PS ) 
 
 
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 » « B i5m H g »-»T» 
 
 Norman LaMar sh 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 
 
 Chap,.„ Copyright No. 
 
 Shelf„j„/v_ J. 2; 
 
 U 9 5 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
 / 
 
A vSACRED DRAMA 
 
 BY / 
 
 / 
 
 Norman LaMarsh 
 
 i am tte Hfi'Jt of tf)e toorlft: fjc tfjat folioiueHj me sijall not toalfe in 
 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 
 BANGOR 
 
 MLY NEWS JOB PRINTING OFFICE 
 
 1895 
 

 COPYBIGHTBD BY 
 
 NOKMAN LaMARSH. 
 
 1895, 
 
 According to Act of Oongreflft. 
 
AFFECTIONATELY 
 DEDICATED 
 
 i^s@ Me@ MEMiii 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
PROEM. 
 
 In launching this tiny volume on the sea of 
 public opinion, we are fully conscious that it 
 may become waterlogged long before reaching 
 port. It is bound for Heartsboro"; and if it 
 only reach there without the loss of sails, or 
 rudder, or cargo, we shall hope to hear from 
 it again, but if not the loss will be ours. 
 
 The task of preparation has been a pleas- 
 urable one, because of the restful change it 
 afforded from arduous labor along other lines. 
 
 The reader will appreciate the difficulty of 
 the work in hand, when we say that argumen- 
 tative poetr}^ is not conducive to inspiration ; 
 and if there be any^thing the Muses hate, it 
 is argument. 
 
 N. LaMarsh. 
 Bangor, Me., Jan. i, 1895. 
 
LUX CHRISTl 
 
 f?KCTIOA^ I. 
 
 Washington, D. C, 9 p. m. 
 AmericTJs, a geatleman of ieisnre occupying a suite of rooms at the 
 ArJingtoB, is alone In hia private parlor. Having traveled extensively 
 and studied nauch, he has arrived at the pivotal point of life, which set- 
 tles or unsettles a man forever, so far as religious belief is concerned. 
 The hooks on the shelves and center-table are a fitting index of his men- 
 tal status. Science, philosophy, multitudiuouB histories, theology, and 
 the authors of etundard fiction arc all represented. Re is seated in a sleepy 
 hollow chair with the light of the Astral lamp falling full on the 
 page before him. Mr. Spencer's latest volume of "Synthetic Philoso- 
 phy" is the hook in question; and the chapter on "The Rights of Free 
 Belief and Worship" is the one now being considered. Like Horace 
 Bushnell, the relii^ous thoughts and intuitions of his boyhood were 
 Inspired by a Christian mother; but college life served to dissipate and 
 render void the faith which hitherto had been undisturbed by doubt or 
 iubterfuge. His mind is filled with unrest; and he fain would believe 
 thftt there is something better, nobler, higher thjin sheer uncertainty. 
 
 SOTvILOQUY. 
 
 Ah, me! no sun, no moon — eternal night! 
 
 How drear, how bleak, ho',v dark ^vithont the 
 
 light, 
 Nor would the stars aJone suffice to give 
 The warmth which nature needs to bid it live. 
 Nay more, the thing called Hfe vrould droop and 
 
 die 
 Were sun and moon expunged from nature's sky. 
 Merely to be extant, do you affirm? 
 The worms arc tliis, —but who Vv'ould be a worm ? 
 
'Twere better far to never live at all, 
 Than mid the shades of Erebus to crawl, 
 Till dissolution come, and then — a blank. 
 Darkness may be for worms, but not for me, 
 Since such a thought vv^ould seal m^^ destiny. 
 I crave for light — thk light, the Light of life, — 
 Not doubt, not subterfuge, not mental strife. 
 Moraines may cling to bergs with deathly grip, 
 Lest from their icy fastenings they slip ; 
 But I, imbued with attributes divine. 
 Would hate to cling, or crawl, or falsely shine. 
 This book I hold denies that innate thought 
 Can be controlled by will, or sold, or bought ; 
 In short, it tells me that belief is based 
 On principles that cannot be effaced. 
 Is will not stronger than belief ? I ask, 
 x\nd must I now assume a hopeless task 
 In striving to return to Christian faith ? 
 And can it be that I am Freedom's slave, 
 Held by myself, and 3'et not knowing why ? 
 Or am I only like an aimless wave, 
 Whose gentle rhythm is nature's lullaby? 
 O, God, now save me from myself, I pray, 
 Lest I but fawn and dream, and sink avv'ay, 
 Beneath the spell of doubt's etheric draught ! 
 The priceless Book my mother used to read 
 Was good enough for her, — why not for me ! 
 The faith she cherished answered every need 
 For life, for death, and for eternity. 
 
vSECTlON II 
 
 Two membere of the diplomatic corps, close friends of Americus, 
 enter. An Oxford Bible is observed among other books on the ma- 
 hogany center-table. Thesius and Menes have been invited for a pur- 
 pose : not for the sake of cold argument as might be supposed, but that 
 Americus may strengthen his faith in Christianity by assuming the 
 role of a believer. All three are men of culture, hence no coarseness of 
 argument,— no boisterousness of demeanor, is noticeable in the con- 
 troversy. Americus contends for the divinity of Christ. The Greek 
 modestly Aindicates his faith in the gods. The Egyptian fails to appre- 
 ciate the mission of One who knew not how to fight. Americus, seated 
 at the table with open Bible, expatiates on the facts contiiined in the 
 second chapter of St. ^fatthew's (4ospel. 
 
 Herod the Great ruled with an iron hand ; 
 His prowess was supreme in all the land. 
 
 As Zion's temple amply testified. 
 Was it not he who reared those massive walls, 
 With cloistered precincts and resplendent halls. 
 Whose dome and minarets evoked such praise ? 
 Aye ! he was to blame when the wise men came 
 In search of the truth respecting a youth, 
 Whose birth was foretold by prophets of old 
 Who saw from afar the Bethlehem star, 
 Appointed of God to lead w^eary feet, 
 Over deserts of sand, through rivers fleet, 
 Over mountains high, under scorching sky. 
 And through gruesome night, till at last 
 the Light 
 
For which the}^ searched was found, — the 
 
 Light of Hfe ! 
 And what a wondrous change that Light has 
 
 wrought 
 O'er art and music, and I know not what ; 
 vSo that Apollo's brightest light is dim, 
 When figured closely side b}^ side with Him. 
 The same is true of Amun's ancient lore, 
 Whose fetish light must fade to shine no more. 
 And when we pass from gods to mortal men, 
 Though they possess a Cyclopean brain, 
 Their ethics are but cold and meaningless, 
 If they the Light of life do not possess. 
 The diatribes of Plato, too, are stale. 
 When heart is heav)', and the visage pale ; 
 And aught that Anaxagoras has said 
 Is onh- like a stone, instead of bread. 
 Not so, however, v/ith the Light of life. 
 Whose words and spirit counteract all strife, 
 Bestowing without stint the balm we need. 
 When otherwise the heart would surely bleed 
 For lack of balm, not found apart from God. 
 
 (Addressing Thesius.) 
 I know the gods bespeak oblivion, 
 As nature's surest balm for mental ills ; 
 But think 3^ou would this be elysian 
 To one whose soul with aspiration fills ? 
 Can something tend toward nothing, is my 
 quest, 
 
Or must the spirit die because 'tis hulled? 
 Think you would such a concept give me rest, 
 Since death would simpl}- mean to be annulled ? 
 The gods would have me court the Shades, 'tis 
 
 true, 
 But is it right to die by one's own hand? 
 No, sir! I swear by yonder heaven so blue, 
 That such a course would prove the man un- 
 manned ! 
 Nor all the arguments of Spartan lore 
 Could urge me on to seek Nirvana's shore; 
 That would be worse than death by any foe, 
 Were he the verj- lowest of the low. 
 But to my theme. 
 
 Herod was great, but ruled with irksome rod ; 
 And when they told him that a child was born, 
 Who might be king, it was to him a thorn — 
 A thorn of keenest sting, which raised his ire : 
 And there and then, with heart and brain afire. 
 He vowed to have no rival, were it God. 
 Had he but known that six brief miles away 
 The object of his kindled malice lay, 
 Herod would not have waited till the morn 
 To rid him well of such a troublous thorn. 
 
 (Menes smiles and says.) 
 My prophet's riper years bespoke his call 
 More perfectly than could a burro's stall ! 
 If he, the Nazarene, be Prince of Peace, 
 Then I my cherished Koran must release. 
 
Sire, your credo Infantum is absurd ! 
 
 Avaunt with such a doctrine ! On 013- word 
 
 'Twere better to believe a jest than that ! 
 
 (Americus continues.) 
 Why then did Herod seek to kill the babe, 
 If he were only commonplace ? I ask. 
 Why did he slash promiscuous with blade 
 Full drawn, and made tlie keener by his wrath, 
 If 'twere a common babe he sought to kill? 
 No, Moslem, no. It was the Son of God 
 He sought to vanquish and eradicate, 
 As one Vvdio hated with an awful hate. 
 The child that nestled on its mother's breast 
 Was not presaged to luxury and rest ; 
 But fiendish plans, though deftly made, were 
 
 spoiled 
 By One whose purposes are never foiled, 
 In aught that man can think, or say, or do. 
 
 (Turning to Thesius.) 
 You say there is no overruling cause, 
 Apart from those inevitable laws 
 Which hedge us in like birds forever caged. 
 Or, like Prometheiis, we fain would rise 
 But cannot, since the prescient fates apprise 
 Us of our every move with av^^ful gall. 
 Hark to the voice of Epicurus old, 
 Whose counsel savors of resistance bold : 
 Quoth he, — Let appetite and passion reign ; 
 Seek pleasure at all cost — beware of pain ; 
 
Indulge thy sportive nature without stint, 
 Like coins that roll and tumble from the mint ; 
 When others weep, stay thou thyself away, 
 Their grief will pass, like clouds of yesterday ; 
 Be merry now with Bacchanalian glee ; 
 Resist all forces that would hinder thee ; 
 There is no God behind those changeless fates, 
 That trig the summum bonum of our lives ; 
 Cause and effect are nil to him who waits 
 To steal the hard earned honey from the hives. 
 No, dear Thesius, no. There was a Hand 
 That overruled the foibles of a king ; 
 Though swords responded quick to his com- 
 mand. 
 Yet he himself was made to feel the sting. 
 
Against the wary, unrelenting Turk : 
 And here it was that Ahab made display, 
 While flagrant Jezebel, his queen, held sway. 
 Now cast your eyes' to eastward, if you will — 
 There stands Gilboa, keeping sentry still : 
 This brings to mind the day when Saul's proud 
 
 steel 
 Was crushed beneath the crude Philistine's heel. 
 To north of us is Hermon's lofty peak, 
 So like a spectre clad in white array ; 
 And had it but a tongue, methinks 'twould speak 
 Of what it saw and heard in Jesus' day. 
 But we must haste, the sable robes of night 
 Are fast enveloping the transient light; 
 And as we now descend to our abode. 
 It seems to us indeed a sacred road. 
 Our host, in flowing gaberdine, with grace 
 Responds to questions asked him of the place, 
 As to its customs, and traditions old. 
 He tells us of the shop where Joseph worked, 
 Around w^hose memories tradition lurked ; 
 And when we speak about the Nazarene, 
 The merits of whose teachings are now seen 
 Without the aid of mental microscope. 
 He says — 'Tis true that Jesus did live here ; 
 But as to Messianic gifts — 'tis queer 
 That people will avow belief in him 
 Whose name to me is but the synonym 
 For imposition of the direst sort. 
 
SECTION III. 
 
 Araericue vieits Palestine, and tarries several rnontha in personal in 
 vestigation. Unlike other tourists he spends more time in the quaint 
 old town of Nazareth, than elsewhere. His actual conversion to Chris- 
 tianity is traceable to a dream. The face of Christ makes an indelible 
 impression. He visits Jerusalem, drinks at Jacob's well, bathes hia 
 feet in the waters of Gennesaret, clambers to the summit of little Her- 
 mon; but none of these have half the charm of Nazareth and its 
 environs. Americus longs for the companionship of his two friends, — 
 the Greek and Moslem, that they may share his new-found joy, — a joy 
 peculiar to Christian belief,— a joy bordering on ecstasy. 
 
 We are in Nazareth, a quaint old town, 
 Mid bleak and barren hills of whitish brown; 
 Its streets are narrow, running to and fro 
 With houses of adobe, flat and low; 
 The town is cleaner than its neighbors old, 
 And from this lofty point our eyes behold 
 A varied scene, not soon to be forgot. 
 To south of us the plains of Jezreel lie, 
 Peaceful beneath their Oriental sky. 
 As though they had not heard the din of war: 
 'Twas on these very plains that Richard strove 
 To foil the Saracens, who fought like Jove, 
 That thej^ the holy sepulchre might keep: 
 'Twas here that Kleber did such valiant work 
 
Whose sky is not suipassed the world around; 
 
 And as the zephyrs fanned my heated face, 
 
 It seemed as though the angel of God's grace 
 
 Kept yigil with the love a mother shows, 
 
 Lest harpies might intrude on my repose. 
 
 But I must tell you of my dream that night, 
 
 That you may share with me the rare delight 
 
 Which a congenial dream is wont to make. 
 
 I entered Joseph's shop, and there stood Christ, 
 
 A lad of seventeen with raven hair 
 
 Falling in graceful folds about Ris neck, ^ 
 
 As at the bench he worked with ardent air. 
 
 His form was lithe and nimble and each stroke 
 
 Of mallet, or of plane, might well provoke 
 
 The admiration of a trained eye. 
 
 O, how I watched him as he moved about. 
 
 Afraid to speak, lest I might be in doubt 
 
 That it was He whose name I knew so well. 
 
 With heart aglow I scarce could wait to ask, 
 
 If it were He to whom God gave the task 
 
 Of teaching all mankind the wat to truth. 
 
 He paused? I then advanced to where He stood ., 
 
 And as He cast His eyes of liquid brown 
 
 Full into mine, I never shall forget 
 
 The keenness and the mellowness divme, 
 
 Whose lustre was peculiarly their ov/n. 
 
 O, blessed thought! I knew^ at once 'twas He, 
 
 The second Person of the Trinity. 
 
 He spoke, and said in accents sweet and lov.— 
 
We listened on, but to no purpose true, 
 
 Since what he said came only from a Jew 
 
 Whose prejudice was so intense, that faith 
 
 And love were qualities lie knew not of — 
 
 Unless allied to priest and synagogue. 
 
 Poor Jew ! could he but look beyond himself, — 
 
 Beyond his genealog3^ and pelf, 
 
 The scales, perchance, would fall from off his 
 
 eyes, 
 And he with truer vision realize 
 That prejudice is costly sacrifice. 
 What mean the sterile fields of Palestine ? 
 And why such desolation right and left? 
 Has Phoebus but agreed to dimly shine. 
 And is the soil of nourishment bereft ? 
 Where now the sciolistic tribes who thought 
 That God revealed Himself to them alone ? 
 Methinks their destiny was surely fraught 
 With maledictions of the deepest tone. 
 God's truth is not expressly for the Jew, 
 More so than does the soft and glist'ning dew 
 Refresh the earth in narrow strips or plots : 
 Nor does the Holy Spirit condescend 
 To deal with partial grace, and only bend 
 To those who look on Abrarn as their friend. 
 
 That night, w^hile on the roof of Hadad's house. 
 I slept the sweetest of all sleeps profound, 
 Beneath the azure of the Orient, 
 
My mission is not at this bench, you see, 
 
 But I must bide the summons ere I go 
 
 To tell the world of truest liberty. 
 
 'Tis no small task to take the helm of truth — 
 
 A task, methinks, forbidden to a youth — 
 
 But God will one day give me strength and skill 
 
 To steer that craft according to His will. 
 
 You think it strange that I should loiter here, 
 
 As though m}^ restless soul w^ere insincere ; 
 
 But truth proclaimed will all the richer be. 
 
 When heart and brain have reached maturity. 
 
 Pearls do not deck the crest of any wave, 
 But lie deep down in ocean depths serene, 
 Far from the leering gloat of shrewdest knave, 
 Until exhumed by worthy hands, I wxen. 
 
 When I awoke, the sun had risen high 
 
 Above the distant hills which seemed so nigh. 
 
 Though eighteen centuries have ta'en their flight, 
 
 Since He of whom I dreamed resided here, 
 
 The vision of His lovely face last night. 
 
 Has given to my soul an uplift clear. 
 
 Now as I slake my thirst at Mary's well. 
 
 Or clamber to the summit of 3^on cliff, 
 
 My feelings with such rare emotion swell, 
 
 That language is a vehicle too stiff 
 
 To give expression to exultant thought. 
 
 Can words depict the sanctity of love, 
 
Or measure our emotions at their height ? 
 
 As well might 3^onder unassuming dove 
 
 Bethink itself to chase the eagle's flight. 
 
 Oh, the sacredness of our emotion, 
 
 When roused from apathy by thoughts divine I 
 
 Oh, the blissfuiness of our devotion, 
 
 When heavenly rays within the sanctum shine ! 
 
 I left my home in distant Amerique 
 That I, myself, diviner light might seek; 
 And O, — I would that Thesius were here, 
 That he might witness for himself, in clear 
 And unmistaken light, the truth I feel 
 Concerning Him who lived for human weal ! 
 And Menes, too, if he could only know 
 The joy, the peace, the calm that overflow 
 As in full view of Nazareth I stand. 
 All doubt would quickly vanish from his mind ; 
 And he, with Thesius, would surely find 
 The restfulness of soul v/hicli I have found, 
 In quick response to faith that is not bound 
 By mystic shackles such as bind them round. 
 
SECTION IV. 
 
 Wasuington, 8 p. M. 
 AmericuB is again in his own quartere. His suite of rooms at the Ar- 
 lington is enhanced by the addition of many relics from the Old World. 
 A stone from Jacob's well, a large antique vase from Acre, a finely ex- 
 ecuted painting of Nazareth, a genuine Damascene sword, and a minia- 
 ture of the church of the Holy Sepulcher, are among the curios. The- 
 sius and Menes call to extend congratulations, and evince a degree of 
 pleasure, as one relic after another is closely examined and criticised 
 according to merit; but they fail to catch the enthusiasm of their host, 
 whose expressive visage is aglow with interest as he expatiates on the 
 age of this, and the beauty of that. The Greek's observant eye detects a 
 magnificent specimen of the oleander in full bloom, half hidden by the 
 drapery of the French window ; and this impresses him more than all 
 else, as Americus readily perceives. The Egyptian, however, is wholly 
 enamoured of the large, ornate vase, which appeals to his knowledge of 
 ancient potterj^; and this ^Vraericus is not slow to cognize. 
 
 The mantel clock now strikes the hour of eight, 
 As at the door the Greek and Moslem wait 
 To be admitted by their old-time friend, 
 Whose long extended sojourn in a land 
 Nigh to their own, makes them thrice anxious 
 now. 
 
 (Americus speaks.) 
 Ho, Thesius, my friend! and Menes, too! 
 It gives me unfeigned joy to welcome you, 
 After so long an ab.sence from my home. 
 
(Menes responds.) 
 Nor is your joy iutenser than our own, 
 I^or we have missed you, dear Americus. 
 
 (Thesius speaks.) 
 Now tell us all you saw and heard abroad — 
 The hills you climbed — the valleys that you trod: 
 Tell us of' France and iPanama affairs — 
 What thought you of Parisian Hfe and airs ? 
 Is the Republic safe as now it stands ? 
 Or is it doomed to pass beyond the hands 
 Of those who pride themselves in vigils strong ? 
 
 (Americus replies.) 
 Paris was full of life and gaiety ; 
 A Butterfly each Frenchman seemed to me, 
 Clutching at pleasure with avidity, 
 Lest it might slip his hand, as like a boy 
 Whose airy bubbles give but fleeting joy ; 
 Nor can I speak for French virility, 
 Which to my mind is instability, 
 When calmest, coolest judgment is at stake. 
 While in the chamber of the nation's brains, 
 With closest scrutiny, I took the pains 
 To note their methods of procedure bold ; 
 For noise and for excitement based on strife, 
 I never witnessed ought in all my life 
 That seemed so much like Satan's carnival; 
 Men fumed and stamped and raged with cease- 
 less yell, 
 Condemning everything 'twixt heaven and hell 
 
 1 1892 Pasama eanal Bcaodal at its height. 
 
That had to do with Panama affairs. 
 
 The truth is this, — men often lose their head, 
 
 When coolness would the better sen'^e instead. 
 
 (Thesius speaks.) 
 Now pardon me, sire, the same fault is here; 
 On the floor of the House men often cheer, 
 And resort to other ungainl}^ freaks 
 To defeat the purpose of liim who speaks; 
 And does this not indicate lack of brains, 
 Since those who distract A^'ill not take the pains 
 To analyze thought apart from their own? 
 
 (Americus replies.) 
 Not always, my friend, although I confess, 
 That vulgar applause should meet with repress. 
 
 (Menes speaks.) 
 Well said, Americus, your words are true; 
 By Cheops pyramid ! I like that view; 
 And though I worship Allah, still I feel 
 That men of Christ should always be genteel. 
 
 (Thesius turns the conversation.) 
 Whence did yon lovely oleander come ? 
 Was it the landlord's gift to grace your room? 
 Its flowers, methinks, I never saw surpassed; 
 And could I be assured that they would last, 
 The gift w^ould all the more intrinsic be; 
 But they must lose their bloom, and so must we. 
 Oh, how^ I hate the thought that I must die ! 
 And were it in my province to reply, 
 I fain would stamp so direful a decree 
 
With maledictions full of irony. 
 
 You cannot make me think your God is good, 
 
 Unless his mandates can be understood 
 
 To mean precisely what you say they do. 
 
 Instance this lovely flower: why must it fade, 
 
 As though its very life were onl}^ made 
 
 To turn our love of beauty into scorn ? 
 
 And as for Christian faith, I cannot see 
 
 What value such a faith would be to me, 
 
 Since it ignores my right to think and act, 
 
 As though the future were a settled fact. 
 
 Oh ! for some quiet spot in Tempe's vale, 
 
 Where loveliness personified exists ! 
 
 Then I would gladly banish everj^ trail 
 
 Of that which now my soul so keen resists: 
 
 O, death ! where is thy sting? It has a sting 
 
 Which even Christ himself could not evade ; 
 
 O, grave ! where is thy victory, you sing, 
 
 As though our soul-life were not doomed to fade. 
 
 (Menes speaks.) 
 Well said, dear Thesius, agreed with you ; 
 A faith that changes yellow into blue, 
 Or red to white, is to abstruse for me. 
 No matter what the consequence may be. 
 Mohammed teaches sounder truth than this — 
 Tells us that bravery will lead to bliss — 
 And bravery means character, I trow. 
 But dear Americus would have us delve 
 Into his doctrines till the clock strikes twelve. 
 
Avaunt with all such dogmas ! they are stale, — 
 Staler and more antique than yonder vase, 
 Which bears the marks of centums on its face. 
 
 (Americus retaliates.) 
 You see yon painting hanging near the jet ? 
 A painting of but little merit, yet 
 I would not part with it for twice its worth ; 
 Because it ever brings to mind the birth 
 Of hopes and joys and aspirations new, 
 Such as I never felt till brought to view 
 By Christ's own face, as witnessed in a dream. 
 Call it hallucination, if you will, 
 The sight of that dear face had power to fill 
 My inmost soul with an ecstatic thrill. 
 Pedants may worship intellect alone. 
 Suavely declaring it to be God's throne, 
 And that all else is but a silhouette. 
 One's power to think is worthy of respect, 
 But he who bows to this must needs neglect 
 The sweeter, broader aspects of the soul, 
 Where faith and hope and love have full control, 
 Carlyle was brightest thought' personified ; 
 His genius was akin to blades of steel ; 
 But connoisseurs have ever felt to chide 
 A heart devoid of warmth for human weal. 
 You call him great withal, and so do I ; 
 But not the greatness that is truly great, 
 Since faith and hope and love would surely die, 
 If intellect were judge of man's estate. 
 
(Addressing Menes.) 
 Reason is monarch of both brain and heart. 
 Nor would I have 3'ou think it otherwise; 
 But other forces have to act their part. 
 If man to his full dignity shall rise. 
 From 3^our remark, dear Menes, one would think 
 That Christian faith means loss of self respect: 
 Believe me, sir, it is the missing link 
 Uniting man to God as His elect. 
 And am I less a man because of this 
 Which bids me from m}^ inner life dismiss 
 All ill, all malice, all unrest and wrong — 
 So that with heart kept pure I may prolong 
 A life which otherwise would chafe and fret, 
 Unless each churlish whim were freely met, 
 And then — to sink into the grave at last, 
 With naught to comfort but a selfish past ? 
 No, Menes, no: my faith is not in vain; 
 I'm all the more a man upon this plane. 
 
 (Turning to Thesius.) 
 I fail to see why you should still distrust 
 The character of him whose lavv-s are just: 
 He does not rule through Jupiter nor Mars, 
 Nor does he condescend to use the stars 
 As mediums of grace, be3^ond their light 
 Which ser\^es to guide the mariner at night. 
 And as for gods of old Olympic fame — 
 Esteem them not as gods, except in name, 
 Else you but bring upon yourself the shame 
 
Which conscience feels so keenly when in blame. 
 I am surprised, dear Greek, that you should 
 
 think 
 That death is that from which we all do shrink ; 
 If I but fill my place as does 3^on flow'r, 
 I'll look with animation to the hour, 
 When I shall rise above, beyond that pow'r 
 Which only offers change and desuetude. 
 You hate the thought of death, because to you 
 It has an awful meaning — false or true 
 You know not which; and the suspense involved 
 Begets a problem which remains unsolved. 
 Is not my faith worth more to me than yours 
 To you, since it beyond all doubt assures 
 The hope that life beyond the grave shall be 
 A living verity ? Now grant me this ! 
 
SECTION V. 
 
 7.45 P. at. 
 In the Greek diplomat's library our three friends are cosily en- 
 sconsed for further conversation. Thesius is thoughtful beyond his 
 wont; but Menes preserves the same stolid temperament as on previous 
 occasions, Americus refers Thesius to the confession of Glaucus to 
 Sallust in the concluding chapter of 8ir Bulwer Lytton's "Last Days of 
 Pompeii." The scene closes with the absolute refusal of Menes to 
 accept Christ; but the Greek yields to the gentle persuasiveness of his 
 friend, and openly avows faith in the Nazarene. 
 
 (Thesius receives liis friends.) 
 Well, well, so 3'ou have come to do me grace : 
 And were it possible for me to trace 
 The time when honored friendships first began, 
 'Twould surel}^ take us back to primal man, 
 But after all I find me turning towards 
 A freer life than Washington affords : 
 To me the bustle and the constant press 
 Of social etiquette, I must confess, 
 Are more distasteful than I dare express. 
 My books and statuary are to me 
 Of higher value than society. 
 Could I but chisel like Praxitiles, 
 That were a boon of deepest, rarest joy ; 
 But in restraint I cannot be at ease 
 More than a cornered, hampered, wilful boy. 
 
I love to study life apart from fates, 
 Whether in tree, or flower, or face of man; 
 But to be hampered b}^ the mobile traits 
 Of favShion, is a veritable ban. 
 
 (Turning to Americus.) 
 I like your city, and your people, too; 
 Nor would I say one word to injure you, 
 Whose feelings I respect in veiy deed. 
 But after all the truth must now be told; 
 The new attracts but little, while the old 
 Supplies the food on which I daily feed. 
 
 (Americus replies.) 
 Tush, Thesius ! your strain does not assuage; 
 But brings to mind the moods of Chelsea's sage, 
 Whose pipe was more to him than friendship 
 
 rare. 
 And as for fossil Greece, I fail to see 
 The spirit charm of its antiquity. 
 I know that visions of the past are good; 
 But do they serve as necessary food 
 For growth in such a busy age as ours ? 
 Nor have we time to dream of other days, 
 As on we rush amid the ceaseless maze 
 Of obligations that do well- nigh craze. 
 
 (Menes speaks.) 
 I like, for me, the dream life of the Bast; 
 Its mellow skies, its tropic fruits, its feast 
 Of fat things for a sluggish soul like mine: 
 The trees and flo^vers ne'er hurry, why should I ? 
 
Nor do the flocks e'er worry, but they try 
 To make the most of each succeeding day. 
 It rains like fury, or it patters slow; 
 But no complaint e'er comes from them, you 
 
 know. 
 And by my faith in Islam, I believe, 
 That since our mistakes we can ne'er retrieve, 
 It is better for one to slowly move 
 Like the tortoise, within a well-worn groove, 
 Than to rush along at a breakneck speed, 
 lyike a foaming and frenzied battle steed 
 With no one to curb him, no one to lead ! 
 
 (Turning to Americus.) 
 And such is American life today. 
 You prate of your prowess, but does it pay, 
 Is a question that I may justly ask, 
 Since life is for pleasure and not for task. 
 
 (Americus replies with brow slightly knit.) 
 To your question I answer 3^es; and no: 
 If arrow be shot from a high-strung bow, 
 'Tis bent to its fullest to give it force, 
 Lest the arrow fail in its onward course: 
 After all it is wrong to break the bow 
 In our ardour to make the arrow go. 
 
 (Thesius speaks.) 
 You spoke, Americus, of Lytton's book: 
 What of it, pray ? does it contain the meat 
 A hungry spirit craves ? or must I look 
 For other ground on which to rest my feet ? 
 
He speaks of old Pompeii's lifeless form, 
 Its lore, its beauties, and the fearful storm 
 That quenched her halc3^on light as with a 
 
 breath. 
 When plebe and prince were thinking least of 
 
 death: 
 But what have these to do with you and me ? 
 'Tis true they teach a moral; but I see 
 No point that calls for exercise of thought. 
 
 (Thesius pauses a moment then continues.) 
 Oh, yes — I now perceive the point in view — 
 The letter Glaucus vSent to Sallust, true, 
 When settled in his own Athenian home, 
 Refusing as he did to live in Rome, 
 Despite the welcome of his life long friend. 
 You mean that part where Glaucus speaks of 
 
 Christ- 
 How he with Him had entered into tryst — 
 Finding sweet fellowship that satisfied 
 More than lone's love, though she had tried 
 To pro^^e her love by standing at his side. 
 When succor from all sources was denied. 
 Glaucus was right, I ween, but how shall I 
 Purchase a friendship which no gold can buy ? 
 Think you, would Christus show his face to me, 
 As in the dream you had beyond the sea ? 
 I long for something, but I knovv not what. 
 To give to life a charm it nov/ has not. 
 And if your Christ will be mine, too, I vow ' 
 
To follow Him the rest of life from now. 
 (Thesius with face upturned.) 
 O, blessed thought! Lux Christi, Thou art 
 
 mine ! 
 To Thee my heart, my life, I now resign: 
 I see Thy face ! 'Tis radiant with light, 
 Such as I never witnessed till this night. 
 Americus ! speak quick ! is this the Christ ? 
 And will he condescend wath me to tr>^st, 
 Forgiving and forgetting all the past, 
 And over my poor soul His mantle cast ? 
 (Menes rises to depart and evinces perturbance.) 
 Of all things ill, the illest is no brains 
 With which to steer what little still remains. 
 To ow^e allegiance to the Nazarene, 
 Is like investing brains at sight, unseen, 
 Mohammed, prophet of us all ! look down 
 And bless these men with light, that they may 
 
 frown 
 On such a false belief as Christus taught; 
 And fill their errant minds with holier thought 
 Than such as issued from the pseudo-god. 
 
 (Turning to his friends.) 
 Farewell, my sires, our faith divides us now. 
 I fain would have it otherwise; but thou, 
 Americus, dost seek to win me too; 
 But I shall not be won by such as you. 
 Farewell, dear Greek, — obey your friend's 
 
 behest, 
 
Rely on Christus, if you think it best; 
 
 But mark my words, — the gods will give no rest 
 
 To such as you. Adieu, dear Greek, adieu. 
 
 (Thesius and Americus alone; Americus speaks.) 
 
 Think j^ou, was Menes vexed at what you said ? 
 
 He acted by the way he tossed his head 
 
 As though he thought your talk unwise, absurd. 
 
 (Thesius replies.) 
 I care not what he thought, Americus: 
 My faith is mine; and when he ranted thus, 
 I all the more concluded I was right; 
 And as to following by faith, not sight. 
 He need not boast, for his is just the same. 
 'Twas folly then to charge me without cause, 
 As though his vaunted faith w^ere without flaws, 
 A faith ^vliich at the best is crudely tame. 
 Instance the Koran with its analects 
 Of pious cant; and when a man subjects 
 Himself to such as that, — he should not think 
 To make me drink at such a fount impure: 
 I say impure because it fails to give 
 The draught b}^ which the thirsty soul may live 
 And thrive and grow until it be mature. 
 The faith of Islam teaches war — not peace; 
 Since he who dies in battle will release 
 All obligations 'twixt himself and God: 
 Nay, more than this, — the Koran also says 
 That it alone contains the truth — God's truth, — 
 And that all else beside is but a lie — 
 
The very soul of infidelity ! 
 
 Can sword, or smoke of battle make amend 
 
 For sins and errors I myself have wrought ? 
 
 Or, tell me, will the Father condescend 
 
 To save me on the strength that I have fought 
 
 To guard a fondled creed from perishing ? 
 
 If Heav'n be won by such a scheme as this, 
 
 Then faith means fight, and bloody war means 
 
 bliss. 
 
 (Americus speaks.) 
 I like to hear you argue thus, old friend, 
 Because it proves your own sincerity; 
 And as you now your new found light defend, 
 'Tis plain you do so with temerity. 
 Menes were right, if only true to truth ; 
 But being true to error is not right, 
 Despite the fact that one may be sincere. 
 Zeus was your God, and 3^ou were true to him ; 
 But now that faith, though once so bright, is dim: 
 Nor would the gods combined, have power to 
 
 move 
 A faith whose basal principle is love. 
 Menes must needs devour the ^rakhalee, 
 Before his troubled soul can be set free 
 From the delusive spell which holds it now. 
 He reads the ^Sunna with untiring zeal. 
 And counts himself more orthodox than we ; 
 He talks with zest of future woe or weal, 
 And fain would make us think the same as he. 
 
 1 Fruit peculiar to the jungles of India, — handsome in appearance, but 
 in taste slimy. 2Sunna — Moslem traditions. 
 
And now, dear Greek, as I must say good-night, 
 
 Be firm in your resolves to make advance : 
 
 The way is not obscure, nor is it trite. 
 
 To him who searches deeper than a glance. 
 
 The way is old, the path well beaten, too, 
 
 But what of that so long as it is true. 
 
 Truth is worth more than error any day, 
 
 Though clothed in garments of the plainest sort; 
 
 Its worth is not determined by display. 
 
 Nor by the force nor weakness of retort. 
 
 Jesus was truth alone personified ; 
 
 As free from error as the sun is free 
 
 To shine without regard to wind or tide ; 
 
 And this is why He is so much to me. 
 
 I too, was far away from God and truth, 
 
 Finding no anchor for my restless soul. 
 
 Till at the Fountain of perennial youth 
 
 I satisfied my thirst, and now am whole. 
 
 Had I but slaked my thirst at Error's fount, 
 
 Believing onty what I could opine. 
 
 My theories at best would not amount 
 
 To more than delving in an oreless mine. 
 
FINALE. 
 
 Oh, Cross divine ! divine because of Him, 
 Whose hands and feet were rudely pierced with 
 
 nails, 
 By Pariahs who knew not how to love. 
 Nor could it be that force compelled the deed, 
 Since this would mean defeat to God himself, 
 'Twas willingness that made Him bow His head, 
 To shame and sorrow such as wrung Him through, 
 That He might prove to us love's truest worth. 
 A crown of sharpest thorns He meekl}- bears, 
 A purple robe and hj^pocritic "hail!" 
 But shall a man be judged by what he wears? 
 Or do the jibes of ignorance avail ? 
 Only when worth has ceased to be extant, 
 And truth has abdicated crown and throne, 
 Only when love is changed to merest cant, 
 And when the heart has naught to call its own. 
 
 Men cut and slash with blades of skeptic steel. 
 They probe and thrust and lunge at Truth, poor 
 
 fools ! 
 Till, tired of their own foil}-, they must feel 
 That thej^ alas, have been but Satan's tools ! 
 Shine on, Lux Christi, in thy glor>' mild, 
 Till darkest nature shall illumined be. 
 Shine on, dear Light, till all be reconciled 
 To quit their sins and learn of God through thee. 
 
mmwI^^^LP^ CONGRESS