Classic Poem

SCENE V.

N OAH , H AMMON , I RAD .

NOAH .

My son! why loiterest thou, wasting here
Our Sabbath-rest devoted to the Lord?
The day is spent, our offerings unpiled;
Art thou infected with the sloth that dooms
This generation's punishment?

HAMMON .

My father!
I am thine own; the speech of Irad dwelt
Upon earth's changes, and the sin —

NOAH .

My son!
No season this for slumber; the blind feel,
Yea, deaf ears hear, the portents given us;
But whether that sin hardeneth men's hearts,
And passions blind, they onward rush to ruin.
From our high places do we not behold
Rapine and wrong, blood shed and unavenged,
And shrieks rise upward, calling Him in vain?
He hath raised seers to testify their sin;
But will they heed the prophets who disown
The One? who bow before the hosts of heaven,
Or mould of their own hands?

HAMMON .

God condemns not
As man; this wickedness hath been instilled.
Angels taught men to look with reverence,
And fear, to the bright hosts above; they spake
Of marvels, till their listeners they filled
With a false thirst of knowledge. Evil lives,
That tempted Eve to lose our Paradise,
And made Cain fratricide; still sorcerers are
Adepts of night, who from the stars shape out
Forewritten paths of men. From these, arose
The God-defying giants, who fill earth
With war and rapine, and teach men to forge
The steel to slay each other. Hence the sins
That make them what they are; but shall not God
Root out the cause?

NOAH .

Thou etrest. Life was given,
Thou knowest, as do all who walk with Him
Before their eyes, to be a trial-scene
Beset with danger and temptation; these
Angels of good and ill, to prove our faith.
For this was given Paradise, and lost;
Our parents left on us their penalty.

IRAD .

Patriarch! it is as thou hast said. But man,
May he not, from the dust of lowliness,
Ask wherefore God created him, who knew
In his great prescience the impotence
Of his creation? He who is the love
That fills the Infinite? Wherefore not accord
The power to rule our sins, which yielded to,
Make us their sacrifice?

NOAH .

Blasphemer! peace
God made all free, to choose sin or avoid,
Entailed on none. If He opposed free will,
How might we prove our faith or disbelief?
He weighs temptation with resistance given,
And marks to which the heart inclines. My son!
I chide too hastily; thy spirit rebels.
Thou captive art to one of Cain's fall'n race;
I marked it nor opposed, for who should part
Those Nature draws together? And Astarte
Was loved by all; men, watching her, forgot
The curse attached to her proud line. Behold!
She shows the taint, and hath forsaken thee.

Irad! thou feel'st what resting-place hath love;
Turn thou to things enduring. Whether I,
Standing upon the extreme verge of life,
Look through futurity, or, that ripe years,
Or clear-eyed faith give prophecy, I feel
The advent of a mighty change. Irad!
Give God thy heart Lo! what our passions are!
Fires that consume the ashes they have made,
Phantasies magnified by feverish blood.
We do not turn from them; 'tis they forsake us,
When a new morning dawns upon our souls.
Thinkest thou sorrow given without design?
God sent it to unite us closer here
In love, for who could love that has not suffered?
Yea, One shall come from Him who shall teach us,
" Happy are they who mourn, for they shall be
Comforted" in the Lord. Hammon! I go
To raise our altar — Irad follows me.

HAMMON .

Brother! the sacrifice will heal thy heart.
Action is the true element of life;
Happiness is pursuit; and life a circle
Of hopes and yearnings toward a good unfound,
While blessings, flower-like, lie round our feet.
Man was created and ordained to be
A thing of wants, parent of healthy deeds.
Repose is death to him who nought desires;
And he with nothing left to hope or fear
Is worst of sufferers. From torpor rouse,
And prove utility is happiness.
In making others happy, holier love
Is given thee.

IRAD .

I shall in passive life
Become new-born, feelings that waste me now
Melted into the dreams of yesterday;
But not till memory fails, till hopelessness
Breathes in my heart the quiet of thine own.
Let us obey the patriarch; lo, Night
Opens her veil, and shows the glittering stars
Gemming her awful forehead. Thou sayest well;
The sacrifice will draw me from myself.
What holier joy have I than offering up
Passion now chastened down and sanctified
Into religion? feeling my soul o'erflow
As for a spotless Angel, to be saved
Forth from the wreck of a demolished world.