THE STORY OF THE CROSS.
"'Feast-master,' ye were pleased to call me, friends:"
So in a cheerful humor Publius spoke,
Bright-hearted welcome radiant on his face
As vibrant in his brisk and cordial tones,
Then when by concert after interval—
Their appetite the keener from suspense—
The selfsame company again were met
Under his ample roof to hear the rest
What Mary, or what Krishna, more might tell.
They found the mansion furnished as for feast.
Garlands of fresh leaf and of fragrant flower
Hung everywhere about and frolic laughed
A momentary mimicry of spring.
A fountain playing in the court without
Shot up its curving column to the sun;
He caught the shattered capital in air,
And, kindling every crystal water-drop
Of all the circling shower to which it turned
Into a jewel, sent the largess down,
Shifting as in a shaken kaleidoscope
From form to form of light and rainbow hue—
A glittering evanescence passing price,
Sard, topaz, sapphire, opal, diamond-stone,
Emerald and ruby, pearl and amethyst.
That fountain, to the eye refection such,
Plashed gentle-murmuring music in the ear.
Couches and chairs about the board disposed
Awaited. The guests' feet, as they reclined,
Or sat—the woman sat, the men reclined—
Were duly washed and wiped after the wont
Of homage in those times and in those climes
Accorded ever to the honored guest.
While this was passing, the complacent host,
Not in quite unpremeditated words
Though from his heart, welcomed his guests and said:
"'Feast-master' ye were pleased to call me late
When of your own ye furnished forth the feast,
Invisible viands, yet of savor rare.
Then I was helpless, taken by surprise,
And could do nothing to deserve my name.
If, by your grace, I must feast-master be,
Let me in some sort be feast-maker too.
Forewarned to-day, I venture to assume
Leave of your goodness, and provide this cheer;
Too obvious to the sight and touch and taste
To be as delicate as yours, yet fruit
Of hospitality sincere. Partake,
I pray you, freely, and commend the food.
With meat and drink refreshed, we shall not less,
More rather, relish what of nobler sort
May follow, entertainment to the mind."
Paul answering with a grave sweet courtesy
For all attuned that genial atmosphere
To a chaste spirit of something finer yet
Than genial, which prepared him easy way
To saying: "And now, O Publius, unto God
Most High, who gave thee what thou givest us,
And gave thee likewise thy good will to give,
That God in whom we live and move and have
Our being, who of one blood made us all,
Gentile and Jew together, and whose Son
Christ Jesus died that we might be redeemed
To fellow-sonship with Himself to God—
Let us to God, All-giver, render thanks
For these his gifts, and therewithal for that,
His gift unspeakable in Christ His Son."
So, Publius assenting with bowed head
And complaisance unspoken, Paul gave thanks.
"Oblation of the lips in chosen words,
Warm from the heart no doubt yet only words,
O Paul, thou offeredst to the powers unseen
Above us," Publius said soon after, while
The equal feast they shared; "as if one God
Alone thou worshippedst, All-giver named
By thee: but we have gods and goddesses
Diverse in name and office, unto whom
We offer gift and sacrifice diverse
According as may seem diversely meet.
Apollo is the regent of the sun,
Of the moon, Cynthia with her crescent bow;
Pomona is our patroness of fruits,
While Flora rules the gentle realm of flowers,
And mother Ceres yields us corn and oil.
Jupiter gives us weather, and he broods
In fecund incubation from the skies
Over the earth to quicken all that grows
With moisture; but he sometimes frowns in cloud
Not kindly, and hurtles down the thunderbolt.
Know it was Neptune that stirred up the sea
So, in that insurrection and revolt
Against you late, and stranded you forlorn,
Happy for me and mine! upon this isle;
For Neptune is the sovereign of the wave.
Those winds that blew meantime were breath in blast
Puffed from the cheeks of Æolus who holds
The invisible dominion of the air.
The world is peopled dense with deities
Whom well to worship all, is no light task.
We build them temples, and on altars there
Pour them out rivers of blood from victims slain;
Blood is the favorite drink to most of them.
The victims' flesh we offer them for food:
They do not eat it; so we eat it for them.
For instance now, these meats purveyed for you
Ere going to the shambles to be sold,
Were duly each presented to some god:
So we may gratify our appetite,
And feel that we are worshipping the while.
But Bacchus is our hospitable god:
A big, bluff, honest face we figure him,
Bloodthirsty not, but fond of festal cheer.
Him we best please by drinking of his gift,
Not blood of beast but generous blood of grape,
And spending a libation of the same,
Tribute to him, the end of every feast."
This spring and flow of talk idolatrous,
Uncertain how much serious and how much
A play of skeptic humor half ashamed,
Was a sad note discordant to the tune
Of chastened reverent feeling in the breasts
Of men and women owning debt indeed
For hospitality sincerely meant
By Publius they well knew, yet paramount
Allegiance owning to a jealous God
Who brooked no name divine beside His own.
All toward Paul turning waited, and he spoke:
"O Publius, guests are we and thou art host;
Most gracious we acknowledge thee to be,
As most ungracious were we did we not,
Or undiscerning. Thou hast honored us
Using that frankness to set forth thy ways,
Thine, and thy fellow countrymen's; ways yet
Far alien from the ways endeared to us.
These let me, honoring thee thus with return
Of frankness like thine own, declare to thee.
"We count that thy so-named divinities
Are nothing such as thou supposest them.
They are not gods, since God is one, and will
His incommunicable majesty
Permit none other to partake with Him.
Perhaps, when ye idolaters enshrine
Reputed images of whom ye call
Gods and these worship with your various rites,
It is with some endeavor of your thought
Beyond the sign to what is signified.
But so even is your worship worse than vain.
For there is nothing in the world—the world
Of things existent, things substantial, real,
Spirit or matter—that as counterpart
Answers to these conceived resemblances,
These idols framed by your artificers,
Pretending to be images of gods;
Nothing, I mean, that can be called Divine.
Behind them there is something real indeed,
But evil, not good; no such reality
As that ye dream. Demons, not gods are they,
Who, hid behind your idols, mask and mock.
Therefore we can but hate idolatry,
And flee it as one flees a pestilence.
"Forgive me, the affront is not to thee,
Not to thy fellow worshippers misled,
But to the kingdom of the Evil One,
That emperor of the powers of the air
Who for a season yet has sufferance here
To practice his impostures on mankind.
Thou therefore, O lord Publius, understand,
Thou, and ye others not of Hebrew race,
That we, full gladly sharing this fair feast,
And out of true hearts thanking him our host,
Know nothing of the dedications made
Of meats or drinks partaken to those gods
No gods; but give our worship and our praise
Only to one God over all Most High,
The Maker and the Ruler of all worlds,
Jehovah named, blesséd forevermore.
Add to our debt, O Publius, also this,
That I have spoken thus without offence."