Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/450

418   Nor as the awful voice which came
 * To Israel’s prophet bards,

Nor as the tongues of cloven flame,
 * Nor gift of fearful words,—

Not always thus, with outward sign
 * Of fire or voice from Heaven,

The message of a truth divine,
 * The call of God is given!

Awaking in the human heart
 * Love for the true and right,—

Zeal for the Christian’s better part,
 * Strength for the Christian’s fight.

Nor unto manhood’s heart alone
 * The holy influence steals:

Warm with a rapture not its own,
 * The heart of woman feels!

As she who by Samaria’s wall
 * The Saviour’s errand sought,—

As those who with the fervent Paul
 * And meek Aquila wrought:

Or those meek ones whose martyrdom
 * Rome’s gathered grandeur saw:

Or those who in their Alpine home
 * Braved the Crusader’s war,

When the green Vaudois, trembling, heard,
 * Through all its vales of death,

The martyr’s song of triumph poured
 * From woman’s failing breath.

And gently, by a thousand things
 * Which o’er our spirits pass,

Like breezes o’er the harp’s fine strings,
 * Or vapors o’er a glass,

Leaving their token strange and new
 * Of music or of shade,

The summons to the right and true
 * And merciful is made.

Oh, then, if gleams of truth and light
 * Flash o’er thy waiting mind,

Unfolding to thy mental sight
 * The wants of human-kind;

If, brooding over human grief,
 * The earnest wish is known

To soothe and gladden with relief
 * An anguish not thine own;

Though heralded with naught of fear,
 * Or outward sign or show;

Though only to the inward ear
 * It whispers soft and low;

Though dropping, as the manna fell,
 * Unseen, yet from above,

Noiseless as dew-fall, heed it well,—
 * Thy Father’s call of love!

upon Judæa’s hills!
 * And on the waves of Galilee;

On Jordan’s stream, and on the rills
 * That feed the dead and sleeping sea!

Most freshly from the green wood springs The light breeze on its scented wings; And gayly quiver in the sun The cedar tops of Lebanon!

A few more hours,—a change hath come!
 * The sky is dark without a cloud!

The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb,
 * And proud knees unto earth are bowed.

A change is on the hill of Death, The helmed watchers pant for breath, And turn with wild and maniac eyes From the dark scene of sacrifice!

That Sacrifice!—the death of Him,—
 * The Christ of God, the holy One!

Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim,
 * And blacken the beholding Sun.

The wonted light hath fled away, Night settles on the middle day, And earthquake from his caverned bed Is waking with a thrill of dread!

The dead are waking underneath!
 * Their prison door is rent away!

And, ghastly with the seal of death
 * They wander in the eye of day!

The temple of the Cherubim, The House of God is cold and dim; A curse is on its trembling walls, Its mighty veil asunder falls!

Well may the cavern-depths of Earth
 * Be shaken, and her mountains nod;

Well may the sheeted dead come forth
 * To see the suffering son of God!

Well may the temple-shrine grow dim, And shadows veil the Cherubim, When He, the chosen one of Heaven,
 * A sacrifice for guilt is given!

And shall the sinful heart, alone,
 * Behold unmoved the fearful hour,