THE OIL OF MERCY.

Many beauteous spots the earth Keepeth yet,—but brighter, fairer Did that long-lost Eden show Than the loveliest that remaineth: So what marvel, when our Sire Was from thence expelled, he waited Lingering with a fond regret Round those blessèd happy places Once his home, while innocence Was his bright sufficient raiment? Long he lingered there, and saw Up from dark abysmal spaces Four strong rivers rushing ever; Saw the mighty wall exalted High as heaven, and on its heights Glimpses of the fiery Angel. Long he lingered near, with hope Which had never quite abated, That one day the righteous sentence, Dooming him to stern disgraces, Should be disannulled, and he In his first bliss reinstated. But when mortal pangs surprised him, By an unseen foe assailèd, Seth he called, his dearest son, Called him to his side, and faintly Him addressed—“My son, thou knowest Of what sufferings partaker, Of what weariness and toil, Of what sickness, pain and danger I have been, since that sad hour That from Eden’s precincts drave me. But thou dost not know that God, When to exile forth I farèd, Houseless wanderer through the world, Thus with gracious speech bespake me: —‘Though thou mayst not here continue, In these blessèd happy places, As before from pain exempt, Suffering, toil, and mortal ailment, Think not thou shalt therefore be Of my loving care forsaken: Rather shall that tree of life, In the middle garden planted, Once a precious balm distil, Which to thee applied, thine ailments Shall be all removed, and thou Made of endless life partaker.’— With these words he cheered me then, Words that have remained engraven On my bosom’s tablets since. Go then, dear my son, oh hasten Unto Eden’s guarded gate, Tell thine errand to the Angel; And that fiery sentinel To the tree will guide thee safely, Where it stands, aloft, alone, In the garden’s middle spaces: Thence bring back that oil of mercy, Ere my lamp of life be wasted.” When his father’s feeble words Seth had heard, at once he hastened, Hoping to bring back that oil, Ere the light had wholly faded From his father’s eyes, the lamp Of his life had wholly wasted. O’er the plain besprent with flowers, With ten thousand colours painted In that spring-time of the year, By Thelassar on he hastened, Made no pause, till Eden’s wall Rose an ever verdant barrier, High as heaven’s great roof, that shines With its bright carbuncles paven. There the son of Adam paused, For above him hung the Angel In the middle air suspense, With his swift sword glancing naked. Down upon his face he fell By the sun-bright vision dazèd. “Child of man”—these words he heard, “Rise, and say what thing thou cravest?” All his father’s need he told, And how now his father waited, In his mighty agony For that medicine yearning greatly. “But thou seekest” (this reply Then he heard) “thou seekest vainly For that oil of mercy yet, Nor will tears nor prayers avail thee. Go then quickly back, and bring These my words to him, thy parent, Parent of the race of men. He and they in faith and patience Must abide, long years must be Ere the precious fruit be gathered, Ere the oil of mercy flow From the blessèd tree and sacred In the Paradise of God: Nor till then will be obtainèd The strong medicine of life, Healing every mortal ailment, Nor thy sire till then be made Of immortal life a sharer. Fear not that his heart will sink When these tidings back thou bearest, Rather thou shalt straightway see All his fears and pangs abated, And by faith allayed to meekness Every wish and thought impatient. Hasten back then—thy return, Strongly yearning, he awaiteth: Hasten back then.”—On the word To his father back he hastened, Found him waiting his return In his agony, his latest: Told him of what grace to come, Of what sure hope he was bearer— Saw him, when that word was spoke, Every fear and pang assuagèd, And by faith allayed to meekness, Every wish and thought impatient, Like a child resign himself Unto sweet sleep, calm and painless.