Poems (Sharpless)/The Lesson of St. Macareus
THE LESSON OF ST. MACAREUSA LEGEND
Before his cave knelt St. Macareus
And lifted hands of prayer. The twilight threw
A purple shadow o'er the stony peaks,
While far below in the dark, dewy vale
Lay the great city starred with twinkling lights.
Without him was deep silence, but within
His lightened heart sang in a sweet content:
"What life, oh God! can please Thee, like to this
Of the poor anchorite, whose lonely cell
Is cut amid these desolate basalt crags
Lifted aloof, above the fretting crowd
Who toil in cities, coining into gold
The lives and yearnings that belong to Thee?
While we live as the birds live, trusting Thee
For what the day may bring us, scant or full
Of simplest food. Holy thoughts
Are our companions; 'mid these dark red rocks
Oft flutter angel pinions. Want and care
And wild-eyed anguish cannot clutch us here
So near to Thine own Heaven, for our hearts
Are all unlinked to any erring soul
Whose sins or griefs may cloud our pure serene;
Worship and prayer are as our very breath;
And as this quiet landscape 'neath yon sky,
Whose dark dome throbs with many silver stars,
So, 'neath Thy love, our spirits rest in peace;
Surely our lives are patterned to Thy will!"
A gentle whisper through his spirit thrilled,
"Others there are more pleasing. With the dawn
Seek thou yon city where white dwellings gleam
Amid the verdure, like the snowy leaves
From a fair blossom scattered; thou shalt see
Two there who follow best our Lord's commands."
The next day, 'mid the crowd, the eager saint
Hastened to mark what hermit hollow-eyed,
What holy man of visioned ecstasy,
What preacher honey-lipped and gaunt with thought,
The unseen guide who led him, should select.
Two women came at last, quiet and gentle-voiced,
But humbly clad; and one was young and glad,
Checking her buoyant footsteps to the pace
Of her who followed meekly, whose dark eyes
Had gazed on Death and Sorrow once so close,
So face to face, that henceforth life kept time
To slower pulses, and to chastened thoughts.
"These," said the secret whisper to the saint,
"These are God's well-beloveds; these simple souls
Who speak no ill or think none; but who hold
Their hands of help outstretched to all who need,
Whether a sinking soul adrift on shoals
Of doubt or sin, or some sad, broken heart;
Or, as thou seest, by brimming water-gourd,
Staying their steps to save a drowning bee.
The world's old dragon writhing at their feet
Tugs vainly at their garments as they pass.
With eyes intent upon their leader, Christ,
They neither see nor heed the venomed thing.
These kindle altar fires of love and faith
Upon the household hearth, whose kindly glow
Amid earth's damps of deep discouragement
Sends up perpetual incense of sweet thoughts
And gracious deeds of loving sacrifice
To Him who, sharing, consecrated life."
Macareus was as he who gazed the first
Thro' the crude microscope and felt his brain
Reel to bewilderment with all the life
Pulsating in a rain-drop; down fell the walls
That narrow sense had built about his thought,
And left him naked to the blowing winds
Of dizzy speculation, and wild doubt;
The dark penumbra of himself, called God
Fading away in the clear light of truth.
So thought the saint: "If this be service then
This simple, quiet filling of the law
Of sweet domestic love, what use the scourge,
The sack-cloth and the penance? of awful pangs
Of Nature half-subdued that strives and strives
Through anguished nights, and days of fast and prayer
For her dear rights?" He raised his troubled eyes
And marked the sunset's golden light that glowed
Upon the basalt rocks about his cave,
Those riven, barren peaks which caught the light
First at the dawn, and held it last at eve.
Bathed in the same warm glory, lay the vale
Sweet with fair meadows, and the song of birds,
And flitting butterflies, and beds of flowers.
Pondering the strange new lessons he had learned,
He climbed the streamlet's stony bed, up, up
To his wild eerie in the desolate crags:
Nor, after preaching, failed he still to teach,
"They do not serve our Lord alone, who seek
Silence and solitude apart from men.
Who dwells amid the turbulent sons of earth,
Where human toil and sorrow, love and joy,
Quick alternate and change like sun and shade,
Where deeds and aspirations differ so,
Hath daily discipline, and bears his cross
Closely upon his heart: aye, and hath space
Within the narrowest home, and straightest path
For fullest nurture of each Christian grace.
The daily life our Blessed Saviour shared
Lived by His law, becomes a sacred thing,
Lifted to solemn service, by each act
Of Faith, of Resignation, and of Love."
And lifted hands of prayer. The twilight threw
A purple shadow o'er the stony peaks,
While far below in the dark, dewy vale
Lay the great city starred with twinkling lights.
Without him was deep silence, but within
His lightened heart sang in a sweet content:
"What life, oh God! can please Thee, like to this
Of the poor anchorite, whose lonely cell
Is cut amid these desolate basalt crags
Lifted aloof, above the fretting crowd
Who toil in cities, coining into gold
The lives and yearnings that belong to Thee?
While we live as the birds live, trusting Thee
For what the day may bring us, scant or full
Of simplest food. Holy thoughts
Are our companions; 'mid these dark red rocks
Oft flutter angel pinions. Want and care
And wild-eyed anguish cannot clutch us here
So near to Thine own Heaven, for our hearts
Are all unlinked to any erring soul
Whose sins or griefs may cloud our pure serene;
Worship and prayer are as our very breath;
And as this quiet landscape 'neath yon sky,
Whose dark dome throbs with many silver stars,
So, 'neath Thy love, our spirits rest in peace;
Surely our lives are patterned to Thy will!"
A gentle whisper through his spirit thrilled,
"Others there are more pleasing. With the dawn
Seek thou yon city where white dwellings gleam
Amid the verdure, like the snowy leaves
From a fair blossom scattered; thou shalt see
Two there who follow best our Lord's commands."
The next day, 'mid the crowd, the eager saint
Hastened to mark what hermit hollow-eyed,
What holy man of visioned ecstasy,
What preacher honey-lipped and gaunt with thought,
The unseen guide who led him, should select.
Two women came at last, quiet and gentle-voiced,
But humbly clad; and one was young and glad,
Checking her buoyant footsteps to the pace
Of her who followed meekly, whose dark eyes
Had gazed on Death and Sorrow once so close,
So face to face, that henceforth life kept time
To slower pulses, and to chastened thoughts.
"These," said the secret whisper to the saint,
"These are God's well-beloveds; these simple souls
Who speak no ill or think none; but who hold
Their hands of help outstretched to all who need,
Whether a sinking soul adrift on shoals
Of doubt or sin, or some sad, broken heart;
Or, as thou seest, by brimming water-gourd,
Staying their steps to save a drowning bee.
The world's old dragon writhing at their feet
Tugs vainly at their garments as they pass.
With eyes intent upon their leader, Christ,
They neither see nor heed the venomed thing.
These kindle altar fires of love and faith
Upon the household hearth, whose kindly glow
Amid earth's damps of deep discouragement
Sends up perpetual incense of sweet thoughts
And gracious deeds of loving sacrifice
To Him who, sharing, consecrated life."
Macareus was as he who gazed the first
Thro' the crude microscope and felt his brain
Reel to bewilderment with all the life
Pulsating in a rain-drop; down fell the walls
That narrow sense had built about his thought,
And left him naked to the blowing winds
Of dizzy speculation, and wild doubt;
The dark penumbra of himself, called God
Fading away in the clear light of truth.
So thought the saint: "If this be service then
This simple, quiet filling of the law
Of sweet domestic love, what use the scourge,
The sack-cloth and the penance? of awful pangs
Of Nature half-subdued that strives and strives
Through anguished nights, and days of fast and prayer
For her dear rights?" He raised his troubled eyes
And marked the sunset's golden light that glowed
Upon the basalt rocks about his cave,
Those riven, barren peaks which caught the light
First at the dawn, and held it last at eve.
Bathed in the same warm glory, lay the vale
Sweet with fair meadows, and the song of birds,
And flitting butterflies, and beds of flowers.
Pondering the strange new lessons he had learned,
He climbed the streamlet's stony bed, up, up
To his wild eerie in the desolate crags:
Nor, after preaching, failed he still to teach,
"They do not serve our Lord alone, who seek
Silence and solitude apart from men.
Who dwells amid the turbulent sons of earth,
Where human toil and sorrow, love and joy,
Quick alternate and change like sun and shade,
Where deeds and aspirations differ so,
Hath daily discipline, and bears his cross
Closely upon his heart: aye, and hath space
Within the narrowest home, and straightest path
For fullest nurture of each Christian grace.
The daily life our Blessed Saviour shared
Lived by His law, becomes a sacred thing,
Lifted to solemn service, by each act
Of Faith, of Resignation, and of Love."