The Poems of Henry Van Dyke Part 9

Felix listened: through the darkness, like a murmur of the wind, Came a gentle sound of stillness: "Never faint, and thou shalt find."

Long and toilsome was his journey through the heavy land of heat, Egypt's blazing sun above him, blistering sand beneath his feet.

Patiently he plodded onward, from the pathway never erred, Till he reached the river-headland called the Mountain of the Bird.

There the tribes of air a.s.semble, once a year, their noisy flock, Then, departing, leave a sentinel perched upon the highest rock.

Far away, on joyful pinions, over land and sea they fly; But the watcher on the summit lonely stands against the sky.

There the eremite Serapion in a cave had made his bed; There the faithful bands of pilgrims sought his blessing, brought him bread.

Month by month, in deep seclusion, hidden in the rocky cleft, Dwelt the hermit, fasting, praying; once a year the cave he left.

On that day a happy pilgrim, chosen out of all the band, Won a special sign of favour from the holy hermit's hand.

Underneath the narrow window, at the doorway closely sealed, While the afterglow of sunset deepened round him, Felix kneeled.

"Man of G.o.d, of men most holy, thou whose gifts cannot be priced!

Grant me thy most precious guerdon; tell me how to find the Christ."

Breathless, Felix bent and listened, but no answering voice he heard; Darkness folded, dumb and deathlike, round the Mountain of the Bird.

Then he said, "The saint is silent; he would teach my soul to wait: I will tarry here in patience, like a beggar at his gate."

Near the dwelling of the hermit Felix found a rude abode, In a shallow tomb deserted, close beside the pilgrim-road.

So the faithful pilgrims saw him waiting there without complaint,-- Soon they learned to call him holy, fed him as they fed the saint.

Day by day he watched the sunrise flood the distant plain with gold, While the River Nile beneath him, silvery coiling, sea-ward rolled.

Night by night he saw the planets range their glittering court on high, Saw the moon, with queenly motion, mount her throne and rule the sky.

Morn advanced and midnight fled, in visionary pomp attired; Never morn and never midnight brought the vision long-desired.

Now at last the day is dawning when Serapion makes his gift; Felix kneels before the threshold, hardly dares his eyes to lift.

Now the cavern door uncloses, now the saint above him stands, Blesses him without a word, and leaves a token in his hands.

'Tis the guerdon of thy waiting! Look, thou happy pilgrim, look!

Nothing but a tattered fragment of an old papyrus book.

Read! perchance the clue to guide thee hidden in the words may lie: "_Raise the stone, and thou shalt find me; cleave the wood, and there am I._"

Can it be the mighty Master spake such simple words as these?

Can it be that men must seek Him at their toil 'mid rocks and trees?

Disappointed, heavy-hearted, from the Mountain of the Bird Felix mournfully descended, questioning the Master's word.

Not for him a sacred dwelling, far above the haunts of men: He must turn his footsteps backward to the common life again.

From a quarry near the river, hollowed out amid the hills, Rose the clattering voice of labour, clanking hammers, clinking drills.

Dust, and noise, and hot confusion made a Babel of the spot: There, among the lowliest workers, Felix sought and found his lot.

Now he swung the ponderous mallet, smote the iron in the rock-- Muscles quivering, tingling, throbbing--blow on blow and shock on shock;

Now he drove the willow wedges, wet them till they swelled and split, With their silent strength, the fragment, sent it thundering down the pit.

Now the groaning tackle raised it; now the rollers made it slide; Harnessed men, like beasts of burden, drew it to the river-side.

Now the palm-trees must be riven, ma.s.sive timbers hewn and dressed; Rafts to bear the stones in safety on the rus.h.i.+ng river's breast.

Axe and auger, saw and chisel, wrought the will of man in wood: 'Mid the many-handed labour Felix toiled, and found it good.

Every day the blood ran fleeter through his limbs and round his heart; Every night he slept the sweeter, knowing he had done his part.

Dreams of solitary saints.h.i.+p faded from him; but, instead, Came a sense of daily comfort in the toil for daily bread.

Far away, across the river, gleamed the white walls of the town Whither all the stones and timbers day by day were floated down.

There the workman saw his labour taking form and bearing fruit, Like a tree with splendid branches rising from a humble root.

Looking at the distant city, temples, houses, domes, and towers, Felix cried in exultation: "All that mighty work is ours.

"Every toiler in the quarry, every builder on the sh.o.r.e, Every chopper in the palm-grove, every raftsman at the oar,

"Hewing wood and drawing water, splitting stones and cleaving sod, All the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment of G.o.d,

"March together toward His triumph, do the task His hands prepare: Honest toil is holy service; faithful work is praise and prayer."

While he bore the heat and burden Felix felt the sense of rest Flowing softly like a fountain, deep within his weary breast;

Felt the brotherhood of labour, rising round him like a tide, Overflow his heart and join him to the workers at his side.

Oft he cheered them with his singing at the breaking of the light, Told them tales of Christ at noonday, taught them words of prayer at night.

Once he bent above a comrade fainting in the mid-day heat, Sheltered him with woven palm-leaves, gave him water, cool and sweet.

Then it seemed, for one swift moment, secret radiance filled the place; Underneath the green palm-branches flashed a look of Jesus' face.

Once again, a raftsman, slipping, plunged beneath the stream and sank; Swiftly Felix leaped to rescue, caught him, drew him toward the bank--

Battling with the cruel river, using all his strength to save-- Did he dream? or was there One beside him walking on the wave?

Now at last the work was ended, grove deserted, quarry stilled; Felix journeyed to the city that his hands had helped to build.

In the darkness of the temple, at the closing hour of day, As of old he sought the altar, as of old he knelt to pray: