The vision ceased; I saw the light no more:
The moon was shining through the window near,
And all the house was silent as before.
"And, waiting till I saw the dawn ascend,
I lay and mused upon this wondrous thing;
And tried, with my child's mind, to comprehend
Who was the eldest daughter of the King,
"I prayed, I pondered long in vain; until
A light from Heaven was on my spirit shed:
And not by wisdom, nor by earthly skill,
I knew the meaning of the words she said.
"When Christ our blessed Lord to earth came down,
And gave His life for lost and thankless men,
And changed His glory for a thorny crown,
'T was Mercy led and did constrain Him then.
"Ah, woe to us, if Mercy had not been
His eldest daughter, and His guide that day!
Then had we died, and perished in our sin,
Unpitied, unforgiven, cast away."
Such was the Patriarch's story, and we know
That Mercy in his heart her dwelling made,
As in no other; and his life below
Was Mercy, in a thousand forms displayed.
And when the summons came that comes to all,
As on a journey distant far he went;
While he, rejoicing, heard the heavenly call,
This token to the stricken church was sent.
A humble convent had his bounty shared,
From Alexandria some few miles away:
And there, where he for rest had oft repaired,
An aged brother sick and dying lay.
For years infirm and helpless had he lain,
But strong in faith, and happy in God's will,
Through all the weary days and nights of pain,
His only work to suffer and lie still.
They two were friends, the Patriarch and he,
For oft the busy saint had loved to turn
From care and work, that peaceful face to see,
And from those patient lips some lesson learn.
And now as he lay dying, glad to go,
Yet thinking, maybe, of his absent friend,
To him was granted in a dream to know,
Of that most holy life, the blessed end.
For, sleeping, he beheld in vision clear
That sombre palace by the poor beloved,
Where the good Patriarch, year after year,
Had all their burdens lightened or removed.
And down the stairway moved a long array
Of priests and others; slowly did they tread,
A grave procession, as on festal day,
And he, the Patriarch, was at their head.
The loved companions of his toil were there,
Who helped him long to labour and endure,
Who knelt beside him in the church at prayer,
Or bore his secret bounty to the poor.
They passed the door where none had knocked in vain,
They crossed the courtyard with its well of stone;
But at the outer gate did all remain
With saddened look, while he went forth alone.
And now the vision changed, he walked no more
The city street that knew his step so well,
But trod a pleasant path, unknown before,
Through a fair land, where peace did ever dwell.
There rose the emperor's palace on a hill,
O'erlooking all the country, where it lay
Spread out beneath it, beautiful and still,
In all the sweetness of an April day.
Grand was that mansion, stately to behold;
To tell its beauty words can ne'er begin,--
The thousand columns, and the domes of gold,
And shining all as from a light within.
He neared the palace--of their own accord
The lofty gates before him open swing,
And in the glory, as it outward poured,
Came forth the eldest daughter of the King,
Came as he saw her on that far-off night
Which star-like through his life's long journey shone,
Wearing her olive crown, her robe of light,
And came to meet him, where he walked alone,
He bowed and knelt before her, for he knew
That presence which had blessed him long before;
While from her folded mantle forth she drew
A crown of olive, like the one she wore,
And placed it on the saintly silvered head;
Then took his hand. He rose; nor did they wait:
The dreamer watched them as they onward sped,
Till, hand in hand, they entered through the gate.
And then, as light concealed them, he awoke,
And to the brethren, gathered in his cell,
In tearful silence listening while he spoke,
He did the story of his vision tell,
And bade them note what hour the dream was sent,
Which some with anxious hearts made haste to do;
Then waited, fearing what the vision meant;
Till time had shown them all they feared was true.
For when the dreaded tidings came at last,
They knew that on that very hour and day
Their much-loved father from this life had passed,
In his own isle of Cyprus, far away.
*Bishop Troilus*
*Bishop Troilus*
*THE MANSION IN HEAVEN*
In pomp and state, with following great, the Bishop Troilus came
To the town of Alexandria, which knew him long by fame,
To see the holy Patriarch, who had been his friend of old,
To hear his words of wisdom, and his saintly life behold.
In youth their paths together lay, and both with one accord
Had chosen then the better part, and thought to serve the Lord;
For half a century now and more had each one gone his way.
The Patriarch nearer was to God, far nearer than that day;
For his soul was like a garden where the flowers that then were
sown,
With care and patient tending, had to perfect beauty grown.
And Troilus? ... In the world's esteem he stood as high, or
higher;
His piety did all men praise, his eloquence admire;
He had fiery words to thrill them, he had flowery words to
please,
And when he preached on festal days, the people swarmed like
bees;
From altar steps to open door there was hardly room to stand.
And 't was not the sermon only, but his presence was so grand;
With his grave and aged beauty, with his form erect and tall,
With saintly face and silver hair, he won the hearts of all.
When through the city he returned, so lofty and serene,
A train of priests attended him, all with obsequious mien;
And children followed open-eyed, and gentle ladies bent
From balcony and window high to see him as he went.
Indeed he was a stately sight in silken raiment clad,
The ring he wore was valued more than aught the Patriarch had;
And the cross upon his bosom, that the people wondering viewed,
Gave back the sunshine, when he walked, from jewels many-hued.
And men said his life was blameless, but it still must be
confessed,
Though the saints were glad to own him, yet the sinners loved
him best.
He was rich, and he was famous, and, as all his life had shown,
He was great in worldly wisdom, and the world will love its own.
But while saints and shiners praised him, there was one who did
not praise,
But whose eyes forever watched him with a sad and anxious gaze;
For the Patriarch, simple-hearted, was not dazzled like the
rest,
And he knew the deadly passion that the Bishop's soul
possessed,--
Yes, more deadly than another, for it lay so still and cold,
Like a serpent coiled within him,--'twas the growing love of
gold.
It had choked away his pleasure, it had eaten up his peace,
As with every year that left him he had seen his wealth
increase,
Till his heart grew dry and withered in the smoke of worldly
care;
But it dulled him with its poison, and he knew not it was there.
Oh, the Patriarch longed to see him from such cruel bondage
free,
And he pleaded hard for Troilus every night on bended knee;
For there yet was time to save him, so he hoped and so believed,
But the days and weeks were passing, and no answer he received.
But with praying he grew bolder, and to combat he began,
And he left his door one morning with a wise and hopeful plan;
And he said in solemn murmur, as he walked along the way,
"I must go and fight with Satan for my brother's soul to-day;
He is cruel, he is cunning, but his arts will be in vain,
The strongest net he ever wove will never bear the strain
Of seeing and of hearing what each day I hear and see,
And the Lord has saved my brother if he will but come with me."
It was in the early morning, long before the noise and heat,
And the life was just beginning in the shady city street,
When he saw a church door open, and he turned and entered in.
"I will ask the Lord to help me in this work that I begin."
There were some who entered near him, and he saw they came in
haste,
Toiling men and burdened women, who had little time to waste;
But they stole some precious minutes in that church to kneel and
pray,
To refresh their souls and cheer them for the labours of the
day;
And they gathered close around him on the pavement, for they
felt
That their prayers would rise the higher if their father with
them knelt.
Then he said to them: "My children, you must help me now indeed,
For my heart and soul are troubled for a friend in sorest need;
He is low with mortal sickness, but no earthly skill can cure.
Pray the Lord to show His mercy to the poorest of the poor."
So they knelt and prayed together, till the morning sun was
high,
For the Patriarch's heart was kindled, and the time went quickly
by.
Troilus too had risen early, and had said his morning prayers,
But he said them somewhat coldly, being filled with other cares.
At that moment he was thinking, while he counted up his store,
Upon certain silver goblets he had seen the day before,
Which a silversmith had brought him, and had hoped that he would
buy.
They were nobly wrought and chiselled, and the price indeed was
high,
But he thought upon his table they would look exceeding fine
When his friends, the rich and noble, should come in with him to
dine;
Then how all of them would envy, and the thought his spirit
cheered,--
When a gentle knock aroused him, and the Patriarch appeared.
Very bright his eyes were shining, and his face was all aglow,
But his voice was strange and solemn, when he told him, "I must
go
To the hospital, my brother, and I came here on my way;
If we both could go together, it would be a happy day.
There I find my greatest blessing, every morning fresh and new,
But far greater, but far sweeter could I share it once with
you."
How the heart of Troilus softened, as those eyes upon him shone,
At their look of earnest pleading, at the tremor in the tone!
Strange it was that look could melt him and that voice could
change him so,
Calling back to life, a moment, what had withered long ago,--
Some old good that stirred within him, often spurned and thrust
aside.
But the flowers the Lord had planted, though they dwindled, had
not died;
He was poor in heavenly treasure, but he loved the Patriarch
still.
"I will come," he answered quickly; "you may lead me where you
will."
There were looks and tones of wonder in the hospital that day,
From the rows of low white couches where the sick and dying lay,
As, with all his train about him, in his splendour and his
pride,
On he walked, the Bishop Troilus, by the simple Patriarch's
side.
But erelong the two were parted, for as Troilus looked around,
He recoiled in shrinking horror from each doleful sight and
sound;
While the Patriarch loved to linger for a while by every bed,
With his strong arms ever ready to sustain a drooping head;
Happy in each humble service, and forgetting all his state,
While he thanked the Lord who sent him on these stricken ones to
wait.
How the pale sad faces brightened into smiles as he drew near,
And what loving words were murmured, faintly murmured in his
ear!
"Does he well," said Bishop Troilus, as he saw him turn and go
From one bedside to another, "does he well to stoop so low?"
Yet had Troilus only known it, they were not the poor alone
Whom his brother served that morning, but their Master and his
own.
There was one but just recovered, light of heart, though poor
and weak,
With a journey long before him, going forth his home to seek,
Far away among the mountains where his wife and children stayed;
But the Patriarch's love had found him ere the stranger sought
his aid,
Giving money for the journey, giving blessed words of cheer.
Then he turned, for time was pressing, and a sadder face lay
near,
Worn by months of pain and languor; he was young, had once been
strong,
He was fading now, but slowly, and perhaps would suffer long,
And the hundred wants of sickness who can know that has not
proved?
He had wearied all about him, but the Patriarch's heart was
moved;
So he heard the long complaining to which no one else gave heed,
Then he left him, soothed and peaceful, with enough for all his
need.
So with one and with another for a moment he would stay,
At each bed he left a blessing, and a blessing brought away,
Till his purse grew light and empty, as had happened oft before;
Though he turned it up and shook it, there was not one penny
more.
Then he turned and sought for Troilus, who that moment, as it
chanced,
With a look subdued and solemn, stood and gazed, like one
entranced,
On the strange, unearthly beauty, on the light of perfect peace
In a woman's face before him; she was nearing her release,
And a glory rested on her from the opening door above;
Yet one shadow marred its splendour when she looked with anxious
love
On a little maid, her daughter, with a pretty, careworn face,
Who had brought two younger children, waiting now for her
embrace,
Wondering why she did not give it, why so deadly still she lay,
For they knew not, though she knew it, she would not live out
the day.
Said the Patriarch: "Brother Troilus, have you nothing you could
give
To this woman and her children, for she has not long to live?
And I see her mind is troubled, and I think, before they part,
Had she something she could leave them, it would ease her
burdened heart;
For myself, I freely promise I will make these babes my care,
But to-day my purse is empty, so I pray you not to spare."
Oh! alas, poor Bishop Troilus! how this pleading broke the spell
That the woman's look had woven, and how low his spirit fell!
For he dearly loved his money, with a passion deep and blind,
As a scholar loves his learning, or a saint his peace of mind.
But the eyes of all were on him at that moment, and he knew
'T was in hopeful expectation of what such a saint would do;
There were many who had entered from the busy street to gaze,
He would not be shamed before them, they should still have cause
to praise;
But his purse would have to open, so he turned and waved his
hand
To the priest who always bore it, with a gesture of command.
"For this woman for her daughter and the two poor babes," said
he,
"Lay down thirty golden pieces in the Patriarch's hand for me."
There were none who had not heard him, for his voice was loud
and clear,
And a low, admiring murmur rose from all the couches near,
While the Patriarch stood rejoicing in the deed his friend had
done;
By himself he judged another, and he thought the victory won.
For one moment Bishop Troilus feels his narrow heart expand,
When the maiden thanks him weeping, and the children kiss his
hand,
And the mother, just departing, from the pillow where she lies,
Turns one happy smile upon him, with a blessing in her eyes.
But alas! on home returning, when the sacrifice was made,
When the Patriarch's holy presence was no longer there to aid,
He did much bewail his money; half in anger, half in pain,
To have parted in a moment with what took so long to gain.
And his heart was in a turmoil, and a pain was in his head,
Till the raging turned to fever, and he threw him on his bed
In a storm of angry passion that no reason could control;
For to him to part with money was like parting with his soul.
But he said no word to any of this rage and inward strife,
And the priests who waited on him were in terror for his life,
And as nothing made him better, they took counsel, and agreed
That the Patriarch, and he only, was the man to meet their need;
So they sent and humbly prayed him if to come he would be
pleased,
For his friend the Bishop Troilus was with sudden illness
seized.
In his chamber lay the Bishop, sick in body, sick in mind;
But the Patriarch, wise in spirit, had his malady divined.
So he came and sat beside him, patient still, but pale with
grief,
While he made one last endeavour for that troubled soul's
relief.
But his friend was sore and angry, and his words he would not
hear,
For the presence now disturbed him that had lately been so dear.
And he lay with face averted, till he heard the Patriarch say,
"I have brought you back the money that you gave away to-day."
Then indeed he started wildly, and his eyes he opened wide,
And he turned and faced his brother with a joy he could not
hide;
For with sudden hope he trembled, and it paled his fevered
cheek;
And the Patriarch's heart was sinking, but he still went on to
speak:
"When I asked your help this morning, I had nothing of my own,
So I left to you the blessing which had else been mine alone;
For those three dear orphan children I had gladly done the
whole,
So their mother up in heaven might be praying for my soul.
And I now have come to ask you if this grace you will resign,--
Will you take again the money, and let your good deed be mine?
Yet I pray you to consider, ere you grant it or refuse,
What a great and heavenly treasure I shall win and you will
lose;
For indeed I would not wrong you, though to me the gain be
great.
So then do not answer rashly,--there is time, we both can wait,
And 't were well to think a little on the words our Master said,
How He left the poor behind, that we might serve them in His
stead;
And whatever help we grant them, be it great or be it small,
To our blessed Lord we give it, to our Lord, who gave us all."
Then made answer Bishop Troilus, "As for what you now propose,
If it please you I am ready, and the bargain we can close.
There are many kinds of service, and each needful in its way,
And I think the Lord has set me in His church to preach and
pray,
And to save the souls that perish, and to teach men how to live,
While your own vocation, brother, is with open hand to give.
Let not one defraud the other, take your part and leave me mine,
For however we may divide it, all the service is divine.
Let us feed God's flock together, for His needy children care,
I the souls, and you the bodies, so the burden we may share."
"Then so be it," said the other, but his voice was low and
grave,
And he prayed to God in silence for the soul he could not save.
"We must write it all in order, we must sign and seal it too,
So that mine may be the blessing, while the gold remains with
you."
So they wrote a contract solemn, to which each one signed his
name,
In which he, the Bishop Troilus, did relinquish every claim
To whatever reward or merit his one pious deed had earned,
Since the thirty golden pieces to his hand had been returned.
Then the Patriarch counted slowly all the pieces, one by one,
In the open hand of Troilus, and his last attempt was done.
All had failed, and heavy-hearted from that chamber forth he
went,
While his friend lay still and smiling in the fullness of
content;
For the fever now had left him, and 't was sweet to lie and
rest,
With no more a thorn to vex him in his smooth, untroubled
breast.
With a dreamy satisfaction he was thinking all the while
How those pretty shining pieces would increase the golden pile
In that chest of hoarded treasure that already held so much;
And he laid his hand upon them with a fond caressing touch.
But his thoughts began to wander, and his eyes were closing
soon,
In the drowsy heat and stillness of the summer afternoon.
Then a dream was sent to bless him, as in quiet sleep he lay,
And it bore him in a vision to the country far away;
And he saw the holy city, where the saints and angels dwell;
Of its glory, of its beauty, mortal tongue can never tell.
There were palm-trees growing stately by the water, crystal
clear;
There was music ever swelling, sometimes far and sometimes near,
As it rose in mystic cadence from the hearts that overflowed
With the joy that reigns forever in their beautiful abode.
And the people of that city whom he met along the way
On the shining golden pavement, oh, how full of peace were they!
For he thought some heavenly vision shone forever in their
sight,
And he looked where they were gazing, but he only saw the light
As it flooded all with glory, and the air it seemed to fill;
But he saw not what they looked on, for his eyes were mortal
still.
Now among those lighted faces there were some he knew before,
Of the poor to whom so often he had closed his heart and door;
Such as in the heavenly city he had little thought to find,
For the sad and sick and needy had been never to his mind:
Of the rich were not so many, yet a few of these beside,
Who by deeds of love and mercy had their Master glorified.
And in perfect health and beauty, among all that bright array,
Was the woman he saw dying in the hospital that day.
All along the road he travelled, to the left and to the right,
Rose the palaces they dwelt in, each a mansion of delight,
But all varying in their beauty, far away as eye could reach,
With a name in golden letters, high above the door of each.
And sweet faces smiled upon him, from the windows here and
there,
Gentle faces free forever from the shade of earthly care;
And he heard the happy voices of the children as they played
In the fair and peaceful gardens, where the roses never fade;
And the things he left behind him seemed so very poor and small,
That he wondered, in that glory, why men cared for them at all.
But oh, wonder of all wonders, when he saw a name that shone
O'er a high and arching doorway, yes, a name that was his own!
Could it be his eyes deceived him? No, he read it o'er and
o'er;
"This," it said, "of Bishop Troilus is the home forevermore."
Oh the beauty of that palace, with such light and splendour
filled,
That he thought the clouds of sunset had been hewn its walls to
gild;
And the golden door stood open, he could catch a glimpse within
Of the vast illumined chambers where no foot had ever been.
He could only gaze bewildered, for the wonder was too great,
And the joy so poured upon him he could hardly bear the weight.
Then he took one step toward it, but a servant of the King
Who from far-off earth that morning had returned on busy wing,
And was bearing gifts and tokens from the scattered church
below,
Came and passed and stood before him, in the courtyard's golden
glow.
Then he turned to his companions, for a few had gathered near,
And his words fell hard and heavy on the Bishop's listening
ear,--
"We must cancel that inscription from the stone, and write
thereon
That Troilus hath this palace sold unto the Patriarch John,
And that thirty golden pieces were the price that he received."
Up then started Bishop Troilus, for his soul was sorely grieved,
And he tried to speak, but could not, and awoke in his dismay,
With his hand upon the money close beside him where he lay.
Now the long bright day was over; as he saw the sun descend,--
"Weary day," the Patriarch thought it; he was glad to see it
end.
He was walking in his garden where the freshening shadows lay,
And the flowers that drooped at noontime stood erect in beauty
gay;
But their brightness could not cheer him, and he bent his head
and sighed,
For he thought, with wondering sadness, that the Lord his prayer
denied,
Then he heard a step behind him, and he looked; but who was
there,
Wild of look, like one who struggled with a pain he could not
bear?
Could it be the stately Bishop? Yes, but oh, how changed to
see!
And he said with tears and trembling, "O my brother, pray for
me!"
How the Patriarch's heart rebounded from the weight that on it
pressed,
At the change so deep and sudden, in those broken words
expressed!
How his cheek grew red with gladness, how it smoothed his
troubled brow!
"God forgive me if I doubted, all my prayers are answered now."
"Come," he said, "my brother Troilus, sit beside me, tell me
all;"
And he led him, pale and helpless, to a seat beside the wall.
And there Troilus, clinging closely to that strong and helpful
hand,
Trusting in the heart that loved him and his thoughts could
understand,
Told the story of his vision to his awed and listening friend,--
All that dream of light and glory, with its sad, unlooked-for
end:
But his voice, which trembled ever, wellnigh failed him when he
told
Of the horror of that waking, with his hand upon the gold;
When his eyes, long blind, were opened, and he saw the wreck
within,
And one fearful moment, showed him what his wasted life had
been.
"Now," he said, "my courage fails me when I think to mend my
ways.
I have wasted all God gave me,--mind, and strength, and length
of days,--
And the gold I gave my soul for pulls me downward with its
weight;
Help me if you can, oh, help me! Say it is not yet too late."
And he looked with eyes beseeching at the Patriarch, who replied
With a smile that fell like sunshine on the faint heart by his
side,--