King David's Vision.
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SEYTON. The subject of this picture of yours is simple enough. The
harp at his feet; the crown by his side; the scroll before him—mark
David, the poet-king. He appears to be under the immediate influence
of inspiration, there is such intense earnestness in his upward
gaze. The reed-pen has dropped from his hand; and one would think
that Heaven was opening before his eyes, save for the pained—almost
terrified—expression on his countenance, an expression which could come
from no vision of bliss. Why have you represented the prophet thus?
Percival. A legend of King David formed itself out of some thoughts
which came into my mind, while meditating over the Twenty-second
Psalm. To us, with the scene on Calvary as its key, the meaning of the
prophecy contained in that Psalm is clear. But what a mystery it must
have been to him who wrote it under the inspiration of the Spirit!
Seyton. Had its meaning been clear to the prophet's understanding, his
faith could hardly have borne the strain. To us—looking back upon the
mystery of the Cross—it appears marvellous indeed; but to one looking
forward to it as a future event, such a sacrifice as that of Christ
would have appeared impossible.
Percival. You have struck on my vein of thought. I considered what
would be the natural emotions raised in the heart of one so impulsive
and enthusiastic as David, had the death of his Lord been revealed to
him clearly, and not as through a glass, very darkly. My short piece,
"King David's Vision," is beside me, if you would care to hear it.
I copy the following from the paper which Percival, at my request, drew
from the drawer of his table.
King David's Vision.
The prophet-king sat alone. When the spirit of inspiration came upon
him, no human presence was suffered to disturb his solitude. He was
left in solemn communion with his God.
Often had glowing words of thanksgiving and praise burst from his lips
as he struck his harp of ten strings, and then been noted down on a
scroll to be handed down as a precious legacy to the people of Israel,
or rather to the whole Church of God. On this day, the harp had had a
strange, solemn, and wailing sound; and involuntary tears had started
to the poet's eyes as he sang that mysterious ode which we call the
Twenty-second Psalm. The hand of King David trembled as he wrote down
the words.
"What hath the Spirit dictated to God's slave?" cried the wondering
monarch. "This is no transcript of mine own experience. I have known
what it is to pass through deep waters of trouble; to struggle for life
with the lion; to grapple and wrestle with the foe. I have known what
it is to hide in the cave, and to be hunted like the partridge on the
mountains. But my God never forsook me. He was never far from me in the
time of my trouble. There is nothing in the past which answers to these
mysterious words:
"'They pierced My hands and My feet,
They parted My garments amongst them;
And on My vesture they cast lots.'
"Is this some awful trial looming before me? Or is it revealed
regarding another? Oh that I could penetrate the depth of meaning
conveyed in this Psalm! Lord, draw aside the thick curtain, if but for
a moment! Let me know who is to be tortured, mocked at, and pierced;
who is to be deserted by his friends, and forsaken even by his God."
As the king prayed, a thick mist seemed to fill the royal apartment;
and a horror of darkness fell on the prophet's soul. Then slowly before
his straining gaze something took shape before him: dimly at first, as
if seen through mist; then gradually becoming distinct. David beheld a
Cross, and an agonized Victim hanging upon it. The prophet saw all the
terrible accessories which his own inspired pen had described. He was
so horror-struck that he was scarcely at first aware of the presence of
a white-winged angel beside him; though a halo of light shining around
the heavenly guest had been the means of revealing the Cross and the
sacred Sufferer.
"Oh, Spirit of light," exclaimed the king, "tell me the meaning of this
terrible vision!"
"David, son of Jesse, thou art a sinner," was the angel's reply.
"I know it, I own it: I acknowledge my transgressions; and my sin is
ever before me!" cried the penitent king.
"And all men are sinners," continued the angel. "The highest and
holiest of human works are but as the shrivelling leaves worn by the
father of mankind; and they have the slime of the serpent upon them.
The sins of mortals are numerous as the hairs of their heads. How then
can man stand justified before a pure and holy God?"
"We offer sacrifices, burnt offerings, and oblations," said David,
his eyes still fixed on the visionary form on the Cross; for even the
angel's presence and words could not draw his rapt attention from
the pale face, crowned with thorns, from which slowly trickled the
blood-drops.
"All your sacrifices are shadows—types—pictures," said the white-winged
messenger of God. "Not the blood of thousands of bullocks, nor that of
all the lambs in Judea, could wash out the stain of a single sin. It
needs something infinitely more precious to redeem one guilty soul."
"Wouldst thou bid me despair?" cried the king; cold drops of agony
starting from his brow—whilst still, he gazed on One on the Cross.
"There is but one means of salvation," said the angel. "The price of
a world's redemption must be the blood—the sacrifice of One body,
perfect, divine. He of whom thou hast wonderingly written, 'The Lord
hath said unto Me, Thou art My Son!' He who sitteth at God's right
hand—He alone can offer that sacrifice; be that Sacrifice; and become
the Saviour of the world. Down on thy knees, O David; lay thy brow in
the dust: implore the Son of God to leave His throne in Heaven; to
be born a feeble baby; to consent to be scourged and crucified; to
become a Victim for thy sake—even as the Form before thee now. Weep and
pray; and if the Lord grant thy prayer, thou mayest be justified and
accepted."
"Never could lip crave, nor heart desire such a Sacrifice!" exclaimed
David with vehemence. "Shall a worm ask thee, O child of light, to
exchange thy radiant form for his, and be trampled under foot for his
sake? Thou biddest me offer a presumptuous prayer, such as no mortal
dare utter, and to which no immortal would listen."
"If the Holy One die not, thou diest—and for ever!" said the pitying
angel.
"Oh, is it so? Is there no redemption for me and my people, save by
this!" cried David, raising his clasped hands towards the visionary
Cross. "Are we then doomed to perdition? Is there no mercy in Heaven?
Have I then cried in blind ignorance?—'The Lord is my Shepherd: I will
fear no evil, for Thou art with me!'"
For an instant the eyes of Him who was dying on the Cross met those of
David with a look of ineffable love; and the lips of the divine Victim
in the vision uttered the words: "The Good Shepherd giveth His life for
the sheep."
The prophet-king heard no more, saw no more. He lay prostrate and
senseless on the marble floor of his palace. There David remained
till the shadows of night enwrapped him, and the silvery moon arose.
Startled at his absence at the hour when the board was spread for the
evening repast; and at the utter silence in the chamber from which the
sound of the harp and the song of praise were wont to be heard—the
king's attendants ventured at last to intrude on solitude so prolonged.
They were alarmed to find their lord in a swoon.
Raising him gently, the attendants placed David on the royal couch,
and applied such restoratives as, in those times, were most highly
esteemed. Gradually the king's senses returned: he sat up; drained a
silver goblet of water; then rose and waved his attendants away. And
never, even to his wife, even to his most cherished friend, did David
speak of his vision: he locked his secret in his heart.
No one dared to ask the king questions; but it was noticed by those
who watched him most closely, that David could never command his voice
to sing the Twenty-second Psalm, nor could hear it recited by others,
without a burst of silent tears.
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