ABBOT-- Benedict!
Be circumspect, lest in your anger you
Bay at him and turn that which you do scorn.
FATHER BENEDICT--I scorn the imputation which his pride
Popped at me. As though all the saints in heaven
Bowed down to him because the other night--
(_Turning away._)
Oh, but God hates the proud man!
ABBOT-- And, therefore,
Wisdom doth bid you keep an open ear
And leave the scroll of judgment still unsealed.
For how shall Mercy find the iron leaf?
Will Heaven's book be open if we close
Ours? When men cry to us, if we shut our ears,
We shut out Heaven's whispers. Oh, nothing--Of
all the deeds men do that vex the sky--Nothing
so rankles in the heart of God
As to see lips, fresh come from prayer for grace,
Refusing justice.
(_The Priest has walked forward at an angle from
the table and stands with his back to the
Abbot. Reaching under his gown, he draws a
dark string across his breast and begins,
seemingly, to untie a knot. The Abbot regards_
_him in silence._)
Will you hear him?
FATHER BENEDICT--(_Gruffly._) Go on.
ABBOT--No, Benedict; do it dispassionately.
You say God hates the proud. So he does. Yet
Wrath is more perilous to a man than pride.
For while pride turns a man's face to the sky,
'Tis wrath that shoves him where the thunders fall.
FATHER BENEDICT-- (_Under his breath._)
I'll drop some thunder on you.
ABBOT-- Now, my son,
Speak as though angels heard you. 'Tis almost
Midnight, and the Sabbath draweth nigh.
OSWALD-- (_To the Priest._)
Father.
ABBOT--Do you hear?--He shuts his ears. Proceed.
Remembering that truth is God's own bread.
He hungers for it.
OSWALD-- Oh, I have not lied!
I did not say that Father was a dog.
ABBOT--I know you have not, Oswald. The three years
That you have been here never have been stained
With pride and falsehood. Those that now malign,
God knows where they shall go when the end comes.
OSWALD--I will explain just how it came about.
Then, if you think I have done Father wrong,
Tell me and let me do penance for it. I--
I will not be here long.
ABBOT-- My son!
OSWALD-- I feel
The darkness gathering round me.
ABBOT-- Don't say that.
You will be well again. You will be strong
Some day, my son, and many years shall pass
Ere the Lord calls you. Hath he not given proof?
A shepherd to you, surely God hath been.
Three nights ago at this time, where were you?
Lying down in the gorge, and the night wind
Passed and you knew it not. But God watched there,
And sent his servant--for all things serve Him--And
here you are safe in the fold again.
That deed unclasped a volume of bright days.
God doth not put his hand forth and lift up
As he hath lifted you, and then cast down
Ere the knees be straightened. Your tears should fall
For joy, my son, not sorrow. Think how near
Your foot was to the gates of darkness when
God turned your face around and there flashed out
A jeweled finger pointing toward a dawn--Far
off it may be or it may be near--When
the last shred of darkness shall vanish.
Let those that hound you, fear, for God shall cleave
A chasm in the earth for them; but you--No,
no, my son, not darkness, light. God's light
And glory from the new Jerusalem
Will shine upon you on the mountain tops,
If dreams are tapers lighting what is to be,
As some believe they are.
(_The Priest reaches under his gown and takes
something in his right hand, and with the
other draws the string from around his neck
and drops it into his right hand, after which
he pulls the sleeve down over it till only the_
_knuckles are visible._)
Therefore, my son,
Lift up your face and let white words go forth
And usher in the Sabbath. Truth in the heart
Is fire under water, but on the lips
It lighteth every man the Way of Life.
(_The Priest goes toward the chest near the door._)
Benedict, will you do as Pilate did?
FATHER BENEDICT--Is he the Lord?