'Twas in the rugged and forsaken isleOf Patmos, dreariest of the sister islesWhich strew the Ægean, where the pirate, wontTo rove the seas with scymitar of blood,Now scowled in sullen exile, an old man,Tranquilly listening to the ocean-sounds,And resting on his staff, beside a cave,7Gazed on the setting sun, as it went downIn glory o'er the distant hills of Greece.Pale precipices frowned above the trackOf dark gray sands and stone; nor wood nor streamCheered the lone valleys, desolate, and sad,And silent; not a goat amid the cragsWandering, and picking here and there a bladeOf withered grass, above the sea-marge hung.The robber[114]scowled, and spoke not; his dark eyeStill flashed unconquered pride, and sullen hateTo man, and, looking on his iron chain,He muttered to himself a deeper curse.The old man had his dwelling in a cave,20Half-way upon the desert mountain's side,Now bent with the full weight of eighty yearsAnd upwards; and that caverned mountain-cragFive years had been his dwelling:[115]there he sat,Oft holding converse, not with forms of earth,But, as was said, with spirits of the blessed,Beyond this cloudy sphere, or with the deadOf other days. A girdle bound his loins;Figs and Icarian honey were his food;An ill-carved cup by a clear fount was seen;30His long locks and his white descending beardShook when he tottered down into the sun,Supported by a slender cross of pine,His staff; and when the evening star aroseO'er Asia, a brief time he stood and gazed,Then sought his melancholy cave and prayed.And who, in this sad place, was this old man?Who, in this island, where the robber scowled,Was this old man, exiled and destitute—Old, but so reverenced, the murderer passed40His rocky dwelling, and bade peace to it?'Twas he who leaned upon our Saviour's breastAt the last supper; he to whom the Lord,Looking upon his countenance of youth,His calm, clear forehead, and his clustering hair,Said, What if he shall tarry till I come!Long years—and many sorrows marked these years—Had passed since this was said; and now that faceWas furrowed o'er with age; and wearinessAnd exile, in the last lone days of life,50Were now his lot; for they whom he had loved—They, the disciples of "Him crucified"—Professing one warm faith, one glorious hope,Were all, in the same faith and the same hope,Laid down in peace, after their pilgrimage,Where the world ceased from troubling.He aloneLingered when all were dead, with fervent prayerSoon in the bosom of his Lord to rest.And now he comes forth from his rocky cave60To gaze a while upon the silent sea,In the calm eventide of the Lord's day;To think on Him he loved, and of that voiceOnce heard on earth: so, pondering, on his staff,The old man watched another sun go downBeyond the Cape of Tenos.[116]The still seaSlept, in the light of eve, beneath his feet,And often, as in very gentleness,It seemed to touch his sandals, and retire.And now the last limb of the sinking orb70Is hid, yet far away the cloudy trackReddens with its departing glory.Hark!73A voice, and, lo! seven "golden candlesticks,"[117]The "Angels of the Churches" upon earth,"Seven golden candlesticks," and He, the Lord,Among them, like unto that Son of GodWho radiant on the mount of vision[118]stood,Now recognised the same, in the same shape.His hair was white as snow; his eyes were flame;80His voice, the sound of waters; in his hand—His raised right hand—seven stars; his countenanceAs the bright sun, that shineth in his strength;And yet serene as the descending day.It was the Lord: the old man at his feetFell down as dead; the apparition stoodGlorious above his head, and spoke:Fear not;I am the first and last; the last and first:Lo, I am he that liveth, and was dead:90And now, behold, I live for evermore—For evermore, and have the keys of hellAnd death![119]The glory passed—and all aroundIs still as death: the old man sinks to earth,Astonied, faint, and pale. When the slow senseStruggled to recollection, he looked around,Yet trembling; but no voice was heard; no formStood, bending in its glory, o'er him.Then seemed the hills of that forsaken isle100More dreary; and the promontories bareLifted their weather-beaten brows more darkAnd desolate. Back to his lonely caveThe old man passed; and, wrapped in thoughts of heaven,Lifted in prayer his clasped emaciate hands;105Then on his bed of rushes in the caveLay down to rest till dawn. What was his dream?He saw again, as when the rocks were rent,And "darkness at midday was o'er the land,"His Saviour calmly bowing his meek head110Upon the cross: he heard that thrilling voiceEven from the cross, Woman, behold thy son!Son, look upon thy mother!Then he sawThe forms of those whom he had loved on earth,And heard their voices still; and stood entranced,With Peter and with James, upon the mountOf glorious vision; now he saw, in dreams,Again the glistening apparition rise,And stand above him. He has tarried long120And lonely in the world: the vision comesTo animate his hopes—to say, Live, liveWith me, for evermore! And, lo, the keys!This opens the bright mansions of the blessed;This closes the eternal gates of hell,Upon the gnashing of the teeth, and groansUnutterable. So the Saviour spoke,As seemed in his sleep. Ah! the stern shadeOf murdered Cæsar rises: Art thou dead,King of the world? for this didst thou proclaim130Thyself a god—a living god on earth?[120]Let the pit hide thee! But thou art a god!Then bid the fury of these flames assuageEre they reach thee! Who shrieked?At the sound,The ancient and the solitary manStarted from sleepThe cold gray dawn appeared,138When, standing opposite, with steadfast look,And in the glimmer of the inmost cave,He saw a stranger.Whence and who art thou?With trembling voice he asked—whence? who art thou?Perhaps the spirit of this dismal isle!Or, cast upon these melancholy rocks,A poor and world-forsaken thing, like me!The stranger gazed unmoved, and answered not:His looks were those of pity—of respect—As mingling thoughtful wisdom with the graceOf beauty. In his hand he held a book:150He opened it; and never light appearedSo fair as that on his majestic brow,For now the sun had risen, and its beamsShot far into the cave.John gazed with aweOn that majestic man, he knew not why;And well might he have gazed with reverence,For here, in this rude spot, he only sawMen the most dark and savage of their kind,Murderers, and ruthless criminals in chains.160He spoke to them of truth and righteousness—He spoke of an offended God! Some lookedTo the bright sun, defying; others turnedMuttering. He spoke of pity, and they heard,Even as the relentless hurricaneHears the last prayer of the faint mariner,Whom wintry waves had dashed upon the rocks.Yet ever with the gentlest offices,With tears and prayers the holy exile stroveTo wake their better feelings, for he laid170His hands upon the sick, and they looked upWith hope and blessed him, and, restored to strength,Forgot the vows they made; him, too, who died173Hardened, and, as to human eyes, in sin,He laid in the cold grave, and said a prayerFor mercy to the God of all, the Judge,To whom all hearts be open, and from whomNo secret thought is hid—and, self-accused,Mortal himself, presumed not to condemn.So passed this ancient holy man his days,180Peaceful, amid the banished criminals,Banished and poor himself, but living thus,Among the sternest of their kind, he prayedFor their salvation:—so he passed his daysPeaceful, but sad; and now, with anxious gaze,He turned his look to the mysterious man,Who, steadfastly beholding him, thus spoke:The voice of prophecy has been fulfilled;Where is the Temple? where Jerusalem?Ah! wretched city! Famine, war, and woe190Have done their destined work. The living drops[121]Dead on the carcase he is burying!That famished babe is black! Oh! turn away!All—all is silent now; and thou hast seenThis prophecy fulfilled, for not one stoneOf beautiful and sacred SolimaIs left upon another! He who died,When he beheld the city, o'er it wept,And said, O daughters of Jerusalem!Weep not for me, but for your little ones!200The tender words—dost thou remember them?Jerusalem, Jerusalem! how oftWould I have gathered up those little ones,Even as a hen beneath a mother's wing;204But ye would not: and now, behold your houseIs left unto you desolate! Alas!How desolate! But even in those last daysWarning was given, if yet they would repent.A bloody sword, like a red comet, hungAbove the Temple, and a strange sad light210Sat on the altar; while the inner gate,Untouched, at midnight burst its brazen bars,And stood wide open; armed men did fightAmid the clouds; and, in the dead of night,The pale priest heard a voice, Depart! depart![122]So the fair city of JerusalemPerished: but, lo! Christ's holy Church shall rise—Rise from its ashes—yea, is risen now;Its glorious gates shall never be cast down,Till He, the King of glory, shall appear!220He founded it upon a rock—a rock,Which time, the rushing earthquake, or the storm,Whilst earth endures, shall never shake!Old man,Beloved of the Lord, wouldst thou know more—What things shall be hereafter? rise and mark!The old man, lifting up his eyelids, slow,Saw a door opened in the heaven, and heardA voice, as of a trumpet: Come and see!Straight he was in the Spirit, and the voice230Inquired, What vision comes? The seer replied:There is a throne in heaven,[123]and on the throneOne sitteth, and he seems, to look upon,Red as a sardine-stone—a deep, deep redIs round about, yet, as a jasper, brightHis face! The sun is of an ashy pale,236So red and bright that form!
'Twas in the rugged and forsaken isleOf Patmos, dreariest of the sister islesWhich strew the Ægean, where the pirate, wontTo rove the seas with scymitar of blood,Now scowled in sullen exile, an old man,Tranquilly listening to the ocean-sounds,And resting on his staff, beside a cave,7Gazed on the setting sun, as it went downIn glory o'er the distant hills of Greece.Pale precipices frowned above the trackOf dark gray sands and stone; nor wood nor streamCheered the lone valleys, desolate, and sad,And silent; not a goat amid the cragsWandering, and picking here and there a bladeOf withered grass, above the sea-marge hung.The robber[114]scowled, and spoke not; his dark eyeStill flashed unconquered pride, and sullen hateTo man, and, looking on his iron chain,He muttered to himself a deeper curse.The old man had his dwelling in a cave,20Half-way upon the desert mountain's side,Now bent with the full weight of eighty yearsAnd upwards; and that caverned mountain-cragFive years had been his dwelling:[115]there he sat,Oft holding converse, not with forms of earth,But, as was said, with spirits of the blessed,Beyond this cloudy sphere, or with the deadOf other days. A girdle bound his loins;Figs and Icarian honey were his food;An ill-carved cup by a clear fount was seen;30His long locks and his white descending beardShook when he tottered down into the sun,Supported by a slender cross of pine,His staff; and when the evening star aroseO'er Asia, a brief time he stood and gazed,Then sought his melancholy cave and prayed.And who, in this sad place, was this old man?Who, in this island, where the robber scowled,Was this old man, exiled and destitute—Old, but so reverenced, the murderer passed40His rocky dwelling, and bade peace to it?'Twas he who leaned upon our Saviour's breastAt the last supper; he to whom the Lord,Looking upon his countenance of youth,His calm, clear forehead, and his clustering hair,Said, What if he shall tarry till I come!Long years—and many sorrows marked these years—Had passed since this was said; and now that faceWas furrowed o'er with age; and wearinessAnd exile, in the last lone days of life,50Were now his lot; for they whom he had loved—They, the disciples of "Him crucified"—Professing one warm faith, one glorious hope,Were all, in the same faith and the same hope,Laid down in peace, after their pilgrimage,Where the world ceased from troubling.He aloneLingered when all were dead, with fervent prayerSoon in the bosom of his Lord to rest.And now he comes forth from his rocky cave60To gaze a while upon the silent sea,In the calm eventide of the Lord's day;To think on Him he loved, and of that voiceOnce heard on earth: so, pondering, on his staff,The old man watched another sun go downBeyond the Cape of Tenos.[116]The still seaSlept, in the light of eve, beneath his feet,And often, as in very gentleness,It seemed to touch his sandals, and retire.And now the last limb of the sinking orb70Is hid, yet far away the cloudy trackReddens with its departing glory.Hark!73A voice, and, lo! seven "golden candlesticks,"[117]The "Angels of the Churches" upon earth,"Seven golden candlesticks," and He, the Lord,Among them, like unto that Son of GodWho radiant on the mount of vision[118]stood,Now recognised the same, in the same shape.His hair was white as snow; his eyes were flame;80His voice, the sound of waters; in his hand—His raised right hand—seven stars; his countenanceAs the bright sun, that shineth in his strength;And yet serene as the descending day.It was the Lord: the old man at his feetFell down as dead; the apparition stoodGlorious above his head, and spoke:Fear not;I am the first and last; the last and first:Lo, I am he that liveth, and was dead:90And now, behold, I live for evermore—For evermore, and have the keys of hellAnd death![119]The glory passed—and all aroundIs still as death: the old man sinks to earth,Astonied, faint, and pale. When the slow senseStruggled to recollection, he looked around,Yet trembling; but no voice was heard; no formStood, bending in its glory, o'er him.Then seemed the hills of that forsaken isle100More dreary; and the promontories bareLifted their weather-beaten brows more darkAnd desolate. Back to his lonely caveThe old man passed; and, wrapped in thoughts of heaven,Lifted in prayer his clasped emaciate hands;105Then on his bed of rushes in the caveLay down to rest till dawn. What was his dream?He saw again, as when the rocks were rent,And "darkness at midday was o'er the land,"His Saviour calmly bowing his meek head110Upon the cross: he heard that thrilling voiceEven from the cross, Woman, behold thy son!Son, look upon thy mother!Then he sawThe forms of those whom he had loved on earth,And heard their voices still; and stood entranced,With Peter and with James, upon the mountOf glorious vision; now he saw, in dreams,Again the glistening apparition rise,And stand above him. He has tarried long120And lonely in the world: the vision comesTo animate his hopes—to say, Live, liveWith me, for evermore! And, lo, the keys!This opens the bright mansions of the blessed;This closes the eternal gates of hell,Upon the gnashing of the teeth, and groansUnutterable. So the Saviour spoke,As seemed in his sleep. Ah! the stern shadeOf murdered Cæsar rises: Art thou dead,King of the world? for this didst thou proclaim130Thyself a god—a living god on earth?[120]Let the pit hide thee! But thou art a god!Then bid the fury of these flames assuageEre they reach thee! Who shrieked?At the sound,The ancient and the solitary manStarted from sleepThe cold gray dawn appeared,138When, standing opposite, with steadfast look,And in the glimmer of the inmost cave,He saw a stranger.Whence and who art thou?With trembling voice he asked—whence? who art thou?Perhaps the spirit of this dismal isle!Or, cast upon these melancholy rocks,A poor and world-forsaken thing, like me!The stranger gazed unmoved, and answered not:His looks were those of pity—of respect—As mingling thoughtful wisdom with the graceOf beauty. In his hand he held a book:150He opened it; and never light appearedSo fair as that on his majestic brow,For now the sun had risen, and its beamsShot far into the cave.John gazed with aweOn that majestic man, he knew not why;And well might he have gazed with reverence,For here, in this rude spot, he only sawMen the most dark and savage of their kind,Murderers, and ruthless criminals in chains.160He spoke to them of truth and righteousness—He spoke of an offended God! Some lookedTo the bright sun, defying; others turnedMuttering. He spoke of pity, and they heard,Even as the relentless hurricaneHears the last prayer of the faint mariner,Whom wintry waves had dashed upon the rocks.Yet ever with the gentlest offices,With tears and prayers the holy exile stroveTo wake their better feelings, for he laid170His hands upon the sick, and they looked upWith hope and blessed him, and, restored to strength,Forgot the vows they made; him, too, who died173Hardened, and, as to human eyes, in sin,He laid in the cold grave, and said a prayerFor mercy to the God of all, the Judge,To whom all hearts be open, and from whomNo secret thought is hid—and, self-accused,Mortal himself, presumed not to condemn.So passed this ancient holy man his days,180Peaceful, amid the banished criminals,Banished and poor himself, but living thus,Among the sternest of their kind, he prayedFor their salvation:—so he passed his daysPeaceful, but sad; and now, with anxious gaze,He turned his look to the mysterious man,Who, steadfastly beholding him, thus spoke:The voice of prophecy has been fulfilled;Where is the Temple? where Jerusalem?Ah! wretched city! Famine, war, and woe190Have done their destined work. The living drops[121]Dead on the carcase he is burying!That famished babe is black! Oh! turn away!All—all is silent now; and thou hast seenThis prophecy fulfilled, for not one stoneOf beautiful and sacred SolimaIs left upon another! He who died,When he beheld the city, o'er it wept,And said, O daughters of Jerusalem!Weep not for me, but for your little ones!200The tender words—dost thou remember them?Jerusalem, Jerusalem! how oftWould I have gathered up those little ones,Even as a hen beneath a mother's wing;204But ye would not: and now, behold your houseIs left unto you desolate! Alas!How desolate! But even in those last daysWarning was given, if yet they would repent.A bloody sword, like a red comet, hungAbove the Temple, and a strange sad light210Sat on the altar; while the inner gate,Untouched, at midnight burst its brazen bars,And stood wide open; armed men did fightAmid the clouds; and, in the dead of night,The pale priest heard a voice, Depart! depart![122]So the fair city of JerusalemPerished: but, lo! Christ's holy Church shall rise—Rise from its ashes—yea, is risen now;Its glorious gates shall never be cast down,Till He, the King of glory, shall appear!220He founded it upon a rock—a rock,Which time, the rushing earthquake, or the storm,Whilst earth endures, shall never shake!Old man,Beloved of the Lord, wouldst thou know more—What things shall be hereafter? rise and mark!The old man, lifting up his eyelids, slow,Saw a door opened in the heaven, and heardA voice, as of a trumpet: Come and see!Straight he was in the Spirit, and the voice230Inquired, What vision comes? The seer replied:There is a throne in heaven,[123]and on the throneOne sitteth, and he seems, to look upon,Red as a sardine-stone—a deep, deep redIs round about, yet, as a jasper, brightHis face! The sun is of an ashy pale,236So red and bright that form!
VOICE.
Thou seest the throneOf the Eternal Justice. Look again.
Thou seest the throneOf the Eternal Justice. Look again.
JOHN.
There is a rainbow[124]round about the throne,240Tempering the fiery red.
There is a rainbow[124]round about the throne,240Tempering the fiery red.
VOICE.
It is the bowOf mercy, and of pardon, and of peace;Of mercy, as when, stealing from the clouds,It came forth, beautiful and silently,Above the waste of waters, and the flood,Receding—token of the covenantOf grace restored; while the great orb of dayShone westering, and some few small drops of rainFell transient in the sunshine, where, far off,250The wings of the ascending dove were seen,And by the altar, in the rainbow-light—That light upon the altar and his brow—The world's survivor stood. What seest thou more?
It is the bowOf mercy, and of pardon, and of peace;Of mercy, as when, stealing from the clouds,It came forth, beautiful and silently,Above the waste of waters, and the flood,Receding—token of the covenantOf grace restored; while the great orb of dayShone westering, and some few small drops of rainFell transient in the sunshine, where, far off,250The wings of the ascending dove were seen,And by the altar, in the rainbow-light—That light upon the altar and his brow—The world's survivor stood. What seest thou more?
JOHN.
About the throne are four and twenty seats;[125]And four and twenty elders, clothed in white,Each having on his head a crown of gold,Are on those seats.
About the throne are four and twenty seats;[125]And four and twenty elders, clothed in white,Each having on his head a crown of gold,Are on those seats.
VOICE.[126]
Dost thou not hear a voice?259
Dost thou not hear a voice?259
JOHN.
Yea! voices, such as earth ne'er heard; and, lo!There are seven lamps of fire, before the throne.
Yea! voices, such as earth ne'er heard; and, lo!There are seven lamps of fire, before the throne.
VOICE.
They are the Spirits of the living God.
They are the Spirits of the living God.
JOHN.
Four mighty cherubims,[127]which blaze with eyes,Having six wings, and full of eyes within,Are 'round the throne: I see their radiant forms.
Four mighty cherubims,[127]which blaze with eyes,Having six wings, and full of eyes within,Are 'round the throne: I see their radiant forms.
VOICE.
These rest not night nor day.
These rest not night nor day.
JOHN.
I hear them now,Proclaiming, Holy, holy, holy Lord,Lord God Almighty, Him who was, and is,And is to come! And while these cherubims270Give honour, glory, praise, and thanks to HimWho sitteth on the throne,—
I hear them now,Proclaiming, Holy, holy, holy Lord,Lord God Almighty, Him who was, and is,And is to come! And while these cherubims270Give honour, glory, praise, and thanks to HimWho sitteth on the throne,—
VOICE.
To Him who livesFor ever and for ever!
To Him who livesFor ever and for ever!
JOHN.
They fall down,275The four and twenty elders, at the feetOf Him who sitteth on the throne, and castTheir crowns before the throne, and cry, O LordAlmighty! thou art worthy to receiveGlory and honour, majesty and might!280Thou hast created all things; and for theeThey are and were created!
They fall down,275The four and twenty elders, at the feetOf Him who sitteth on the throne, and castTheir crowns before the throne, and cry, O LordAlmighty! thou art worthy to receiveGlory and honour, majesty and might!280Thou hast created all things; and for theeThey are and were created!
VOICE.
Oh that earthMight answer their glad voices! Oh that earthMight listen and repeat! What more?
Oh that earthMight answer their glad voices! Oh that earthMight listen and repeat! What more?
JOHN.
I see,In His right hand who sitteth on the throne,A book; without, within darkly inscribed,Having seven seals. Now, a strong angel cries,With a loud voice, What man is worthy found290To loose the seals, and open that dark book![128]
I see,In His right hand who sitteth on the throne,A book; without, within darkly inscribed,Having seven seals. Now, a strong angel cries,With a loud voice, What man is worthy found290To loose the seals, and open that dark book![128]
VOICE.
Ah! no one, in the heaven or on the earth,May open that same book, or look thereon!Why dost thou weep?
Ah! no one, in the heaven or on the earth,May open that same book, or look thereon!Why dost thou weep?
JOHN.
I weep because no manIs worthy found to open, or to read,Or look upon that book. I weep for this.[129]
I weep because no manIs worthy found to open, or to read,Or look upon that book. I weep for this.[129]
VOICE.
Weep not; but say what follows.298
Weep not; but say what follows.298
JOHN.
Lo! a Lamb,As it were slain—it hath seven horns and eyes.He takes the book from the right hand of HimWho sitteth on the throne!
Lo! a Lamb,As it were slain—it hath seven horns and eyes.He takes the book from the right hand of HimWho sitteth on the throne!
VOICE.
What follows? mark!
What follows? mark!
JOHN.
The elders and the mighty cherubimsFall down before the Lamb, the Lamb of God,With solemn harps, and golden vials fullOf odours.
The elders and the mighty cherubimsFall down before the Lamb, the Lamb of God,With solemn harps, and golden vials fullOf odours.
VOICE.
These are prayers of saints on earth:They sing a new song to the Lamb!
These are prayers of saints on earth:They sing a new song to the Lamb!
JOHN.
And shout:310Thou only, Lamb of God! art worthy foundTo take the book, and ope the seals thereof;For thou wert slain, thou hast redeemed usFrom every tongue and nation upon earth!
And shout:310Thou only, Lamb of God! art worthy foundTo take the book, and ope the seals thereof;For thou wert slain, thou hast redeemed usFrom every tongue and nation upon earth!
VOICE.
Hearest thou aught beside?
Hearest thou aught beside?
JOHN.
I hear the voice,316Of shining mighty troops, about the throne,Angels, and seraphim, and cherubim,Ten thousand and ten thousand hierarchies,Lift up their voices:Worthy is the Lamb,Slain from the world's foundation, to receiveRiches and wisdom. Blessing, glory, powerBe unto Him that sitteth on the throne,And to the Lamb, for ever and for ever!The quail[130]goes clamouring by; the old man raisesHis eyelids, and the vision floats away.
I hear the voice,316Of shining mighty troops, about the throne,Angels, and seraphim, and cherubim,Ten thousand and ten thousand hierarchies,Lift up their voices:Worthy is the Lamb,Slain from the world's foundation, to receiveRiches and wisdom. Blessing, glory, powerBe unto Him that sitteth on the throne,And to the Lamb, for ever and for ever!The quail[130]goes clamouring by; the old man raisesHis eyelids, and the vision floats away.
Morning in the Ægean—Contemplative view—Seven Churches of Asia—Superstitions—Crete, Egypt—Spread of Gospel Light through the Pagan World.
Morning in the Ægean—Contemplative view—Seven Churches of Asia—Superstitions—Crete, Egypt—Spread of Gospel Light through the Pagan World.
How beautiful is morning on the hillsOf Asia, stretching far, and faint descried!While, nearer, all the sunny Sporades,[131]That break the blue Ægean, shine in light,On this autumnal dawn!How musicalThe fresh airs, and the ocean's solemn soundCome to the mountain grot!Let us go forth,9Said then the unknown and mysterious man.
How beautiful is morning on the hillsOf Asia, stretching far, and faint descried!While, nearer, all the sunny Sporades,[131]That break the blue Ægean, shine in light,On this autumnal dawn!How musicalThe fresh airs, and the ocean's solemn soundCome to the mountain grot!Let us go forth,9Said then the unknown and mysterious man.
JOHN.
First on that mossy stone, beneath the arch,Kneel we, and offer up our orisonsTo Him who bade the sun go forth:O God,Thou didst create this living world! Thy voice,When darkness sat upon the lonely deep,Spoke—Be there light, and there was light! Thy handSpread out the heavens, and fashioned from the dustMan, the high habitant of earth, now fallen,And to return to dust again: but thanks20Be unto thee, O Christ! who, when the trumpShall sound, and all this mortal pomp is passed,Shalt call the dead up, incorruptible!And glory be to Thee, O Spirit pure!Who hast infused into our hearts of fleshThe love of God, through faith in Jesus Christ!Oh! in the hour of death, and in the dayOf judgment, Lord, to us be merciful!So prayed they, suppliant, when morning shoneUpon the seas; so they together prayed,30Giving God thanks that one more day of lightWas granted to the feeble and the old,Ere long to rest in peace. Upon their heads,As slow they rose, a halo seemed to rest,Touching the forehead of the aged man:The features of the younger, as he stood,Were mild, but awful; thoughtful, yet not sad;Whilst, from the caverned rock, into the sun,The lonely and the last Apostle came.As both together stood and gazed a while40Upon the deep blue sea, the younger said:Listen, old man: I was at Antioch,When mild Evodias[132]filled St Peter's chair;And fair that place, as well beseems the spotWhere first the Christian name[133]was heard.The ValeOf Tempe, sung through Greece, is not so fairAs that green valley, where Orontes winds,Beneath the grove of Daphne, to the sea;Scarce Eden fairer, where the first-formed man50Stood up majestic, in the world's new day.I heard Evodias, and from youth I lovedTo wander 'mid the scenes of old renown,Hallowed by prophets, and by holy men,Who long from earth had passed. How beautifulUpon those hills and mountains were the feetOf them who brought glad tidings of the light,Now risen on the darkened world!I satUpon a stone of fallen Jerusalem,60Sat down and wept, when I remembered thee,O Sion! and thy Temple, and thy sonsScattered in the wide world—scattered or dead!Like him, the mighty prophet,[134]who of yoreWatched the dark gathering of the clouds and rain,I stood upon Mount Carmel, and beheldThe great sea westward. Hark! Euroclydon[135]Is up; the tempest rushes from the east;Fire and the whirlwind follow; but, O God!Thou art not in the whirlwind nor the fire.70And, after, came a still small voice, which said,Go, visit John, sad and in solitude.We sailed from Joppa, in a Tyrian ship,To Rhodes: a skiff was waiting near the shore,On which the shadowy moonlight seemed to rest;Then a pale mariner, who never spoke,Conveyed me hither, swift as silently—Swift, though the passing keel no murmur made,As the dim sail no shadow cast. I looked,When I had reached the shore, and it was gone!80I saw thy mountain-cave: I stood and gazedA while on thy gray hairs as thou didst sleep,And the same voice which came, after the wind,Said audibly, Reveal to him the thingsThat shall hereafter be, as I unfold.I watched when the great vision came to thee,Hearing the voice and answer: it was sentTo animate thy hope! Art thou refreshed,As now these airs of morn blow soothingly,And breathe a sad repose? John placed his hand,90Pale and emaciate, on his breast, and said:Thy words might raise from earth the heaviest heart.Then both in silence gazed on the blue sea,[136]And heard it murmuring. John his full lookTowards his face who spoke now turned intent,To mark his features. Dignity sereneWas on that face; and as the freshening airsStirred the dark locks that clustered round his brow,A faint rose mantled on his cheek; his cloak,Gathered upon his breast, descending touched100His sandals; whilst, with more majestic mien,Pointing to Asia's hills, he spoke again:Old man, lift up thine eyes—turn to the east:103How fair, with tower and turret, by the streamOf clear Cayister, shines that Ephesus,The "angel" of whose "golden candlestick"Here droops in banishment!Hail, Smyrna, hail!Beneath thy towers, and piers, and bastions,Far-seen through intermingled cypresses,110Ships from all nations, with their ensigns, floatSilent; but, lo! a purer light from heavenIs on thy walls, while from the citadelStreams the triumphant banner of the Cross.And beautiful thy sisters of the faith,[137]First, in the east, when the wide world was dark,Laodicea, Philadelphia,And Pergamos, and Thyatira, shine,While Sardis, at the foot of Tmolus high,Seems from the wildering plains below, to gleam120Like a still star that guides the sailor's wayO'er Adria![138]But, alas! here AntichristShall rise with power, permitted from on high!Mourn, Ephesus, thy glory and thy lightExtinguished! Sardis,[139]Thyatira, mourn:Yet the blessed kingdom of the Lamb againShall be restored, and all the earth bow downTo the "unarmed Conqueror of the world."[140]Turn to the south, there are the pines of Crete,And, hark! the frantic Coribantes[141]shout130To Cybele, the mother of the gods,Drawn, by gaunt lions, in her car: they moveIn stern subjection, and with foot-fall slow,And shaggy necks hung down, though their red eyes134Flash fire beneath; silent and slow they pace.'Mid cymbals, shouts, and songs, and clashing swords,Pipes, and the dissonance of brazen drums,She bears aloft her calm brow, turreted.
First on that mossy stone, beneath the arch,Kneel we, and offer up our orisonsTo Him who bade the sun go forth:O God,Thou didst create this living world! Thy voice,When darkness sat upon the lonely deep,Spoke—Be there light, and there was light! Thy handSpread out the heavens, and fashioned from the dustMan, the high habitant of earth, now fallen,And to return to dust again: but thanks20Be unto thee, O Christ! who, when the trumpShall sound, and all this mortal pomp is passed,Shalt call the dead up, incorruptible!And glory be to Thee, O Spirit pure!Who hast infused into our hearts of fleshThe love of God, through faith in Jesus Christ!Oh! in the hour of death, and in the dayOf judgment, Lord, to us be merciful!So prayed they, suppliant, when morning shoneUpon the seas; so they together prayed,30Giving God thanks that one more day of lightWas granted to the feeble and the old,Ere long to rest in peace. Upon their heads,As slow they rose, a halo seemed to rest,Touching the forehead of the aged man:The features of the younger, as he stood,Were mild, but awful; thoughtful, yet not sad;Whilst, from the caverned rock, into the sun,The lonely and the last Apostle came.As both together stood and gazed a while40Upon the deep blue sea, the younger said:Listen, old man: I was at Antioch,When mild Evodias[132]filled St Peter's chair;And fair that place, as well beseems the spotWhere first the Christian name[133]was heard.The ValeOf Tempe, sung through Greece, is not so fairAs that green valley, where Orontes winds,Beneath the grove of Daphne, to the sea;Scarce Eden fairer, where the first-formed man50Stood up majestic, in the world's new day.I heard Evodias, and from youth I lovedTo wander 'mid the scenes of old renown,Hallowed by prophets, and by holy men,Who long from earth had passed. How beautifulUpon those hills and mountains were the feetOf them who brought glad tidings of the light,Now risen on the darkened world!I satUpon a stone of fallen Jerusalem,60Sat down and wept, when I remembered thee,O Sion! and thy Temple, and thy sonsScattered in the wide world—scattered or dead!Like him, the mighty prophet,[134]who of yoreWatched the dark gathering of the clouds and rain,I stood upon Mount Carmel, and beheldThe great sea westward. Hark! Euroclydon[135]Is up; the tempest rushes from the east;Fire and the whirlwind follow; but, O God!Thou art not in the whirlwind nor the fire.70And, after, came a still small voice, which said,Go, visit John, sad and in solitude.We sailed from Joppa, in a Tyrian ship,To Rhodes: a skiff was waiting near the shore,On which the shadowy moonlight seemed to rest;Then a pale mariner, who never spoke,Conveyed me hither, swift as silently—Swift, though the passing keel no murmur made,As the dim sail no shadow cast. I looked,When I had reached the shore, and it was gone!80I saw thy mountain-cave: I stood and gazedA while on thy gray hairs as thou didst sleep,And the same voice which came, after the wind,Said audibly, Reveal to him the thingsThat shall hereafter be, as I unfold.I watched when the great vision came to thee,Hearing the voice and answer: it was sentTo animate thy hope! Art thou refreshed,As now these airs of morn blow soothingly,And breathe a sad repose? John placed his hand,90Pale and emaciate, on his breast, and said:Thy words might raise from earth the heaviest heart.Then both in silence gazed on the blue sea,[136]And heard it murmuring. John his full lookTowards his face who spoke now turned intent,To mark his features. Dignity sereneWas on that face; and as the freshening airsStirred the dark locks that clustered round his brow,A faint rose mantled on his cheek; his cloak,Gathered upon his breast, descending touched100His sandals; whilst, with more majestic mien,Pointing to Asia's hills, he spoke again:Old man, lift up thine eyes—turn to the east:103How fair, with tower and turret, by the streamOf clear Cayister, shines that Ephesus,The "angel" of whose "golden candlestick"Here droops in banishment!Hail, Smyrna, hail!Beneath thy towers, and piers, and bastions,Far-seen through intermingled cypresses,110Ships from all nations, with their ensigns, floatSilent; but, lo! a purer light from heavenIs on thy walls, while from the citadelStreams the triumphant banner of the Cross.And beautiful thy sisters of the faith,[137]First, in the east, when the wide world was dark,Laodicea, Philadelphia,And Pergamos, and Thyatira, shine,While Sardis, at the foot of Tmolus high,Seems from the wildering plains below, to gleam120Like a still star that guides the sailor's wayO'er Adria![138]But, alas! here AntichristShall rise with power, permitted from on high!Mourn, Ephesus, thy glory and thy lightExtinguished! Sardis,[139]Thyatira, mourn:Yet the blessed kingdom of the Lamb againShall be restored, and all the earth bow downTo the "unarmed Conqueror of the world."[140]Turn to the south, there are the pines of Crete,And, hark! the frantic Coribantes[141]shout130To Cybele, the mother of the gods,Drawn, by gaunt lions, in her car: they moveIn stern subjection, and with foot-fall slow,And shaggy necks hung down, though their red eyes134Flash fire beneath; silent and slow they pace.'Mid cymbals, shouts, and songs, and clashing swords,Pipes, and the dissonance of brazen drums,She bears aloft her calm brow, turreted.
JOHN.
Oh, pomp of proud and dire idolatry!Crete, other sounds thy sister-island heard,140Far other sounds, when, on his seat of power,Amid the altars of the Queen of Love,[142]The Christian faith there touched a heathen's heart.Paul was in Cyprus: the Proconsul prayedTo hear of faith from the Apostle's lips,But Elymas withstood him, ElymasThe sorcerer. He beckoned up his legions direOf fierce and frowning shadows. Paul, unmoved,Smote him, amid his gaunt and grisly troop,—Smote him with instant blindness, and he stood150Dark in the midday sun.
Oh, pomp of proud and dire idolatry!Crete, other sounds thy sister-island heard,140Far other sounds, when, on his seat of power,Amid the altars of the Queen of Love,[142]The Christian faith there touched a heathen's heart.Paul was in Cyprus: the Proconsul prayedTo hear of faith from the Apostle's lips,But Elymas withstood him, ElymasThe sorcerer. He beckoned up his legions direOf fierce and frowning shadows. Paul, unmoved,Smote him, amid his gaunt and grisly troop,—Smote him with instant blindness, and he stood150Dark in the midday sun.
STRANGER.
Was not the handOf God so visible, that ships of TyreMight bear the tidings from the east to westFrom Tyre to Thule? South from Crete, beholdThe land of ancient Egypt, scarce discernedAbove the sea-line, the mysterious landOf Isis, and Anubis; of the Sphynx,Of Memnon, resonant at early dawn,[143]When the red sun rose o'er the desert sands;160Of those vast monuments[144]—their tale unknown—161Which, towering, pale and solemn, o'er the waste,Stand mocking the uplifted mace of Time,Who, as he smites in vain, mutters, and hiesTo other spoil! Yet there the timbrelled hymnRings to Osiris; there, great Isis reigns,Veiled, and no mortal hath removed her veil;There, Thoth,[145]first teacher of the mysteriesOf sacred wisdom, hid in signs obscure,Is still invoked to lead the ghosts, that pass170Through the dim portal, to hell's silent king.
Was not the handOf God so visible, that ships of TyreMight bear the tidings from the east to westFrom Tyre to Thule? South from Crete, beholdThe land of ancient Egypt, scarce discernedAbove the sea-line, the mysterious landOf Isis, and Anubis; of the Sphynx,Of Memnon, resonant at early dawn,[143]When the red sun rose o'er the desert sands;160Of those vast monuments[144]—their tale unknown—161Which, towering, pale and solemn, o'er the waste,Stand mocking the uplifted mace of Time,Who, as he smites in vain, mutters, and hiesTo other spoil! Yet there the timbrelled hymnRings to Osiris; there, great Isis reigns,Veiled, and no mortal hath removed her veil;There, Thoth,[145]first teacher of the mysteriesOf sacred wisdom, hid in signs obscure,Is still invoked to lead the ghosts, that pass170Through the dim portal, to hell's silent king.
JOHN.
Hast thou forgotten, that in this dark land,The passover—meet emblem of the LambOf God—was first ordained? That here his powerIn wonder and in judgment was displayed?"Fire ran along upon the ground,"[146]with hailMingled; and darkness, such as might be felt—Darkness, not earthly, was on all the land.Arrested and suspended at God's word,On either side the billows of the deep180Hung over those who passed beneath their shade,While Pharaoh's charioteers and horsemen sankIn the Red Sea: "not one of them is left."
Hast thou forgotten, that in this dark land,The passover—meet emblem of the LambOf God—was first ordained? That here his powerIn wonder and in judgment was displayed?"Fire ran along upon the ground,"[146]with hailMingled; and darkness, such as might be felt—Darkness, not earthly, was on all the land.Arrested and suspended at God's word,On either side the billows of the deep180Hung over those who passed beneath their shade,While Pharaoh's charioteers and horsemen sankIn the Red Sea: "not one of them is left."
STRANGER.
And Miriam took a timbrel in her hand,184And all the women went out after her,With timbrels, and with dances, and they sang:And Miriam answered them, Sing to the Lord,For he hath triumphed—triumphed gloriously!The rider and his horse hath he cast downInto the sea—the rider and his horse!190And the dark sea was silent over them.But Israel's children safely held their way,And the Lord went before them in a cloudLike to a pillar, and a fire by night,Till Moses, bearing with him Joseph's bones,Beheld, from Pisgah's top, far off, in clouds,The land of promise—saw that blessed land,And died in peace.
And Miriam took a timbrel in her hand,184And all the women went out after her,With timbrels, and with dances, and they sang:And Miriam answered them, Sing to the Lord,For he hath triumphed—triumphed gloriously!The rider and his horse hath he cast downInto the sea—the rider and his horse!190And the dark sea was silent over them.But Israel's children safely held their way,And the Lord went before them in a cloudLike to a pillar, and a fire by night,Till Moses, bearing with him Joseph's bones,Beheld, from Pisgah's top, far off, in clouds,The land of promise—saw that blessed land,And died in peace.
JOHN.
Oh! may the pilgrimageOf the tired Christian, in the wilderness200Of life, so lead him to his home of rest!
Oh! may the pilgrimageOf the tired Christian, in the wilderness200Of life, so lead him to his home of rest!
STRANGER.