Elijah
Into that good old Hebrew’s soul sublimeThe spirit of the wilderness had passed;For where the thunders of imperial StormRolled over mighty hills; and where the cavesOf cloud-capt Horeb rang with hurricane;And where wild-featured Solitude did holdSupreme dominion; there the prophet sawAnd heard and felt that large mysterious lifeWhich lies remote from cities, in the woodsAnd rocks and waters of the mountained Earth.And so it came to pass, Elijah caughtThat scholarship which gave him power to seeAnd solve the deep divinity that liesWith Nature, under lordly forest-domes,And by the seas; and so his spirit waxed,Made strong and perfect by its fellowshipWith God’s authentic world, until his eyesBecame a splendour, and his face was asA glory with the vision of the seer.Thereafter, thundering in the towns of men,His voice, a trumpet of the Lord, did shakeAll evil to its deep foundations. He,The hairy man who ran before the king,Like some wild spectre fleeting through the storm,What time Jezreel’s walls were smitten hardBy fourfold wind and rain; ’twas he who slewThe liars at the altars of the gods,And, at the very threshold of a throne,Heaped curses on its impious lord; ’twas heJehovah raised to grapple Sin that stalked,Arrayed about with kingship; and to strikeThrough gold and purple, to the heart of it.And therefore Falsehood quaked before his face,And Tyranny grew dumb at sight of him,And Lust and Murder raged abroad no more;But where these were he walked, a shining sonOf Truth, and cleared and sanctified the land.
Not always was the dreaded Tishbite stern;The scourge of despots, when he saw the faceOf Love in sorrow by the bed of Death,Grew tender as a maid; and she who missedA little mouth that used to catch, and cling—A small, sweet trouble—at her yearning breast;*Yea, she of Zarephath, who sat and mournedThe silence of a birdlike voice that madeHer flutter with the joy of motherhoodIn other days, she came to know the heartOf Pity that the rugged prophet had.And when he took the soft, still child away,And laid it on his bed; and in the darkSent up a pleading voice to Heaven; and drewThe little body to his breast; and heldIt there until the bright, young soul returnedTo earth again; the gladdened woman sawA radiant beauty in Elijah’s eyes,And knew the stranger was a man of God.
— * [Note.—These lines were suggested by a passage in an unpublished drama by my friend, the author of “Ashtaroth” {A. L. Gordon}—
“And she who missedA little mouth that used to catch and cling—A small sweet trouble—at her yearning breast.”
The poem to which I am indebted is entitled “The Road to Avernus”.It is only fair that I should make this acknowledgment.—H.K.]—
We want a new Elijah in these days,A mighty spirit clad in shining armsOf Truth—yea, one whose lifted voice would break,Like thunder, on our modern Apathy,And shake the fanes of Falsehood from their domesDown to the firm foundations; one whose words,Directly coming from a source divine,Would fall like flame where Vice holds festival,And search the inmost heart of nations; oneMade godlike with that scholarship supremeWhich comes of suffering; one, with eyes to seeThe very core of things; with hands to graspHigh opportunities, and use them forHis glorious mission; one, whose face inspiredWould wear a terror for the lying soul,But seem a glory in the sight of thoseWho make the light and sweetness of the world,And are the high priests of the Beautiful.Yea, one like this we want amongst us nowTo drive away the evil fogs that chokeOur social atmosphere, and leave it clearAnd pure and hallowed with authentic light.