THE THRONE OF THE KING

The sun was setting, and its golden glow Deepened the shadows on the village street, And reverent touched the beauty of the head Of Him who sat, in thought, beside the well Of Nazareth. Two women came to fill Their earthen jars; and sent their burdens down To where the water lay; then drew them up. But still the Boy, unmoved, gazed steadily Upon the distant hills, that girded round Jerusalem, the City of the Soul. His eyes were deep as some unfathomed sea, That tosses wreckage on its billowed crest; But hides its treasures ever in the caves, That men shall never touch, or touching die. “How strange the Boy,” one woman softly said As back they went, their burdens on their heads. “Yet He is Joseph’s Son,” the other spoke, “And Joseph is my neighbor, a just man; But not more lettered than the other men, Your own and mine. He is not priest nor scribe That he could teach such wisdom to his Son. And it doth sometimes seem the Boy is wise Beyond His years, with knowledge overmuch.” “His mother, whom I know,” her friend replied, “As Mary, sweeps the shavings from the floor, Cooks the poor fare for Joseph and her Son, Cares for the water, and her jar brings here As we do every day, who know not much Beyond the things we hear from holy men. Yet strange is Mary too; I know not where To match the peace that’s on her tranquil brow; Though, through it all, I’ve seen the Shadow there The dread of days to come, though all resigned. So like His mother is this only Son In beauty, in the peace that’s on His face; But sometimes, deeper still, the Shadow falls Across His features. Look! behold it now. For it doth speak the dread of awful things, More awful than the ruin of a world!” A-down the street there rang a clatter loud Of horses dashing in a maddened run, And sounds of wheels swift rolling on the pave. The women shrank affrighted to the wall, And cowered there in trembling, mortal fear. In view the charging horses passed along Straight to the well, no driver grasped the reins, For he had fallen to the stony street. Yet never moved the Boy, nor turned His eyes From off the hills that held them so intent. But from a doorway rushed a stranger lad Who grasped the bit of one, and held him fast. The others, panting, stopped so near the Boy That, on His face He must have felt the heat Which steaming rose from their perspiring flanks, As now they stood, foam-flecked and trembling by. The driver came and meekly murmured thanks, Before he led his charges back again To where his master waited for the steeds. “He gave me naught but words, and I did save The steeds. The chariot, too, would have been dashed All broken on the stones, had I not come.” The lad was angered, but the Boy moved not, Though from the distant hills His gaze was drawn. “Dost thou not know,” the lad said, wonderingly, “How near was Death to thee a moment since?” The Boy, now fully aroused, smiled at the lad All kindly, as a loving father smiles Upon his child that waked him unaware, Whose sleep nor storm nor clatter could affect, Yet at the touch of little baby hands Opens wide his eyes, that twinkle joyfully. “No nearer to grim Death,” the Boy replied, “Was I than thou, my friend, art near it now. Thou seekest Joseph and hast wandered far From distant Jaffa, where thy father died. Thou’rt Fidus named. From Joseph thou wouldst learn The craftsman’s art, and how to handle tools To work with wood, that thou thyself may’st be Like him, a craftsman skilled in his own trade.” “A prophet Thou!” the lad in wonder cried. “Come with me,” made He answer. “I am known As Joseph’s Son; so I will speak for thee.” As evening fell on Nazareth’s burning street Each day these two would wander out alone; And by the well, or in a quiet glade Seated, would hold their talk, with none to hear. Yet converse scarce it was; with ears intent, Fidus did always listen, while the Boy Poured out a tale of Kings and Prophets old; Of marvels that they worked to testify Unto a King whom yet the earth would see, A King of all Judea and the world; Whose glory, mounting even to the stars Would dim with rich effulgence, their great light. The Sun of Justice He, the Moon of night That had for ages settled o’er the earth. He told of wonders that the King would do Before He mounted to His mighty throne. He told of love surpassing every love That earth had seen, and of His Kingdom wide; Till all on fire Fidus hung’red to see The King Himself, and worship at His throne. “A Roman though I am,” he oft would cry, “Thy King I’d welcome and for Him I’d serve.” “Yet thou art craftsman and no soldier thou.” “A craftsman too can serve his loyal due.” “How wouldst thou serve?” the Boy inquiring spoke. “When Joseph bids me go, that I can learn no more, This I can do—to build for Him His throne.” The Shadow swept across the boyish face— The Shadow Fidus once had seen before; And he was silent, for in awe he stood When that mysterious shade shut off the light That shone out from the radiant brow. The Shadow was not fear, nor dread of death; But dread of something worse than death could bring. It was as if a lily, broken, bent, But yet unsullied, now was stained with filth By impious hand; more cruel far than death The marring of the whiteness death had spared: Or like a stream, that through its mountain bed Had raced unfettered, toward the amber sea, And o’er the rapids and the pebbles dashed Clear, cold and placid when the mouth is reached; Then, death unfeared before it, ready now To give back to the ocean all it gave, Into its pureness poured a stream so dark That tainted all its life, when life was lost. ’Twas thus the Shadow seemed; but soon it passed, And smiling boyhood turned a happy face The while he said: “So thou wouldst build His throne? But dost thou know the form that throne will take?” “’T will be a throne,” Fidus replied, “so high That all may see Him, while from it He reigns, And know that He has come unto His own.” “Aye,” quick the Boy made answer, “it shall be Uplifted high that every man may see; Not Jews alone but even ye of Rome; And men from Britain too, on farthest shore Of Rome’s great Empire: they shall see and know The King who reigns upon that living throne; And in the Islands of unchartered seas The King shall lifted be, that all may know; And worlds still undiscovered shall bow down To do Him homage, yet shall hate His name. For homage goes with hate, and hate will be The measure of the homage that shall swell In pæans great around the royal throne.” Fidus looked wond’ring at the Boy Who spoke, As if the right to build the throne were His And He could give it to the friend who asked This only boon, as pledge of love untold. “And I would build it strong so it could go O’er sea and land, and last for aye and aye.” “So thou wouldst build the throne?” again the Boy Half musing spoke. Across His face once more The Shadow fell; and, as he stood, His hands He lifted up and out, as if in prayer. Another Shadow fell upon the ground, The arms and body strangely like a Cross. Fidus was silent till the prayer was done. The sun now set, and all the shadows passed. They, arm in arm, ran fast to Joseph’s house. But, at the door they paused and, said the Boy: “Thou must remember ever this thy day When I the promise gave that I can keep, For thou shalt build His throne!” The years passed on, And Fidus to the Roman hosts returned Where, welcomed as a soldier’s clever son, He wrought in wood for all the legions there In Jaffa, where his father had been killed. For eighteen years he stayed beside the sea And, working at the trade that Joseph taught, He never once forgot the precious pledge The Boy had made. But never saw nor heard Aught of his friend. Then he was sent away By Pilate’s call, unto Jerusalem. The evening of the day when he arrived Great turmoil swept along the Jaffa road, And near the Gate of Gardens, where the hill Called Calvary lifted up its rocky head. He heard the crowds discuss a Wonder-Man The priests had taken, and was on His way To judgment. “Out on such a King,” cried one, “Himself He can not save from shameful death. To-morrow’s sun will see Him lifted up Above the hill, and throw the Shadow of A Cross upon you fools who thought Him King.” And on the faces dark of all around, Fidus saw Hate he could not understand. Then up a vision rose of Nazareth When evening fell; a Boy of beauty rare, With a strange Shadow on His lovely face, Standing with arms outstretched in prayer, The glory of the setting sun upon His head. But long and grim the shadow of a Cross Before Him as He stood. Then to his mind Came swift the stories of the mighty King, And then the promise: “Thou shalt build His throne.” Alas! the long and wav’ring years had swept The dreams of youth away; but still remained The love, that hungered now to feel the hand Within his own of Mary’s Son. The day Rose brightly in the East. At Pilate’s door He met by chance a captain he had known In Jaffa, who bade him attentive wait Within the hall, amongst the soldiers there. But soon a tumult rose without the doors; The Wonder-Man was coming to be judged. Then, as the cries increased, his friend came in. “Make thou a Cross,” he said, “We have but two And, if I judge aright, three shall be sent Beyond the wall this day to Calvary.” No more of shouting Fidus heard, for he Alone made ready a great Cross of wood; And, that his craftsman skill should be confessed, He made it well, both strong and workmanlike. “’Tis fit,” he said, “to serve a King,” and smiled At his grim jest; then went he on his way. Out in the streets the crowd was surging on Along the way that leads to Calvary’s hill. And o’er it Fidus saw his Cross; and then, Sometimes, a thorn-crowned head with waving hair Blood-clotted now, and stained a deeper hue; And Hate seemed in the air vibrating round. When sudden, like a bell that sweetly rings Above a storm, and seems a messenger Of Peace and Love, there woke upon his soul From out the sleeping past, some prophet words: “For homage goes with hate, and hate shall be The measure of the homage that shall swell In pæans great around the royal throne.” The surging crowd hid from his eyes the things He did not care to see, but faint he heard The hammer strokes, that seemed to drive the nails Deep in his heart. Then turned he to a man Who silent stood beside him, and he said: “A stranger I, from Jaffa, yesternight I came. This man? What evil hath He done?” “I know not any wrong that He hath done,” Came answer fast. “I only know the good That He had wrought. Behold my eyes that see! Once they were dark. He passed me by one day And loud I cried: ‘O Son of David, mercy show That I may see.’ He touched me and I saw.” Another silent man near Fidus stood, To him he spoke, “And friend, what knowest thou?” “I know that now I live though I was dead; For I had gone into the ending tomb All spiced for rest and bound with linen bands; And He did come, and He did call me forth. I heard His voice that sounded far away, As if I stood within a valley deep, And some one, from the mountain crest, Kept calling me. Then clearer was the Voice; As if on wings, I soared aloft to Him, Who had the Power to bid me come or stay. Again my heart did beat and vital blood Surged through my wid’ning veins. I lived again.” Then Fidus quick recalled a wondrous thing: He saw the Boy in Joseph’s little shop, A sick lamb refuged in His tender arms. He gently stroked the lamb and then the pain Was gone from out its piteous pleading eyes. And, lo, the man felt hot tears on his cheeks. The Cross was raised, and faint the outline stood ’Twixt Fidus and the lurid, murky sky That threatened from afar a terror dark. Then swift it came, for all of darkness dread That air could hold, fell down upon the earth. The stumbling crowd in panic slunk away; But Fidus groped through darkness to the Cross. He heard a moan of sorrow. Well he knew The voice of Mary, she of Joseph’s house. His heart stood still; the Vision came again: That evening fair—the Boy—the distant hills— The Shadow of the Cross upon the earth As He stood silent all absorbed in prayer— The promise that himself should build a throne. “Aye,” so the Boy had said, “for it shall be Raised up on high that every man may see, Not Jews alone, but even ye of Rome; And men from Britain too, on farthest shore Of Rome’s great Empire: they shall see and know The King Who reigns upon that living throne; And, in the Islands of uncharted seas The King shall lifted be that all may know; And worlds still undiscovered shall bow down To do Him homage, yet shall hate His name. For homage goes with hate, and hate will be The measure of the homage that shall swell In pæans great around His royal throne.” A lightning flash! The rocks asunder rent, The tombs burst open and the dead arose. One moment Fidus saw the Crucified Ere darkness fell again around the Cross. But in that moment a new vision rose; He saw the hill rise high, and higher still, Till over all the mountains of the world It towering stood; and nations, worshipping Gazed on a mighty throne that bore a King! Blood red the jewels in His crown of thorns, With ermined pain that wrapped Him all about, Deep in His hands the orb and sceptre nails, Quite gone the Shadow of the primal sin And, on His brow, fulfilled the ancient pledge Of Earth’s Redemption.