARUS.

God ever was and always is the same:

The sword which smites, and smites not in his name,

Turns back the edge on him who wields, and dire

The vengeance of his wrath's enkindled fire.

So mercy shown, if not evoked through prayer,

To him who shows hath blessing lean and spare.

Now from that Book you also have heard read j

That in the olden time the Prophet said, —

The whole I may not give in word and phrase,

But this their meaning and the truth conveys, —

" Receive you him who cometh now to bless,

The Voice that crieth in the wilderness ;

Ye who the coming of the Lord Christ wait

A highway build and make his pathway straight."

He now is come ; the people hear and heed,

And haste to him, forgetting caste and creed :

He is the " Voice ! " The Nations hear the cry,

And to his lifted standard soon will fly :

The heavens proclaim the wonders of his word,

In this the day spring of the coming Lord.

XIV

You strangely move me ! and I now must see This Sage and sacred Herald : if it be Not now too much of you, my friend, to ask, In burdening you with this a further task, That you, as escort and also as guide, Lead us to where the Jordan's broadening tide Flows to that sad and death-distilling Sea With its sweet waters from the Galilee, Myself there to behold this mighty Seer, And from his lips his wondrous message hear ; While in his eyes I gaze, and gazing read If truth or falsehood father his strange creed.

LAZARUS.

Your wish is but my duty, so prepare At once the journey. I will have the care Of tents and meats, since now as locusts swarm The multitudes o'er all the land.

JUDETH.

No harm Will come to us from them ?

LAZARUS.

Nay, as the sheep Which graze upon yon hillside's rocky steep They are as kind and harmless.

JUDETH.

Then away !

I am impatient for the coming day, And the dusk shadows of the night will hate, Since through their laggard course I needs must wait. Martha and Mary, too, our way must share ; To them our purpose haste we to declare : Delay no longer, since more swift my feet Than yours to haste to joy, and far more fleet. A time we part ; and should we meet no more I will await you at the morning hour, Impatient of the bird's first matin call From out the fig-trees by the garden wall.

Before the bird I shall awake you : come ! The day grows hot, so let us hasten home.

XV. Now, while our friends the journey shall prepare

Which we, as guests unbidden, too shall share,

We stop a moment and the time avail,

While lag the actors in our waiting tale,

To sketch in some bold strokes the scenes around, -

Map out the plan, a time survey the ground

Where soon the actors of a mighty Past

Shall move and speak, as ever changing fast

Scene upon scene, recurring act and deed :

These, shifting oft, each other oft succeed ;

And in them bearing fruits the world alone

Shall reap in harvests as the years roll on.

A thousand years thrice told have come and gone,

Before the lifting of this day's faint dawn, And through those years have voices far away Proclaimed to man the coming of this day. God's messengers, priest, prophet, sage, and seer, Whose feet have trod these sacred valleys here, Then, looking down the vistas lighted by The beams eternal from the throne on high, Have read the portent while the ages roll, As letters written on a flaming scroll, Far in the future, and proclaimed to man The wondrous story of God's waiting plan.

XVI

That time to-day ; the land is Palestine ;

Province, Judea, rich in figs and wine.

Hard by to Bethany on Olivet

The day has opened, and in shadows yet

The sparkling dews of morn in beauty cling

To pendant grasses, while the gay birds sing

Their morning songs perched in the olive- trees,

That, centuries gone, have wooed the fresh'ning breeze,

Just as to-day they woo and whisper there

In low, soft murmurings, to the morning fair.

Their tale, though soft, is as the earth is, old ;

Nor new the one they have this morning told,

While hither strayed the two we now have seen,

From the close city to the fresher green

Of field and grove : the why we need not tell,

Since youth is youth, in every age as well :

And its one story, if but rightly told,

Though new to-day, to-morrow has grown old !

XVII. The maid is fair, is young and very fair !

Her eyes their night with lambent torches share :

Dusk cheeks that have the touch of shadow thrown

Across the milky skin, to blushes blown

In crimson tinge that on the surface lies,

Nor stains the blooming flower of health it dyes.

Like rippling shadows falling on the light,

Flow down her locks as sable as the night,

Save that across the shortened crests there gleams

The golden tinge where daylight softly streams,

Such as we see when twilight's ruddy glow

Touches the sea where darkling ripples flow,

Morn's promise shining on the topmost crest,

While Night and Shadow swallow all the rest !

Her lips apart, so red they seem to bleed,

Like cleft pomegranate o'er its gleaming seed,

Show teeth that stand, two gates in pearly row

Ajar, while speech and fragrant breath pass through !

Her dress — Oh, had I power from words to weave

The hues in flower, the grace and folds conceive, —

Throw out the lines, show, clinging as a kiss,

The folds that drape her bosom in a bliss

That makes them animate, yet fall away,

And the white, heaving bosom half display,

As in dim shadow touching but the light,

Two peaks of snow half veiled in dusky night !

Thence flowing down the girdled waist caressed

By golden cincture clasping silken vest,

In flood of color like Niagara's flow,

When o'er its sheen the sunlight casts its bow,

Falls round her form, and, thus emblazoned, gleam

In lights entrancing as a glowing dream,

As bare arms fall like flashes of soft white

With clasped hands hidden in its folds from sight.

XVIII. And such is Judeth, save a hundred fold

Her charms outrival all that can be told :

We give but outlines, these but half expressed,

Then let imagination paint the rest.

Her years, these need we tell? In northern lands

The fairest flower in blossom slow expands :

'Neath tropic suns, in garden and in bower

Both rose and maiden hasten into flower ;

No lingering dalliance in the smiles of Spring,

No coy delays that chilling north-winds bring.

Her sun to Eros speeds his gentle reign

Witli flowers to please, and hearts to soothe his pain.

16 THE STORY OF JUDETU

To us a child, there she the woman grown, In the full freshness of her beauty blown ; The mind maturing with the body's growth, Perfection's rare ideal lives in both.

XIX

Companion of the hour, whose earnest speech Has less of love and more of truth to teach, Few words describe ; as few his story tell : Let these suffice the telling, ill or well. His name already is familiar grown ; His native home, Bethany's peaceful town. "Whatever needs be told the story through, His life in picture boldly brings to view : A wondrous life ! so little known, and yet That little still the world cannot forget ! A word describes him : as the arrow straight, With face as gentle as its look sedate ; Not large in stature, lithe in form and limb, "With eye whose lustre death alone can dim ; Blue as the sky, and liquid as 't is blue, Clear as the light, nor clearer than 't is true. His golden hair falls o'er his polished brow Like dash of sunshine crowning clouds of snow ; His yellow beard both short and curling grew, With cheek and lip still faintly blushing through. And such is Lazarus, as we see him here, Such, faintly pictured as he should appear.

XX

By wealth not burdened nor made vain by fame, His means were ample and revered his name. Long lines of ancestors to him secure A blood as noble as its source is pure : Through these untarnished, on its currents run From sire unspotted to reproachless son. His kinsmen, too, sprung from this vigorous vine, Through many branches spread the honored line. Nor far remote, of kindred blood was she, The fact sufficing, they ignore degree, —

Judeth, of tribe and house as his the same,

But not in line direct, nor yet in name.

Her father's station honored in the land

With riches that both smiles and place command,

A ruler in the synagogue was he,

In faith, if not in sect, a Sadducee.

She, at the home of Lazarus a guest

Of his fair sisters, lingers now to rest,

Whither from pent up city she has flown

To this sweet home scarce second to her own.

And finds she there home, life, and love so sweet,

From cares oppressive such a blest retreat,

That long she lingers, and, as day by day

The moments pass, they sweeten still her stay ;

Their hearts her home, their home a heaven to her,

Where Love rules all and each is worshipper.

XXI. Adown the Mount of Olives in retreat

They hasten now, nor stay their eager feet :

We watch them yet a moment on their way,

Bright in their hopes as is the glowing day,

Forgetful of the moment and the scene,

Sweet in its hills and valleys fair between,

That crowd the vision with their lights and shades,

Where gleams the sunlight or the shadow fades :

These, through their mem'ries and their past sublime,

Invite a moment of our grudging time,

To paint with feeble hand, in words that fail,

This land befitting its own marvellous tale !

XXII

Land, made sacred by the feet of him Who bore the Cross down through yon valley dim, In the far distance, where we still may see That sad, sweet mount of suffering, Calvary ! O Land of Promise ! wondrous in the fruit Of nectarine sweetness grown from bitter root ! The shadowy legends breathing still of thee In those old mystic books of prophecy,