The Ravens and the Angels Part 20

For the Island was not merely a fragment broken off from the Continent.

It was an integral part of the Kingdom. The laws of the Royal City were its laws. The lowliest right work of its inhabitants was the King's work.

And when morning dawned, and they went out once more on the sh.o.r.e together, the very beach under their feet seemed to have grown a sacred place; the very drawing of water from the old familiar spring a royal service.

They had learned, not only the _proportion_ between the Island and the Main Land, which made the Island dwindle to a fragment of rock, but the _connection_, which made it wide and grand, as the entrance to a boundless world. Only in itself, disconnected from the Kingdom to which it belonged, was it narrow and poor. Only its ambitions limited to itself, only its treasures, so used as to be left behind in it, were really worthless. Its paths, so broken and bounded in themselves, were infinite, as each the beginning of the radius of an infinite circle.

Its hills, so low when compared with the mountain-ranges of the Main Land, were infused with a new inward glory like the light enshrined in gems, when looked at as but the lower slopes of those Everlasting Hills.

The lowliest loving works, done faithfully on His Island, were as much done under the King's eye as the loftiest in His palace chambers; and they might be done as much to His praise.

The service of the King on the Island and on the Main Land was indeed all one, though done in very different degrees of perfection, and on very different levels.

Not only in gazing towards their lofty Dwelling Place, but in following their lowly footsteps, were they drawing nearer those who had gone before.

The best waiting was obeying; the best Island lessons were not so much learning the wonders of that higher world, as learning the obedience which makes it the glorious, harmonious world it is.

And many a time, thenceforth, as the mother and her children went about their daily tasks, rendering such services as they could to all around, gleams of wonderful light which they had watched for in vain, and strains of inimitable music which all their listening had not caught, surprised them along their every-day paths. Every day, and all day long, the presence of the mountains of the Main Land brooded over them.

And one day, also by their every-day paths, the Messenger s.h.i.+p will surprise them with its summons to the Land of welcome. The step into it will be but one of their every-day steps on the King's errands. But what the step out of it will be, who can utter?

For the Everlasting Hills do indeed stand round about the Island; and the gates of the Golden City are open towards it night and day, and the mist which veils the Glorious Land is altogether transparent on the other side.

RISEN WITH CHRIST.

Not alone the victors free, Standing by the crystal sea, Sing the song of victory, "Risen are Thine own with Thee,"-- We may chant it; even we.

One our life with those above, One our service, one our love.

Not at death that life begins, Though a fuller strength it wins; Freed from all that cramps its might, Freed from all that bounds its flight, Freed from all that dims its light.

We upon these lower slopes, Dim with fears and fitful hopes; They upon the eternal heights, Glorious in undying lights, Radiant in the cloudless Sun; Yet their life and ours is one.

E'en on us their Sun hath shone, And for us their Day begun.

And the lowly paths we tread Are the same where they were led; Very sacred grown and sweet, Printed by immortal feet; Trodden once, long years before, By His feet whom they adore.

And each service kind and true, Which to any here we do, Linked in one immortal chain, Makes their service live again; Draws us to the service nigh Which they render now on high: For the highest heavens above Nothing higher know than love.

Hidden are our best with Thee, Hidden too our life must be; Since e'en Thou, our Life and Light, Hidden art from mortal sight: Yet for us has Life begun, E'en on us their day hath shone, Still with theirs our life is one.

_The Jewel of the Order of the King's Own._

Once, on the sea-sh.o.r.e, in a land a long way off, I met an old man dressed as a galley-slave, and toiling at convicts' work, with a heavy chain around one of his arms; but his face and bearing were stamped with the truest n.o.bility. I felt sure he must be a victim of some political cabal, and not a criminal; for not a trace of crime or remorse debased that calm brow, and those clear, honest eyes. This might not have struck me as remarkable, since such unmerited sufferings were but too common in that country. What arrested my attention was the expression of unfeigned and lofty joy which irradiated his aged countenance.

In the interval of noonday rest allowed him, as well as the other convicts, I sat down beside him and entered into conversation with him.

I found he was an old soldier; and at length I was encouraged by his frankness to inquire the cause of the strange contrast between his expression and his circ.u.mstances.

The veteran lifted his cap, and said mysteriously, "The King shall enjoy His own again. The spring will come, and with it the violets."

The thought struck me that some harmless and happy insanity had risen, like a soft mist, to veil from him his miserable lot; and following his train of thought, I said, "You wait for a king, and hope cheers you. Yet you must have waited long; and hope deferred maketh the heart sick."

"The uncertainty of hope," he replied, "often makes the heart sick with fear of disappointment; but my hope is sure, and every day of delay certainly brings me nearer to it. Every night, as I look out from my convict's cell over the sea, before I lie down to sleep, I think that before to-morrow the white sails of His fleet may stud the blue waters--for He will not return alone; and when morning dawns gray across the bare horizon, I am not cast down, because I know the morning we wait for will surely come at last."

"But," I said reverently, and half hesitating to disturb his happy dream, "when that morning dawns will you still be here?"

"Here or _there_," he answered solemnly. "Either with the few who look for Him here, or with the countless mult.i.tudes who will accompany Him thence."

Knowing how such legends of the return of exiled princes linger in the hearts of a nation, and wondering whether the old man spoke from the delusion of his own peculiar madness or of a tradition current among his people, I said, "Your words are strange to me. Tell me the history."

"After the great battle," the old soldier replied, a smile bright as a child's, yet tender as tears, lighting up his whole countenance,--"after the last great battle the King, the true King, our own King, has never been seen publicly in our country. They wounded Him, and left Him for dead on the field--they had wounded His heart to the core. Traitors were amongst them; it was not only an open enemy that did Him this dishonour.

But they were mistaken; He is not dead. We who loved Him know. We bore Him secretly from the field. He lingered a few days amongst us after His wounds had healed, in disguise; but although His royal state was hidden for a time, we who knew His voice could tell Him blindfold from a million; and since He left us, His faithful adherents, who before His departure could be counted by tens, have increased to thousands."

"An unusual fortune," I remarked, "for a cause whose last effort seems generally to have been considered a defeat, and whose leader has apparently abandoned it."

"There are many reasons," said the old man, "why it should be so; and among the chief of these is this one. When our Prince left us, He gave to each of His adherents a precious gift as a token of His love, and a sign by which we may know each other."

As he spoke he drew aside his poor garment, and on his breast there sparkled a gem more brilliant than any star or decoration I had ever seen!

"This is the star of the King's Own Order," he said; and as I looked at it a wonderful transformation seemed to have taken place in the old man's dress. His poor convict's garb seemed metamorphosed into the richest robes, such as princes wore in that southern land, of the costliest materials, and all of a glistening white, at once royal and bridal, whilst his chain glittered like a jewelled bracelet. The veteran smiled at my surprise, and unclasping his jewel, bound it on his brow.

Instantly the same magical change pa.s.sed over his face. n.o.ble as it was before, his countenance now shone as if it had been the face of an angel. Every trace of care and age was effaced; the eyes shone under the calm, unfurrowed brow with the sparkle of early youth, and nothing was left to indicate age but a depth in the glance and a history in the expression, which youth cannot have.

"But," I said, "surely your enemies must seek to rob you of such a treasure?"

"Try," he replied, "if you can take it from me."

I endeavoured gently to detach the jewel from his brow, but my fingers had scarcely touched it when it sprang up like glittering drops from a fountain, and was gone, yet leaving the glory on the old man's face.

He smiled, and observed quietly, "Our jewel no man taketh from us."

Then again unclasping the fillet which had bound it round his brow, the magic gem reappeared in his hand.

It was mid-day, and the usual fare of the convicts was brought to him--scanty and coa.r.s.e fare, with bad water. He humbly and thankfully partook of the poor food, but poured out the contents of the cup on the ground.

"The water of this land is bad," he said. "The people render it palatable by mixing it with a fiery stimulant, which, alas! only increases their thirst, so that they ever thirst again. But we do not need this."

Then gently laying his finger on the gem, it expanded, like a lily-bell in the sun, into a crystal vase, and in it bubbled up a miniature fountain of pure, sparkling water.

"In us a well of water springing up," he murmured, as if to himself, as he drank and was refreshed; and touching the vase again, it folded up, like a convolvulus going to sleep when the sun sets.

I wondered he had not had the courtesy to offer me a draught. He read my thoughts, and said, "This water is untransferable. Each of us must have his own jewel."

"Then," I replied, "if your Prince left those jewels to you at His departure, and has not returned since, how can His followers have increased, if this token is essential to them, and, indeed, as you intimated, an inducement to many to enlist under His banner?"

"It is free to all, and yet a secret," he replied. "Whenever any one desires to enlist in our Prince's service, he must repair alone, before daybreak, to a lonely beach on our sh.o.r.es, and wait there for what the King will send. There, when the sun rises--not always the first morning, or the second, or the third, but always at last--his first rays gleam on a new jewel, exactly like the others, sparkling among the sh.e.l.ls and pebbles. The young soldier takes it up, presses it to his lips, murmurs the name written on it, binds it on his heart, and it is his own, and he is the King's for ever. None ever saw it come, though some fancy they have seen a streak of light on the sea when it first appears, as of the track of an illumination out on the waters."

"What name is engraved on it?" I asked.