Little dreaming / Fenton Johnson [electronic text]

LAUS JEHOVA

I

Sing to him, ye hosts of Paradise, Great Jehova rules triumphant now, Through the works of Lord Emmanuel, All the erring sons of Adam bow; When in sylvan vales His name is heard, Cedar bends in willing suppliance, Night-breeze croons His praise to all the trees To the river and the running sands.

II

Sing to Him, ye hosts of Paradise, He has chained the lightning and the fire, He has calmed the spectre of the sea,

He has lifted man from out the mire; Vaunting Pharaoh is prostrate now, Jezebel lies reeking in her gore, All the hearts of men through love and truth Upward to His Judgment Seat must soar.

Like weird enchantment from the Chaldee's brain Swung ope the portals, and a perfume sweet From garden where the Tigris winds her course, Enthralled my senses as a man of craft Beholds a lovely maiden, fit to serve In Caesar's palace, and with subtlety Makes her his slave, a piece of chattel flesh. It was a place so fair that Lebanon, Whose cedars Venus planted long ago, Has in her heart an envy of that land; And Dawn, before her master's chariot When Love describes the Vale of Paradise Tints deep her olive cheek with crimson blush (If ever death takes me from thee again May I be there with Israfel and God).

High climbs the vines with grapes so deeply red The harvest moon pales in comparison, And wine, in Which the spirit Youth was born, Flows freely down to where the angels quaff; A river clearer than the crystal ray Reposes near a bed of hyacinth, And there on couch with coverlet of rose Our master singers rest from earthly toil, And coronets of laurel press their brows, —The chief reward for pain and suffering; The singing birds beguile their hours with song, The lilies spring unbidden 'neath their feet, The breezes croon to them a melody. And Pain, which once was deemed their festive guest, Lies panting far away, too weak to know The triumphs and the joys the minstrels have. Among this group reclined an aged man, His hair and beard as white as virgin snow; His eyes, which never saw great nature's realm,

Like eager maiden on her wedding day, — Awaiting anxiously the coming of her swain, — Grasped fervently the beauty earth denied. "'Tis Father Homer; he who sang of Troy, Of Troy, the land of fable and of song," Said Israfel, and to the aged spoke,"O Father! here is one, sweet LazarusWho sings beside the banks of Galilee. He gave the Son of Man a crust of bread, A cup to drink, a place to lay his head, And now that Death has ta'en him from below, God grants that he may look on Paradise." The Grecian master smiled, and clasped my hand, "To thee, my son, I bid a welcome sweet, And offer thee a bowl of ruddy wine, Such nectar none but mighty poets drink. And I who sang the fall of Ilium, The wrath and vengeance great Achilles wrought, Wouldst hear a word about the King of Kings. Mayhap his feet are sore and travel bruised, And Hunger with his tooth is gnawing him,

And all the earth rejects his teachings now That in the years to come will call Him God." Ah, willingly I quaffed that cup of wine And told how Jesus comes to Bethany, And how he preaches here about the love That shall restore the throne of Israel. "To us who sing," our Father Homer said, "The gates are ope, though Christ be yet on earth, This is Elysium, the poets' couch, And every one who feels the lyric strain Has caught the fire of God and lives anew, Though he strew flowers before grim Ashtoreth. Now, when I learned the mystery of God I wept because no Hector greeted me, No crafty-tongued Ulysses waited here, No Hebe poured for me a nectar cup, And high Olympus with her crown of snow And mighty deities in Council state Were vanished like the stars at morning time. A purer heaven thrived than that of Greece, And those who leapt into a demigod When hot imagination seized my brain

Were like the mist that droops o'er Ida's mount, Mere vapor rising from an idle dream. My Aphrodite never looked so fair As Israfel when chanting praise to God; Great Juno's wrath was naught to Gabriel's voice When giving message from Jehovah's seat To wayward clay that lords his fellowmen, Parnassus where the Muses played and danced. Descended to the humblest garden spot That flourishes in soft Illyria When first I gazed upon the cypress grove Where dwells sweet Israfel and all his choir. O Lazarus, no wand'ring minstrel's brain Could bring from fancy such a chimera, No musing bard, whose eyes were dim with time Could dream of such a land as Paradise." The old man smiled as when a summer morn Breaks gently through a gossamer of cloud And all the cedar and the cypress trees Their willing branches bent when he was done. Another sate near him, whose harp of gold

Had sounded in the tents of Israel, His robes were woven from the cloth of Tyre And golden sandals bound his olive feet "I am that David, he whose psalms ye sing When sounds the cymbral in the plains of Gad. My garments, washed of every crimson stain, I am a wearer of the laurel wreath, My heart as free as when in Bethlehem I caused the blades of grass to dance with glee; My soul each eventide goes forth with God, A humble servant to His mystic will; And in the morning do I wander wide, Along the cool of every haunt and vale. There lies a still brook deep in Heaven's land Where milk-white sheep may stray and quench their thirst, And there I nurse my memories of one I wooed when in the house of lordly Saul. A virgin like the rose when glides the wind From out the Southland in the old year's noon."

And then a handsome man whose garments fell Across his shoulders like a maiden coy Whose wrists wore bracelets made of burning gold. Spake, "I am Solomon, who once was king." I kissed the crystal hand he held to me, And from my heart there leapt a song of praise,"O sweetest singer in the land of Jude, The aloes and the pomegranates long For thee, and nightbreeze sighs when falls the dew Upon thy sepulchre by Jordan's stream The pensive maid beside the garden wall Lists eagerly to reading of thy Song. For first was thou to chant the joys of love, The dew of passion kiss upon the lips, The heaving of the soul within the breast, The bed of leaves beside dark Kedar's tent." And then I bade the singing ones farewell, "Oh, come again, sweet Lazarus," cried they, "And fair and soft and cool thy rest shalt be, Thy food and fare the sweetest honeycomb, Thy drink, the wine distilled from beams of moon,"

From thence good Israfel and I fared forth To where the stream of life sleeps in a wood Beneath the glory of the throne of God; And when I gazed upon the crystal sheet Lo! like the quick phantasma of a dream. The future danced before my wond'ring eyes, I saw the Master nailed upon the cross, The price the world must pay for holiness. I felt a faith so new and strange the veil Was torn asunder, and the pillars fell. "Nay, shudder not," said Israfel, "'Tis writ The Lamb of God must die to save the world." Methought I fell a thousand thousand miles Beneath the all-consuming fire of earth Into a region void of light and peace, Where Conscience broods with lash of scorpion And raven shrieks the nameless deeds of men; Where souls lie bare upon a mossy rock And impish creatures prod their backs with prongs; Where nothing comes into the anxious ear

Save moanings of the spirits Conscience lashed. 'Twas then the pallor came upon me thick And to my angel friend I cried, "Sweet one, This mystery is pricking ope my wounds, Let me ascend to where the air comes forth As goodly as the lily in the spring." From out a cave I heard a trembling voice, "Good Lazarus, art thou among the damned, The wretched and the curséd seed of man? Or art thou come to cool the parching tongue Of him who once was King of Macedon, Great Alexander, one whose name was law From sunny isle in Greece to farthest Ind. The pampered idol of a subdued world. Between the flowing of a bowl of wine And fever of a woman's honeyed kiss Came I into this world of gloom and pain. Far better death upon a bloody spear Than such an end to earthly strife and woe. Far better Poverty should gnaw the bone Than dwell in anguish here and deep despair. Go forth, sweet soul, to where the sunlight pours And seek the one who knows Elysium,

For he will lead thee to where the fields are green And founts of water cool the burning tongue." (Quick from a crater red with belching fire A hornéd form bestrided upper Hell; His eye was dark and pierced me like a bolt Of lightning in an angry summer storm; Like thunder in the cave of Sinai He roared and all the depths of Sheol shook. "Thou, Israfel, who spoiled my chance to rule, When I rebelled against Jehovah's throne Thou traitor knave, thou fawning piece of air, Thou whining dog whose music is thy bite; Wouldst thou presume to walk this realm of mine With one who housed and fed the Son of God? 'Tis mine, this piece of clay thou bringest here; 'Tis mine by primal right bestowed through Eve. No golden Eden nor bright Paradise For any sprung from sinful Adam's loins,

And I proclaim that he shall not escape Though all the force of God oppose my aim!" The angel trembled not, but stood his ground. "Base spirit, ruler of the evil heart, The destiny of Lazarus is where The soul of Beauty is a god indeed; Too base for intellect akin to His The Godhead deems the home of Lucifer, We merely come to gaze upon thy work To pass away eternal idle hours. But if thou dreamest that this poet's soul Belongs to thee with all thy torturing Then Israfel will wage a war with thee Until the pillars of the universe Go tumbling down into the Lake Chaos." Then Satan stooped and swung a mighty stone, So huge the fabled Cyclop was mere mite, Mere mite, and swaying, plunged it toward Israfel, Who, quicker than the breeze outstrips the stream, Avoided it, and smiled to see it fall So gently to the ground before his feet,

A better weapon had this singing soul The mystery and sweetness of his voice, Which loosened charms the roaring elements, He sang a song so weird and strange and grand, The devil cowered, wond'ring at the spell.And thus a seeming age they fought o'er me Who crouched behind a boulder, weak with fear And neither fiend nor angel won the day, Tho' Satan stood upon the prostrate form Of Israfel, and raised his burning sword; And then methought the vision died away Into the light of glorious daytime. And Satan blinded by the angel spell Seized me, and tore to shreds my holiness. Poor Israfel when this he saw wept loud But God above had turned His willing ear; I heard the Master's voice like thunder roll, Into my dreaming, "Lazarus, come forth."