Part 21
And when the princes and captains of the Assyrians heard this, anon they rent their clothes, and intolerable dread fell on them, and were sore troubled in their wits and made a horrible cry in their tents. And when all the host had heard how Holofernes was beheaded, counsel and mind flew from them, and with great trembling for succor began to flee, in such wise that none would speak with other, but with their heads bowed down fled for to escape from the Hebrews, whom they saw armed coming upon them, and departed fleeing by fields and ways of hills and valleys. And the sons of Israel, seeing them fleeing, following them, crying with trumps and shouting after them, and slew and smote down all them that they overtook. And Ozias sent forth unto all the cities and regions of Israel, and they sent after all the young men and valiant to pursue them by sword, and so they did unto the uttermost coasts of Israel. The other men soothly, that were in Bethulia, went in to the tents of the Assyrians, and took all the prey that the Assyrians had left, and when the men had pursued them were returned, they took all their beasts and all the movable goods and things that they had left, so much that every man from the most to the least were made rich by the prey that they took. Then Joachim the high bishop of Jerusalem came unto Bethulia, with all the priests, for to see Judith, and when she came tofore them all, they blessed her with one voice, saying: Thou glory of Jerusalem, thou gladness of Israel, thou the worship doing of our people, thou didst manly, and thy heart is comforted because thou lovedst chastity and knewest no man after the death of thy husband, and therefore the hand of God hath comforted thee. And therefore thou shalt be blessed world without end, and all the people said: Fiat! fiat! be it done, be it done. Certainly the spoils of the Assyrians were unnethe gathered and assembled together in thirty days, of the people of Israel, but all the proper riches that were appertaining to Holofernes and could be found that had been his, they were given to Judith as well gold, silver, gems, clothes, as all other appurtenances to household; and all was delivered to her of the people, and the folks, with women and maidens, joyed in organs and harps. Then Judith sang this song unto God saying: Begin ye in timbrels, sing ye to the Lord in cymbals, mannerly sing to him a new psalm. Fully joy ye, and inwardly call ye his name, and so forth. And for this great miracle and victory all the people came to Jerusalem for to give laud, honor, and worship unto our Lord God. And after they were purified they offered sacrifices, vows, and behests unto God, and the joy of this victory was solemnized during three months, and after that, each went home again into his own city and house, and Judith returned into Bethulia, and was made more great and clear to all men of the land of Israel. She was joined to the virtue of chastity, so that she knew no man all the days of her life after the death of Manasses, her husband, and dwelled in the house of her husband an hundred and five years, and she left her demoiselle free. After this she died and is buried in Bethulia and all the people bewailed her seven days. During her life after this journey was no trouble among the Jews, and the day of this victory of the Hebrews was accepted for a feastful day, and hallowed of the Jews and numbered among their feasts unto this day.
THE VISION OF BELSHAZZAR
The King was on his throne, The Satraps throng'd the hall; A thousand bright lamps shone O'er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold, In Judah deem'd divine-- Jehovah's vessels hold The godless Heathen's wine.
In that same hour and hall The fingers of a Hand Came forth against the wall, And wrote as if on sand: The fingers of a man;-- A solitary hand Along the letters ran, And traced them like a wand.
The monarch saw, and shook, And bade no more rejoice; All bloodless wax'd his look, And tremulous his voice:-- "Let the men of lore appear, The wisest of the earth, And expound the words of fear, Which mar our royal mirth."
Chaldea's seers are good, But here they have no skill; And the unknown letters stood Untold and awful still. And Babel's men of age Are wise and deep in lore; But now they were not sage, They saw--but knew no more.
A Captive in the land, A stranger and a youth, He heard the king's command, He saw that writing's truth; The lamps around were bright, The prophecy in view; He read it on that night,-- The morrow proved it true!
"Belshazzar's grave is made, His kingdom pass'd away, He, in the balance weigh'd, Is light and worthless clay; The shroud, his robe of state; His canopy, the stone: The Mede is at his gate! The Persian on his throne!"
_--Lord Byron_
A CHRISTMAS CAROL
As Joseph was a-walking, He heard an angel sing, "This night shall be the birth-time Of Christ, the heavenly king.
"He neither shall be born In housen nor in hall, Nor in the place of paradise, But in an ox's stall.
"He neither shall be clothed In purple nor in pall, But in the fair white linen That usen babies all.
"He neither shall be rocked In silver nor in gold, But in a wooden manger That resteth on the mould."
As Joseph was a-walking, There did an angel sing, And Mary's child at midnight Was born to be our king.
Then be ye glad, good people, This night of all the year, And light ye up your candles, For his star it shineth clear.
ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY
This is the month, and this the happy morn Wherein the Son of heav'n's eternal king Of wedded Maid, and Virgin Mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; For so the holy sages once did sing, That He our deadly forfeit should release, And with His Father work us a perpetual peace.
That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty Wherewith He wont at Heav'n's high council-table To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside; and here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
Say, heav'nly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, To welcome Him to this His new abode, Now while the heav'n by the sun's team untrod, Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright?
See how from far, upon the eastern road The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet: O run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at His blessèd feet; Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel quire, From out His secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire.
THE HYMN
It was the winter wild While the heav'n-born Child All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to Him Had doff'd her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.
Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw, Confounded that her Maker's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
But He, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-ey'd Peace; She crown'd with olive-green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.
No war, or battle's sound Was heard the world around: The idle spear and shield were high up hung, The hooked chariot stood Unstain'd with hostile blood, The trumpet spake not to the armed throng, And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sov'reign Lord was by.
But peaceful was the night, Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kist, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.
The stars with deep amaze, Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence, And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warn'd them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go,
And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlighten'd world no more should need; He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne, or burning axle-tree, could bear.
The shepherds on the lawn, Or ere the point of dawn, Sate simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they then That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below; Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet, As never was by mortal finger strook, Divinely warbled voice Answering the stringèd noise, As all their souls in blissful rapture took: The air, such pleasure loth to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.
Nature that heard such sound, Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia's seat, the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heav'n and earth in happier union.
At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shamefac'd night array'd; The helmèd Cherubim, And sworded Seraphim, Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, Harping in loud and solemn quire, With unexpressive notes to Heaven's new-born Heir.
Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanc'd world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the welt'ring waves their oozy channel keep.
Ring out, ye crystal spheres, Once bless our human ears, If ye have power to touch our senses so; And let your silver chime Move in melodious time, And let the bass of Heav'n's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to th' angelic symphony.
For if such holy song Inwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold, And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould And Hell itself will pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.
Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, Mercy will set between, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering: And Heav'n, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall.
But wisest Fate says, No. This must not yet be so, The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy, That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss; So both himself and us to glorify; Yet first to those ychain'd in sleep, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,
With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang, While the red fire and smouldering clouds out-brake: The aged Earth aghast, With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the centre shake; When at the world's last sessiòn, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.
And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day The old Dragon under ground In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway, And wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
The oracles are dumb, No voice or hideous hum Runs thro' the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance or breathèd spell Inspires the pale-ey'd priest from the prophetic cell.
The lonely mountains o'er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale Edg'd with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flow'r-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar Power forgoes his wonted seat.
Peor and Baälim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-batter'd god of Palestine; And moonèd Ashtaroth, Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn. In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.
And sullen Moloch fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue: The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis and Orus, and the dog Anubis haste.
Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshow'r'd grass with lowings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest, Naught but profoundest hell can be his shroud; In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark The sable-stolèd sorcerers bear his worship'd ark.
He feels from Juda's land The dreaded infant's hand, The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Not all the gods beside, Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine: Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damnèd crew.
So, when the sun in bed Curtain'd with cloudy red Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.
But see, the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven's youngest-teemèd star Hath fix'd her polish'd car, Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harness'd angels sit in order serviceable.
_--J. Milton_
THE BURNING BABE
As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat, which made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near, A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in the air appear; Who, scorchèd with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed, As though his floods should quench his flames which with his tears were fed:-- "Alas!" quoth He, "but newly born, in fiery heats I fry, Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I! My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns; Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns; The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals, The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defilèd souls, For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good, So will I melt into a bath to wash them in my blood."-- With this He vanish'd out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away; And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmasday.
_--R. Southwell_
A CRADLE SONG.
Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber; Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head.
Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide, All without thy care or payment All thy wants are well supplied.
How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee!
Soft and easy is thy cradle; Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay: When his birthplace was a stable, And his softest bed was hay.
See the kindly shepherds round him, Telling wonders from the sky! Where they sought him, there they found him, With his Virgin-Mother by.
See the lovely babe a-dressing: Lovely infant, how he smiled! When he wept, the mother's blessing Soothed and hush'd the holy child.
Lo, he slumbers in his manger, Where the hornèd oxen fed; --Peace, my darling! here's no danger! Here's no ox a-near thy bed!
--May'st thou live to know and fear him, Trust and love him all thy days: Then go dwell forever near him; See his face, and sing his praise.
I could give thee thousand kisses, Hoping what I most desire: Not a mother's fondest wishes Can to greater joys aspire.
_--I. Watts_
EASTER
I got me flowers to straw Thy way, I got me boughs off many a tree; But Thou wast up by break of day, And brought'st Thy sweets along with Thee.
The sun arising in the East, Though he give light, and th' East perfume, If they should offer to contest With Thy arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this, Though many suns to shine endeavor? We count three hundred, but we miss: There is but one, and that one ever.
_--George Herbert_
THE LIFE OF ST. PETER THE APOSTLE
St. Peter the apostle among all other, and above all other, was of most fervent and burning love, for he would have known the traitor that should betray our Lord Jesu Christ, as St. Austin saith: If he had known him he would have torn him with his teeth, and therefore our Lord would not name him to him, for as Chrysostom, saith: If he had named him, Peter had arisen and all to-torn him. Peter went upon the sea; he was chosen of God to be at his transfiguration, and raised a maid from death to life; he found the stater or piece of money in the fish's mouth; he received of our Lord the keys of the kingdom of heaven; he took the charge to feed the sheep of Jesu Christ. He converted at a Whitsuntide three thousand men, he healed Claude with John, and then converted five thousand men; he said to Ananias and Saphira their death before; he healed Æneas of the palsy; he raised Tabitha; he baptized Cornelia; with the shadow of his body he healed sick men; he was put in prison by Herod, but by the angel of our Lord he was delivered. What his meat was and his clothing, the book of St. Clement witnesseth, for he said: Bread only with olives, and seldom with worts, is mine usage, and I have such clothing as thou seest, a coat and a mantle, and when I have that, I demand no more. It is said for certain that he bare always a sudary in his bosom, with which he wiped the tears that ran from his eyes; for when he remembered the sweet presence of our Lord, for the great love that he had to him he might not forbear weeping. And also when he remembered that he had renied him, he wept abundantly great plenty of tears, in such wise that he was so accustomed to weep that his face was burned with tears as it seemed, like as Clement saith. And saith also that in the night when he heard the cock crow he would weep customably. And after that it is read in Historia Ecclesiastica that, when St. Peter's wife was led to her passion, he had great joy and called her by her proper name, and said to her: My wife, remember thee of our Lord.
On a time when St. Peter had sent two of his disciples for to preach the faith of Jesu Christ, and when they had gone twenty days' journey, one of them died, and that other then returned to St. Peter and told him what had happened, some say that it was St. Marcial that so died, and some say it was St. Maternus, and others say that it was St. Frank. Then St. Peter gave to him his staff and commanded that he should return to his fellow, and lay it upon him, which he so did, then he which had been forty days dead, anon arose all living.