Part 3 (1/2)

My word had got to Him somehow at last, And He had come to help me or to tell Where help was to be found. It was not strange.

Strange only He had stayed away so long; But that should be forgotten--He was here.

I pushed the door wide open and looked in.

He had been kneeling by the bed, and now, Half-risen, kissed my boy upon the lips, Then turned and smiled and pointed with his hand.

I must have fallen on the threshold stone, For I remember that I felt, not saw, The resurrection glory and the peace Shed from his face and raiment as He went Out by the door into the evening street.

But when I looked, the place about the bed Was yet all bathed in light, and in the midst My boy lay changed,--no longer clothed upon With sc.r.a.ps and shreds of life, but like the child Of some most fortunate mother. In a breath The image faded. There he lay again The same as always; and the light was gone.

I sank with moans and cries beside the bed.

The cruelty, O Christ, the cruelty!

To come at last and then to go like that, Leaving the darkness deeper than before!

Then, though I heard no sound, I grew aware Of some one standing by the open door Among the dry vines rustling in the porch.

My heart laughed suddenly. He had come back!

He had come back to make the vision true.

He had not meant to mock me: G.o.d was G.o.d, And Christ was Christ; there was no falsehood there.

I heard a quiet footstep cross the room And felt a hand laid gently on my hair,-- A human hand, worn hard by daily toil, Heavy with life-long struggle after bread.

Alice's father. The kind homely voice Had in it such strange music that I dreamed Perhaps it was the Other speaking in him, Because His own bright form had made me swoon With its too much of glory. What he brought Was news as good as ever heavenly lips Had the dear right to utter. He had been All day among the crowds of curious folk From the great city and the country-side Gathered to watch the Healer do his work Of mercy on the sick and halt and blind, And with his very eyes had seen such things As awestruck men had witnessed long ago In Galilee, and writ of in the Book.

To-morrow morning he would take me there If I had strength and courage to believe.

It might be there was hope; he could not say, But knew what he had seen. When he was gone I lay for hours, letting the solemn waves Thundering joy go over and over me.

Just before midnight baby fretted, woke; He never yet has slept a whole night through Without his food and petting. As I sat Feeding and petting him and singing soft, I felt a jealousy begin to ache And worry at my heartstrings, hus.h.i.+ng down The gladness. Jealousy of what or whom?

I hardly knew, or could not put in words; At least it seemed too foolish and too wrong When said, and so I shut the thought away.

Only, next minute, it came stealing back.

After the change, would my boy be the same As this one? Would he be my boy at all, And not another's--his who gave the life I could not give, or did not anyhow?

How could I look in his new eyes to claim The whole of him, the body and the breath, When some one not his mother, a strange man, Had clothed him in that beauty of the flesh-- Perhaps (for who could know?), perhaps, by some Hateful disfiguring miracle, had even Transformed his spirit to a better one, Better, but not the same I prayed for him Down out of Heaven through the sleepless nights,-- The best that G.o.d would send to such as me.

I tried to strangle back the wicked pain; Fancied him changed and tried to love him so.

No use; it was another, not my child, Not my frail, broken, priceless little one, My cup of anguish, and my trembling star Hung small and sad and sweet above the earth, So sure to fall but for my cheris.h.i.+ng!

When he had dropped asleep again, I rose And wrestled with the sinful selfishness, The dark injustice, the unnatural pain.

Fevered at last with pacing to and fro, I raised the bedroom window and leaned out.

The white moon, low behind the sycamores, Silvered the silent country; not a voice Of all the myriads summer moves to sing Had yet awakened; in the level moon Walked that same presence I had heard at dawn Uttering hopes and loving-kindnesses, But now, dispirited and reticent, It walked the moonlight like a homeless thing.

O, how to cleanse me of the cowardice!

How to be just! Was I a mother, then, A mother, and not love her child as well As her own covetous and morbid love?

Was it for this the Comforter had come, Smiling at me and pointing with His hand?

--What had He meant to have me think or do, Smiling and pointing?

All at once I saw A way to save my darling from myself And make atonement for my grudging love!

Under the sycamores and up the hill And down across the river, the wet road Went stretching cityward, silvered in the moon.

I who had shrunk from sacrifice, even I, Who had refused G.o.d's blessing for my boy, Would take him in my arms and carry him Up to the altar of the miracle.

I would not wait for daylight, nor the help Of any human friends.h.i.+p; I alone, Through the still miles of country, I alone, Only my arms to s.h.i.+eld him and my feet To bear him: he should have no one to thank But me for that. I knew the way was long, But knew strength would be given. So I came.

Soon the stars failed; the late moon faded too: I think my heart had sucked their beams from them To build more blue amid the murky night Its own miraculous day. From creeks and fields The fog climbed slowly, blotted out the road; And hid the signposts telling of the town; After a while rain fell, with sleet and snow.

What did I care? Baby was snug and dry.

Some day, when I was telling him of this, He would but hug me closer, hearing how The night conspired against us. Better hard Than easy, then: I almost felt regret My body was so capable and strong To do its errand. Honeyed drop by drop, The ghostly jealousy, loosening at my breast, Distilled into a dew of quiet tears And fell with splash of music in the wells And on the hidden rivers of my soul.

The hardest part was coming through the town.

The country, even when it hindered most, Seemed conscious of the thing I went to find.

The rocks and bushes looming through the mist Questioned and acquiesced and understood; The trees and streams believed; the wind and rain, Even they, for all their temper, had some words Of faith and comfort. But the glaring streets, The dizzy traffic, the piled merchandise, The giant buildings swarming with fierce life-- Cared nothing for me. They had never heard Of me nor of my business. When I asked My way, a shade of pity or contempt Showed through men's kindness--for they all were kind.

Daunted and chilled and very sick at heart, I walked the endless pavements. But at last The streets grew quieter; the houses seemed As if they might be homes where people lived; Then came the factories and cottages, And all was well again. Much more than well, For many sick and broken went my way, Alone or helped along by loving hands; And from a thousand eyes the famished hope Looked out at mine--wild, patient, querulous, But always hope and hope, a thousand tongues Speaking one word in many languages.

In two hours He will come, they say, will stand There on the steps, above the waiting crowd, And touch with healing hands whoever asks Believingly, in spirit and in truth.