Whitney Orson Ferguson

Elias: An Epic of the Ages


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go down

          Thus low that men may rise?

      Imprisoned here the Mighty One, 610

          Who reigned in yonder skies?

      Hark to that chime!—What tongue sublime

          Now tells the hour of noon[13]?

      O dying world! art welcoming

          Life's life—Light's sun and moon[14]?

      Proclaim Him, prophet harbinger!

          Make plain the Mightier's way,

      Thou sharer of His martyrdom!

          Elias? Yea and Nay[15].

      The crescent moon, that knew the Sun, 620

          Ere stars had learned to shine[16];

      The waning moon, that bathed in blood,

          Ere sank the Sun divine.

      "Glory to God!—good will to man!—

          Peace, peace!"—triumphal tone.

      "Why peace?" Is discord then no more?

          Are earth and heaven as one?

      Peace to the soul that serveth Him,

          The monarch manger-born;

      There, ruler of unnumbered realms; 630

          Here, throneless and forlorn.

      He wandered through the faithless world,

          A prince in shepherd guise;

      He called his scattered flock, but few

          The Voice did recognize;

      For minds upborne by hollow pride,

          Or dimmed by sordid lust,

      Ne'er look for kings in beggar's garb,

          For diamonds in the dust.

      Wept He above a city doomed[17], 640

          Her temple, walls, and towers,

      O'er palaces where recreant priests

          Usurped unhallowed powers.

      "I am the way, the life, the light!"

          Alas! 'twas heeded not.

      Ignored—nay, mocked—God scorned by man!—

          And spurned the truth He taught.

      O bane of damning unbelief!

          When, when till now so rife?

      Thou stumbling stone, thou barrier 'thwart 650

          The gates of endless life!

      O love of self, and mammon lust,

          Twin portals to despair,

      Where bigotry, the blinded bat,

          Flaps through the midnight air!

      Through these, gloom-wrapt Gethsemane[18]!

          Thy glens of guilty shade

      Grieved o'er the sinless Son of God,

          By gold-bought kiss betrayed;

      Beheld Him unresisting dragged, 660

          Forsaken, friendless, lone,

      To halls where dark-browed hatred sat

          On judgment's lofty throne.

      As sheep before His shearers, dumb,

          Those patient lips were mute;

      The clamorous charge of taunting tongues

          He deigned not to dispute.

      They smote with cruel palm a face

          Which felt yet bore the sting;

      Then crowned with thorns His quivering brow, 670

          And, mocking, hailed him "King!"

      Transfixt He hung,—O crime of crimes!—

          The God whom worlds adore.

      "Father forgive them!" Drained the dregs;

          Immanuel[19]—no more.

      No more where thunders shook the earth,

          Where lightnings tore the gloom,

      Saw that unconquered Spirit spurn

          The shackles of the tomb.

      Far-flaming might, a sword of light, 680

          A falchion from its sheath,

      It cleft the realms of darkness, and

          Dissolved the bands of death.

      Hell's dungeons burst, wide open swung

          The everlasting bars,

      Whereby the ransomed soul shall win

          Those heights beyond the stars.

      CANTO FOUR

      Night And The Wilderness[1]

      A World o'ershadowed by an Eagle's wings[2],

      From Scythian snows to hot Hamitic sands,

      From Ganges on to Tiber and the Thames. 690

      Where goeth forth, unwittingly the tool

      Of Truth Eterne, a pathway to prepare,

      The law and legion of imperial Rome,

      Mighty to crush and to consolidate,

      Humbling the hard, the haughty, making way

      For peace to flow[3] wider than war can wound

      Servant unknowingly of Him she slew,

      In pandering to Judah's jealousy.

      Victim now Victor, conqueror captive led,

      Debtor to justice, darkness serving day, 700

      Upon her knotted neck Jehovah's heel,

      Her iron hand the Nazarene's defense,

      Holding in quell the hierarchal hate,

      Curbing the cruel wrath of Greek and Jew;

      Israel from Israel's madness made secure—

      Lamb from the Lion, by the She-Wolf's might[4].

      Ere rose the Iron-Limbed[5], all conquering,

      Throned on the wreck of empires earlier born,

      Wrought well for Him the brazen loin of power,

      The pard-like phalanx, swift, invincible, 710

      Spreading the glories of a sapient tongue,

      The wing whereon a higher wisdom flew,

      Till teemed, of Aryan clans, the Asian kin[6],

      Seedlings of Japheth, sire of the Gentile world.

      Soul-widening word, broad-sown by Grecia's hand,

      To blossom on a furrowed heathen ground.

      Servant, erstwhile, the silver-breasted realm,

      Kingdom of Kurush[7], shepherd of the King,

      Whose sword, that gave the Jew deliverance,

      To golden Babylon the guillotine. 720

      Whoe'er hath swayed, or yet shall sway, the world,

      By tongue or pen, by sword or sceptered rule,

      Hath served, or yet shall serve, the sovereign aim

      Of