III. The Crowning with Thorns
And the time passed. The child sat by himself upon the beach, While Joseph's barge freighted with heavy wood, Bound homewards, slowly labored thro' the calm. And, as he watched the long waves swell and break, Run glistening to his feet, and sink again, Three children, and then two, with each an arm Around the other, throwing up their songs, Such happy songs as only children know, Came by the place where Jesus sat alone. But, when they saw his thoughtful face, they ceased, And, looking at each other, drew near him; While one who had upon his head a wreath Of hawthorn flowers, and in his hand a reed, Put these both from him, saying, “Here is one Whom you shall all prefer instead of me To be our king;” and then he placed the wreath On Jesus' brow, who meekly bowed his head. And, when he took the reed, the children knelt, And cast their simple offerings at his feet: And, almost wondering why they loved him so, Kissed him with reverence, promising to yield Grave fealty. And Jesus did return Their childish salutations; and they passed Singing another song, whose music chimed With the sea's murmur, like a low sweet chant Chanted in some wide church to Jesus Christ. And Jesus listened till their voices sank Behind the jutting rocks, and died away: Then the wave broke, and Jesus felt alone. Who being alone, on his fair countenance And saddened beauty all unlike a child's The sun of innocence did light no smile, As on the group of happy faces gone.
IV. Jesus Carrying his Cross
And, when the barge arrived, and Joseph bare The wood upon his shoulders, piece by piece, Up to his shed, Jesus ran by his side, Yearning for strength to help the aged man Who tired himself with work all day for him. But Joseph said: “My child, it is God's will That I should work for thee until thou art Of age to help thyself.—Bide thou his time Which cometh—when thou wilt be strong enough, And on thy shoulders bear a tree like this.” So, while he spake, he took the last one up, Settling it with heaved back, fetching his breath. Then Jesus lifted deep prophetic eyes Full in the old man's face, but nothing said, Running still on to open first the door.
V. The Crucifixion
Joseph had one ewe-sheep; and she brought forth, Early one season, and before her time, A weakly lamb. It chanced to be upon Jesus' birthday, when he was eight years old. So Mary said—“We'll name it after him,”— (Because she ever thought to please her child)— “And we will sign it with a small red cross Upon the back, a mark to know it by.” And Jesus loved the lamb; and, as it grew Spotless and pure and loving like himself, White as the mother's milk it fed upon, He gave not up his care, till it became Of strength enough to browse and then, because Joseph had no land of his own, being poor, He sent away the lamb to feed amongst A neighbour's flock some distance from his home; Where Jesus went to see it every day.
One late Spring eve, their daily work being done, Mother and child, according to their wont, Went, hand in hand, their chosen evening walk. A pleasant wind rose from the sea, and blew Light flakes of waving silver o'er the fields Ready for mowing, and the golden West Warmed half the sky: the low sun flickered through The hedge-rows, as they passed; while hawthorn trees Scattered their snowy leaves and scent around. The sloping woods were rich in varied leaf, And musical in murmur and in song.
Long ere they reached the field, the wistful lamb Saw them approach, and ran from side to side The gate, pushing its eager face between The lowest bars, and bleating for pure joy. And Jesus, kneeling by it, fondled with The little creature, that could scarce find how To show its love enough; licking his hands, Then, starting from him, gambolled back again, And, with its white feet upon Jesus' knees, Nestled its head by his: and, as the sun Sank down behind them, broadening as it neared The low horizon, Mary thought it seemed To clothe them like a glory.—But her look Grew thoughtful, and she said: “I had, last night, A wandering dream. This brings it to my mind; And I will tell it thee as we walk home.
“I dreamed a weary way I had to go Alone, across an unknown land: such wastes We sometimes see in visions of the night, Barren and dimly lighted. There was not A tree in sight, save one seared leafless trunk, Like a rude cross; and, scattered here and there, A shrivelled thistle grew: the grass was dead, And the starved soil glared through its scanty tufts In bare and chalky patches, cracked and hot, Chafing my tired feet, that caught upon Its parched surface; for a thirsty sun Had sucked all moisture from the ground it burned, And, red and glowing, stared upon me like A furnace eye when all the flame is spent. I felt it was a dream; and so I tried To close my eyes, and shut it out from sight. Then, sitting down, I hid my face; but this Only increased the dread; and so I gazed With open eyes into my dream again. The mists had thickened, and had grown quite black Over the sun; and darkness closed round me. (Thy father said it thundered towards the morn.) But soon, far off, I saw a dull green light Break though the clouds, which fell across the earth, Like death upon a bad man's upturned face. Sudden it burst with fifty forked darts In one white flash, so dazzling bright it seemed To hide the landscape in one blaze of light. When the loud crash that came down with it had Rolled its long echo into stillness, through The calm dark silence came a plaintive sound; And, looking towards the tree, I saw that it Was scorched with the lightning; and there stood Close to its foot a solitary sheep Bleating upon the edge of a deep pit, Unseen till now, choked up with briars and thorns; And into this a little snow white lamb, Like to thine own, had fallen. It was dead And cold, and must have lain there very long; While, all the time, the mother had stood by, Helpless, and moaning with a piteous bleat. The lamb had struggled much to free itself, For many cruel thorns had torn its head And bleeding feet; and one had pierced its side, From which flowed blood and water. Strange the things We see in dreams, and hard to understand;— For, stooping down to raise its lifeless head, I thought it changed into the quiet face Of my own child. Then I awoke, and saw The dim moon shining through the watery clouds On thee awake within thy little bed.”
Then Jesus, looking up, said quietly: “We read that God will speak to those he loves Sometimes in visions. He might speak to thee Of things to come his mercy partly veils From thee, my mother; or perhaps, the thought Floated across thy mind of what we read Aloud before we went to rest last night;— I mean that passage in Isaias' book, Which tells about the patient suffering lamb, And which it seems that no one understands.” Then Mary bent her face to the child's brow, And kissed him twice, and, parting back his hair, Kissed him again. And Jesus felt her tears Drop warm upon his cheek, and he looked sad When silently he put his hand again Within his mother's. As they came, they went, Hand in hand homeward. With Mary and with Joseph, till the time When all the things should be fulfilled in him Which God had spoken by his prophets' mouth Long since; and God was with him, and God's grace.