Poems (Sharpless)/The Lesson of St. Macareus
THE LESSON OF ST. MACAREUSA LEGEND
Before his cave knelt St. MacareusAnd lifted hands of prayer. The twilight threwA purple shadow o'er the stony peaks,While far below in the dark, dewy valeLay the great city starred with twinkling lights.Without him was deep silence, but withinHis lightened heart sang in a sweet content:"What life, oh God! can please Thee, like to thisOf the poor anchorite, whose lonely cellIs cut amid these desolate basalt cragsLifted aloof, above the fretting crowdWho toil in cities, coining into goldThe lives and yearnings that belong to Thee?While we live as the birds live, trusting TheeFor what the day may bring us, scant or fullOf simplest food. Holy thoughtsAre our companions; 'mid these dark red rocksOft flutter angel pinions. Want and careAnd wild-eyed anguish cannot clutch us here So near to Thine own Heaven, for our heartsAre all unlinked to any erring soulWhose 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 dawnSeek thou yon city where white dwellings gleamAmid the verdure, like the snowy leavesFrom a fair blossom scattered; thou shalt seeTwo there who follow best our Lord's commands."The next day, 'mid the crowd, the eager saintHastened 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 paceOf her who followed meekly, whose dark eyesHad gazed on Death and Sorrow once so close,So face to face, that henceforth life kept timeTo slower pulses, and to chastened thoughts."These," said the secret whisper to the saint,"These are God's well-beloveds; these simple soulsWho speak no ill or think none; but who hold Their hands of help outstretched to all who need,Whether a sinking soul adrift on shoalsOf 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 feetTugs 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 faithUpon the household hearth, whose kindly glowAmid earth's damps of deep discouragementSends up perpetual incense of sweet thoughtsAnd gracious deeds of loving sacrificeTo Him who, sharing, consecrated life."Macareus was as he who gazed the firstThro' the crude microscope and felt his brainReel to bewilderment with all the lifePulsating in a rain-drop; down fell the wallsThat narrow sense had built about his thought,And left him naked to the blowing windsOf dizzy speculation, and wild doubt;The dark penumbra of himself, called GodFading away in the clear light of truth.So thought the saint: "If this be service thenThis simple, quiet filling of the lawOf sweet domestic love, what use the scourge,The sack-cloth and the penance? of awful pangsOf Nature half-subdued that strives and strives Through anguished nights, and days of fast and prayerFor her dear rights?" He raised his troubled eyesAnd marked the sunset's golden light that glowedUpon the basalt rocks about his cave,Those riven, barren peaks which caught the lightFirst at the dawn, and held it last at eve.Bathed in the same warm glory, lay the valeSweet 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, upTo his wild eerie in the desolate crags:Nor, after preaching, failed he still to teach,"They do not serve our Lord alone, who seekSilence 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 crossClosely upon his heart: aye, and hath spaceWithin the narrowest home, and straightest pathFor fullest nurture of each Christian grace.The daily life our Blessed Saviour sharedLived by His law, becomes a sacred thing,Lifted to solemn service, by each actOf Faith, of Resignation, and of Love."