Then looking up, I saw resting on the mountains where this path ended, a bridge like a rainbow, and beyond it, in the sky, a range of towers and walls, pearl and opal, ruby and golden, such as in a summer evening is sometimes faintly pictured on the clouds, when the setting sun shines through them. And the little band chanted as they went, "The doom of our race is reversed for us. We are not Wanderers; we are Pilgrims. We would not linger here; this is not our rest. Onwards, upwards, to the City!--to the Home!"
_The Ark and the Fortress._
One day, I had been thinking about the terrors of the Great Flood, when it seemed to me that I saw back through the long ages to that distant day, as you look with a night-gla.s.s through the night to an illuminated planet. I saw an old man, venerable with the centuries by which we count the lives of nations, not of men, yet vigorous with the vitality of one who had still centuries to live. He stood on an inland plain, far from any sea; yet above him rose the sides of a large ship. It had been finished that day. Once more the old man warned the laughing crowds around of the waters which would surely come and float the vessel high above the submerged world. He had told them the same truth for a hundred and twenty years. There had been no indefiniteness about his prophecy.
As, since then, men have been warned by the uncertainty of a doom which may come at any moment; then, they were warned by the certainty of a period definitely fixed. Every fall of the leaf had brought it precisely a year nearer. And now the last evening of the last year had come, and once more the patient preacher of righteousness stood and warned them to forsake the sin which must bring the doom.
But in vain. There was no persecution; perhaps some mockery, as they pointed to the cloudless sky, and the fields and forests growing daily greener in the spring-tide sunshine; but for the most part simply unbelief and indifference. "They ate, they drank, they married, they were given in marriage." And so the last warning was finished, and the last evening closed.
But one little group seemed to me to detach itself from the rest with a bolder confidence. They pointed to a fortress on the highest summit of the mountain-range above them, and said: "If what you say is true, surely we shall be safer there than in a floating ark like yours. In the rushing of the great water-floods you speak of, and the beating of the storms, our mountain fortress will serve us better, at least, than your wooden walls. We shall look down from our height on your waters, and, perchance, see the wreck of your vessel drifted to our feet!"
The patriarch and his family were shut in the ark. Before the next morning, the day of doom had set in. Not a break in the pitiless roof of clouds. Steadily the torrents poured from the opened flood-gates of heaven, whilst the waters from beneath broke their barriers, and the reservoirs under the hills burst forth in sudden rivers.
The flood had begun. The valleys became lakes, the plains seas; but the builders of the mountain fortress had fled to it, and looked triumphantly down on the waves.
Higher and higher they rose. The lower hills were covered. The mountain range was isolated. But the dwellers in the fortress thought, "We are well provisioned. This cannot last for ever!"
The waters rose. Peak after peak became an island. And at last, the highest peak, on which the fortress stood, looked out alone upon the waste of waters, and the floating ark buoyed up securely on them.
They looked still down on the waters, but with trembling hearts. The wild waves dashed furiously against this one remaining obstacle. The firmest human masonry cannot stand like the everlasting rocks. The strong foundations gave way, and with a crash, and a wail of anguish, the fortress fell, and nothing rose above the waters but the floating ark. For nothing that is founded on earth can escape the doom of earth.
But
"Planted Paradise was not so firm As was, and is, Thy floating ark; whose stay And anchor Thou art only."
_The Three Dreams._
I had once three dreams in close succession, which I will relate to you.
In the first, I saw a magnificent palace, a little world of gardens and buildings, a city in itself. All was enclosed within a high wall, so that from outside you could see nothing of it except the fairy white minarets pencilled delicately against the blue sky, some lofty battlemented watch-towers, and several graceful campaniles, with the tops of a few of the highest trees. But a delicious blending of the fragrance of a thousand flowers came thence in summer evenings; and every night, bell-tower, watch-tower, spire, and dome, and minaret were illuminated with innumerable starry lamps, as if every day within the palace were a festival.
Around the palace were the lanes and alleys of the city--scenes of poverty and squalor--which contrasted strangely with it; and wretched, half-starved-looking creatures, with tattered garments and faces worn with deep marks of want and woe, lingered round the gates. Outside the gates!--and this was one strange incongruity of my dream, for on the gates were emblazoned in golden letters, which were illuminated into transparencies at night, the words--
"KNOCK, AND IT SHALL BE OPENED UNTO YOU."
The gates were solid, and enormously ma.s.sive, like blocks of black marble. No violence could have forced them. There was no crevice at which any one could get a glimpse of what was within. But the golden knocker, underneath those golden words, was so low as to be within reach of the youngest children. Indeed, I noticed that none tried it so often as little children; and whenever any one knocked with the very feeblest sound, in time, and often immediately, the stately portals opened from within, turning on their ma.s.sive hinges with a sound like the music of many choirs, and the applicant was quietly drawn inside. Then I saw that the inside of the gates was of translucent pearl. A stream of light and fragrance for a moment came through, and induced others afterwards to knock. But immediately the gates were closed, and stood a wall of impenetrable marble as before.
I awoke, and whilst meditating on my dream fell asleep again.
In my second dream, I saw the same palace as in my first, but the ma.s.sive doors were gone, and in their place stood the form of One whom, although I had never seen Him, I had heard so often described, and so faithfully, by those who had seen Him, that I knew Him at once. The same wretched beings were cowering round; but the ma.s.sive barriers were gone, and in their place He stood, and said, in tones that every one could hear--"_I am the Door_. By Me if any man enter he shall be saved."
One wretched and woe-worn woman gave a trembling glance at His face, and then listening again to those tones, not welcoming merely, but pleading and persuasively tender, she ventured close to Him, and fell on her knees to kiss the hem of His garment. But He stooped, and stretched out His hand, and took her hand, and led her in. Then I understood what His words had meant;--that by saying, "I am the door," He must have meant that there was no barrier, no impenetrable gate, but that in the doorway, where the door had been, He stood, and, instead of the lifeless knocker, stretched out His living hands to aid and welcome all who came.
And I awoke from my second dream.
Before long I fell asleep again, and then again I saw the same palace, with the ma.s.sive portals flung open wide, but that gracious princely form stood in them no more. Among the most wretched of that crowd He went--among the maimed, the halt, and the blind. They thronged around Him, yet many of them scarcely seemed to heed, they were so intent on their own sordid pursuits. Some were crowding with sharp, eager faces round a rag merchant, bargaining with the most absorbing pa.s.sion for his wretched wares, and then separating to quarrel and fight over their purchases, or bartering their rags again as eagerly for a draught of the intoxicating drinks which had made so many of them the lost creatures they were. Not a rag or a burning drop was to be had except for money, and often for a price which to them was life itself. And He came to them from the palace, and offered them the palace freely; yet few listened!
But with that strange absence of the sense of incongruity and the emotion of surprise characteristic of dreams, I did not wonder.
Patiently He went in and out among them, pleading with one and another, often encountering rough words and blows; yet still His words were--"I come to seek and save that which was lost." And some even of the most wretched listened, and returned with Him, and were welcomed inside.
As if "Knock, and it shall be opened!" were not free enough, the gates were thrown open wide, and He stood there, the outstretched hand, instead of the door; the living friend, instead of the written words of welcome. And as if that were not enough, instead of saying, "Come to Me!" He came Himself--He "came to seek and to save that which was lost."
THE FOLD AND THE PALACE.
THE FOLD.
There is a Fold, once dearly bought, But opened now to all, Reaching from regions high as thought, Low as our race can fall.
Far up among the sunny hills, Where breaks the earliest day; Down where the deepest shadow chills The wanderer"s downward way;--
There some have seen a Shepherd stand Who guards it day and night; Mightier than all His gentle hand, His eyes the source of light.
I know the feeblest that have e"er Entered those precincts blest, Find everlasting safety there, Freedom and life and rest.
But I have wandered far astray, Blinded, and wearied sore; How can I find the plainest way, Or reach the nearest door?
The silence with a Voice is fraught!
When did I hear that tone?-- Awful as thunder, soft as thought, Familiar as my own.
"_I am the Door_," those words begin-- I press towards that Voice, And, ere I know it, am within, And all within rejoice.
THE PALACE.
There is a Palace vast and bright, Athwart the night"s cold gloom Stream its soft music and warm light-- A Palace, yet a Home.
The guests who are invited there Are called therein to dwell: "Laden with sin, oppressed with care,"
The calling suits me well.
They say none ever knocked in vain; Yet I have often tried, And scarce have strength to try again.
Will one then be denied?
Again that Voice my spirit thrills, So strange, yet so well known, Divine as when it rent the hills, Yet human as my own.
The golden portals softly melt, Like clouds around the sun, And where they stood, and where I knelt, Behold that matchless One!
He pleads for me, He pleads with me, He hears ere I can call; Jesus! my first step is to Thee, And Thy first gift is _all_!