My little boy came flying to me one fair day; he cried out that he had
news for me, that great things were going on in the town. A visitor
was expected, whose promised arrival had set the whole place astir with
joy. The child knew nothing of what or whom he spoke, but I gathered
the impression that some distinguished guest was about to reach us, to
whom the honours of the city would be extended. The matter did not
interest me; I had so little in common with the people; and I was about
to dismiss it idly, when Boy posed me by demanding that I should
personally conduct him through the events of the gala day. He was
unusually insistent about this; for he was a docile little fellow, who
seldom urged his will uncomfortably against my own. But in this case I
could not compromise with him, and half reluctantly I yielded. I had
no sooner done so than an urgent message to the same effect reached me
from my friend the surgeon.
"Go with the current to-day," he wrote; "it sets strongly. Question it
not. Resist it not. Follow and be swept."
Immediately upon this some neighbours came hurriedly in, and spoke with
me of the same matter eagerly. They pleaded with me on no account to
miss the event of the day, upon whose specific nature they were
somewhat reticent. They evinced the warmest possible interest in my
personal relation to it; as people do who possess a happy secret that
they wish, but may not feel at liberty, fully to share with another.
They were excited, and overflowed with happiness. Their very presence
raised my spirits. I could not remember when I had received precisely
this sort of attention from my neighbours; and it was, somehow, a
comfort to me. I should not have supposed that I should value being
made of consequence in this trifling way; yet it warmed my heart. I
felt less desolate than usual, when I took the hand of my happy boy,
and set forth.
The whole vicinity was aroused. Everybody moved in one direction, like
"a current," as my friend had said. Shining, solemn, and joyous faces
filled the streets and fields. The voices of the people were subdued
and sweet. There was no laughter, only smiles, and gentle expectation,
and low consulting together, and some there were who mused apart. The
"sick of soul" were present with the happier folk: these first had a
wistful look, as of those not certain of themselves or of their
welcome; but I saw that they were tenderly regarded by the more
fortunate. I myself was most gently treated; many persons spoke with
me, and I heard expressions of pleasure at my presence. In the crowd,
as we moved on, I began to recognize here and there a face;
acquaintances, whom I had known in the lower life, became visible to
me. Now and then, some one, hastening by, said:--
"Why, Doctor!" and then I would perceive some old patients; the look
which only loving patients wear was on their faces, the old impulse of
trust and gratitude; they would grasp me heartily by the hand; this
touched me; I began to feel a stir of sympathy with the general
excitement; I was glad that I had joined the people.
I pressed the hand of my little boy, who was running and leaping at my
side. He looked confidingly up into my face, and asked me questions
about the day's event; but these I could not answer.
"God knows, my child," I said. "Your father is not a learned man."
As we swept on, the crowd thickened visibly. The current from the city
met streams from the fields, the hills, the forests; all the distance
overflowed; the concourse began to become imposing. Here and there I
observed still other faces that were not strange to me; flashes of
recognition passed between us; some also of my own kin, dead years ago,
I saw, far off, and I felt drawn to them. In the distance, not near
enough to speak with her, shining and smiling, I thought that I
perceived Mrs. Faith, once more. My boy threw kisses to her and
laughed merrily; he was electric with the universal joy; he seemed to
dance upon the air like a tuft of thistledown; to be "light-hearted"
was to be light-bodied; the little fellow's frame seemed to exist only
as the expression of his soul. I thought:--
"If he is properly educated in this place, what a spirit he will make!"
I was amazed to see his capacity for happiness. I thought of his
mother. I wished to be happy, too.
Now, as we moved on toward the plain, the sound of low chanting began
to swell from the crowd. The strain gained in distinctness; power
gathered on it; passion grew in it; prayer ascended from it. I could
not help being moved by this billow of sweet sound. The forms and
faces of the people melted together before my eyes; their outlines
seemed to quiver in the flood of song; it was as if their manifold
personalities blurred in the unity of their feeling; they seemed to me,
as I regarded them, like the presence of one great, glad, loving human
soul. This was their supplication. Thus arose the heavenly song:--
"Thou that takest away
The sins of the world!
Whosoever believeth
Shall have life.
Whosoever believeth on Thee
Shall have eternal life.
Thou that takest away
The sins of the world!
And givest--and givest
Eternal life!"
"I cannot sing that pretty song," said my boy sadly. "There is nobody
to teach me. Father, I wish you _were_ a learned man!"
Now, this smote me to the heart, so that I would even have lifted my
voice and sought to join the chant, for the child's sake, and to
comfort him; but when I would have done so, behold, I could not lift my
soul; it resisted me like a weight too heavy for my lips; for, in this
land, song never rises higher than the level of the soul; there are
fine laws governing this fact whose nature I may not explain, and could
not at that time even understand, but of the fact itself I testify.
"Alas, alas, my son!" I said, "would God I were!"
Now suddenly, while I was conversing with my child, I perceived a stir
among the people, as if they moved to greet some person who was
advancing toward them. I looked in the direction whither all eyes were
turned; but I saw nothing to account for the excitement. While I stood
gazing and wondering, at one movement, as if it were by one heart-heat,
the great throng bowed their heads. Some object, some Presence of
which I could not catch a glimpse, had entered among them. Whispers
ran from lip to lip. I heard men say that He was here, that He was
there, that He was yonder, that He had passed them, that He touched
them.
"He blesseth me!" they murmured.
"And me! And me!"
"Oh, even me!"
I heard low cries of delight and sobs of moving tenderness. I heard
strange, wistful words from the disabled of soul who were among
us,--pleadings for I knew not what, offered to I knew not whom. I
heard words of sorrow and words of utter love, and I saw signs of
shame, and looks of rapture, and attitudes of peace and eager hope. I
saw men kneeling in reverence. I saw them prostrate in petition. I
saw them as if they were clinging affectionately to hands that they
kissed and wept upon. I saw them bowed as one bows before the act of
benediction.
These things I perceived, but alas, I could perceive no more. What
went I out, with the heavenly, happy people, for to see?
Naught, God help me, worse than naught; for mine eyes were holden.
Dark amid that spiritual vision, I stood stricken. Alone in all that
blessedness, was I bereft?
Whom, for very rapture, did they melt to welcome? Whom greeted they,
with that great wave of love, so annihilating to their consciousness of
themselves that I knew when I beheld it, I had never seen the face of
Love before?
Among them all, I stood alone--blind, blind. Them I saw, and their
blessedness, till I was filled with such a sacred envy of it that I
would have suffered some new misery to share it. But He who did move
among them thus royally and thus benignly, who passed from each man to
each man, like the highest longing and the dearest wish of his own
heart, who was to them one knew not whether the more of Master or of
chosen Friend,--Him, alas, I saw not. To me He was denied. No
spiritual optic nerve in me announced His presence. I was blind,--I
was blind.
Overcome by this discovery, I did not notice that my boy had loosened
his hold upon my hand until his little fingers were quite disengaged
from my clasp; and then, turning to speak to him, I found that he had
slipped from me in the crowd. This was so great and the absorption so
universal that no one noticed the mishap; and grateful, indeed, at that
miserable moment, to be unobserved, I went in search of him.
Now, I did not find the child, though I sought long and patiently; and
when I was beginning to feel perplexed, and to wonder what chance could
have befallen him, I turned, and behold, while I had been searching,
the throng had dispersed.
Night was coming on All the citizens were strolling to their homes.
On street, and plain, and hill stirred the shadows of the departing
people. They passed quietly. Every voice was hushed. All the world
was as still as a heart is after prayer.
In the silent purple plain, only I was left alone. Moved by solitude,
which is the soul's sincerity, I yielded myself to strange impulses,
and turning to the spot, where He who was invisible had passed or
seemed to pass, I sought to find upon the ground and in the dusk some
chance imprint of His steps. To do this it was necessary for me to
stoop; and while I was bowed, searching for some least sign of Him, in
the dew and dark, I knew not what wave of shame and sorrow came upon
me, but I fell upon my knees. There was no creature to hear me, and I
spoke aloud, and said:--
"_Thou departest from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord!_" ...
"_Lord,_" I said, "_that I may receive my sight!_"
I thought I had more to say than this, but when I had uttered these
words no more did follow them. They seemed to fill my soul and flood
it till it overflowed.
And when I had lifted up my eyes, the first sight which did meet them
was the face of my own child. I saw at once that he was quite safe and
happy. But I saw that he was not alone.
One towered above me, strange and dim, who held the little fellow in
His arms. When I cried out to Him, He smiled. And He did give the
child to me, and spoke with me.