CHAPTER XXXVII

THE GREAT THANKSGIVING

On the last day of the year there was a national service of thanksgiving in St Paul’s Cathedral. The rushing river of national feeling, at first tumultuous like the sound of many waters, had found a channel, deep and broad. The waters, being deep, were therefore still. It was a joyful and a pleasant, but also a solemn thing to be thankful.

Vast numbers came from every quarter to attend the service; the highest and the lowest; the King and the Queen; the civic rulers; the restored judges of the land; the rich and the poor.

Here in the vast cathedral church in by-gone years the voice of praise and thanksgiving had been raised on memorable occasions; a thanksgiving for the King when, as heir to the throne of England, he had come back from the very jaws of death; a thanksgiving for the long and prosperous reign of a Queen dear to the hearts of her people; but never before a thanksgiving such as this--so complex and so sudden in its causes, and following so swiftly on the perils from which the nation had been saved.

The newly appointed Primate of London--a former Bishop of Stepney--was the preacher; but it was no set sermon that he preached. His Grace gave out no text, but every heart was thrilled by what fell from his lips:

“Love thou thy land, with love far-brought From out the storied Past, and used Within the Present, but transfused Thro’ future time by power of thought.”

He spoke of the patriotism that is sublime, and of the pride that goes before a fall: of

“True love turn’d round on fixed poles, Love that endures not sordid ends, For English natures, freemen, friends, Thy brothers, and immortal souls.”

True patriotism was instanced by the banished Jew, made cup-bearer to a heathen king, the man who sat down and wept when he learned that the walls of his beloved capital were broken down and the gates thereof burned with fire: the man who worked as well as wept; who inspired his compatriots and rebuilt the walls and gates of the city--trowel in one hand and sword in the other. “So built we the wall ... for the people had a mind to work.”

Then the Primate turned to the wonderful story of the first Babylon. He spoke of the king who dreamed dreams wherewith his spirit was troubled, dreams that could only be interpreted--not by court magicians and astrologers--by the servant of One who changeth the times and seasons, removeth kings, giveth wisdom to the wise, and knowledge to them that know understanding. He alone “revealeth the deep and secret things and knoweth what is in the darkness.”

Who should dare to say, demanded the Archbishop, that even now, in the twentieth century, the vision of the eastern king was not receiving fresh fulfilment--that mystical vision of the kingdom of gold, the kingdom of brass, and the kingdom of iron--iron that was mixed with miry clay?

The king whose dreams troubled him had many warnings. When he set up his golden idol on the plain of Dura, he was warned. In his rage and fury with the Jews who dared to disobey him, he cast the three righteous men into the seven-fold heated furnace, and lo! he saw four men walking loose in the midst of the fire, unhurt; and the form of the fourth was like the Son of God. Thus was he warned again.

So when the heart of Nebuchadnezzar was lifted up, and his mind hardened, he was deposed from his kingly throne, and they took his glory from him.

And Belshazzar his son, he, too, was warned by that mysterious writing on the wall. In that same night was he slain and Darius took the kingdom.

And the prophet himself had visions of the future, visions of nation fighting against nation; of the four winds of heaven striving upon the great sea; of the four great beasts that came up from the sea, diverse from each other--the first like a lion, the second like the bear, the third like a leopard, and the fourth dreadful and terrible and strong exceedingly, with teeth of iron. Who, again asked the preacher, should dare to say that the vision of the great sea and the great powers might not have further fulfilment among the nations and navies of to-day?

You Englishmen and Englishwomen, the Primate went on, leaning forward and looking into the myriads of upturned faces, should lay these thoughts to heart. The prophetic vision is not concerned with the kings of the earth alone. No king can stand without national support, and the nation is made up of individuals. Stands England where she did? Was Great Britain worthy of continued greatness, and able to maintain it? Think of her history! “England, bound in with the triumphant sea, whose rocky shore beats back the envious siege of watery Neptune.” Would this dear England ever be “bound in with shame, with inky blots and rotten parchment bonds?” This England, that was wont to conquer others! If we loved England, then in a just quarrel we must fight for England, holding the “water-walled bulwarks still secure, and confident from foreign purposes,”--pulsing the “little body with a mighty heart.” Each man must bear his part, a part worthy of his nationality, inspired with the belief of the English statesman whose statue stood in the heart of London--that life is a great and honourable calling, not a mean and grovelling thing to be shuffled through.

In some sense they had regarded themselves as a chosen people. Let them remember that older nation once chosen, but now scattered and oppressed. High above the towering dome of that cathedral where they worshipped, the cross stood out year after year--a warning, a symbol, an inspiration. It meant self-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice was the watchword, and the example, of the great Captain of their salvation. Nothing would avail an England, or an Englishman, ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified, a deserter of the banner under which Christians were pledged to continue faithful soldiers and servants until their lives’ end. A Christ-less England would be an England lost!

And how would England stand without the witness of the ancient Church in England? The Babylonian king set up a god of gold on the plain of Dura; but had not a god of gold been set up in many an English heart? “Born a man, and died a grocer!” Could epitaph be more withering in its contempt and irony? Yet an honest grocer was better than a dishonest Christian. If we were a nation of shopkeepers and our only shrine was the till, let us at least be honest shopkeepers--not a nation of hypocrites as well; let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die! Yes, better an honest pagan than a bogus Christian.

A thrill went through the vast congregation, eagerly listening to the preacher’s words; and, as he paused, a pallid man, dressed in the fashion of the day, started to his feet, his hands outstretched, and cried with a loud voice, “What shall we do to be saved?”

The effect was magnetic. At least five hundred persons instantly rose in like manner. It was manifest that they, too, in the awakened anguish of their souls, sought an answer to that momentous question. The Archbishop, looking down on them, was greatly moved. For they were as sheep having no shepherd. Then he gave the answer, strong and vehement:

“If you would be saved, away with shams and false pretences! There is only one hope for humankind; only one star to follow--the Star of Bethlehem. Guided by that blessed star, you can reach the port of peace.”

With hands covering their faces, the people, sobbing here and there, sank back into their seats.

The preacher continued in a ringing voice:

“I demand, therefore, dost thou renounce the devil and all his works? Dost thou renounce the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all covetous desires of the same, and the carnal desires of the flesh? Dost thou, in very truth, renounce these things, or in thine heart of hearts dost thou mean to follow and be led by them?”

This time at least a thousand voices gave the answer: “I renounce them all.”

“Dost thou believe in the remission of sins; the resurrection of the flesh; and everlasting life after death? What is your answer?”

The answer came from all the worshippers: “All this I steadfastly believe!”

“Remember,” said the preacher, “Christianity was a revelation; not a rule of thumb. We must begin at the beginning, and remember our Creator in the days of our youth. Beware of sectarian quarrels, which keep the one Book worth all the others in the world from the children of the nation. How shall they learn without a teacher?

“And you who are no longer children, beware of intellectual pride. If in this life only you have hope you are of all men most miserable. Do you refuse to believe in everything you cannot understand? What stupendous folly! What mad presumption! Readers, scholars, writers, some of you, wise in your own conceits, you say you cannot credit anything outside the laws of Nature. But you and I and all of us as yet are only children crying in the night, and with no language but a cry. Only one man ever born into this world could understand Nature’s laws in all their fulness, and that Man was divine. Thus far shalt thou come, and no farther! What men call supernatural may only be natural law on a plane beyond our ken. Nature works slowly and in evolutionary cycles. Yes; but Nature also works--so far as human eyes can see--in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye--in tidal waves, the lightning flash, the earthquake; in volcanic outbursts, in the overwhelming avalanche. Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God, and let no creature dare to limit the immeasurable powers of his Creator.

“Do you who disbelieve want your wives and children to be unbelievers? You don’t; but you leave it to them to worship in our churches. And you yourselves, if not unbelieving, at least half hearted, are holding feebly to the Faith with one hand, and with the other greedily grasping the pleasures of the world. Men of England, whither are you drifting? You cannot serve God and Mammon. Choose!--make your calling and election sure. Believe, as that man of towering intellect to whom this great church is dedicated, believed; as your own great countryman, William Ewart Gladstone, believed; as the great Lord Salisbury believed, and many another brilliant thinker who loved our England and her Church. Believe, as he believed who said, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy.

“Those who walk in pride, He is able to abase. Never suppose that in this little world, this ante-chamber of life, where our own armchairs outlive us, we shall see otherwise than darkly through a glass. Not yet would be revealed the deep and secret things, and what is in the darkness. Patiently must we work out our national and our individual salvation, and with fear and trembling, lest what happened to the idolatrous nations of old should happen to ourselves. Wherein is London greatly better than Nineveh? Our idols are silver and gold, the work of men’s hands. Fire from heaven fell upon the Cities of the Plain. Is London free from what is earthly, sensual, devilish? Repent! Repent! lest this great Babylon, like that other Babylon, pass into nothingness.

“Never forget! The faith and the works of Christianity are indissolubly bound up with the strength and greatness of England. What God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”

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Before the high altar, archbishop, bishops, dean, canons, and choristers, with glittering cross raised high, the organ pealing, raised the great song of praise. The long-drawn aisles and fretted vaults echoed the music of a nation’s worship. The people knelt in humble adoration as they sang: “We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord: All the earth doth worship Thee: The Father Everlasting.”

It was a landmark in English history, a national acknowledgment that the Most High ruled in the Kingdom of Men, appointing over it whomsoever He would.

* * * * *

Twelve hours later the Old Year lay a-dying. Within the cathedral all was dark and silent. The voice of praise was hushed; the worshippers were gone. But the incense of adoration might be rising still, far above the mighty, shadowed dome, far above the night-encircled cross.

“Have you read in the Talmud of old, In the Legends the Rabbins have told Of the limitless realms of the air-- Have you read it--the marvellous story Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer?”

Erect--the Rabbins pictured the glorious angel, at the outermost gate of the City Celestial:

“And he gathers the prayers as he stands, And they change into flowers in his hands, Into garlands of purple and red; And beneath the great arch of the portal, Through the streets of the City Immortal Is wafted the fragrance they shed.”

And now outside the cathedral another multitude had gathered; saints and sinners, revellers and vulgarians. All sorts and conditions of men; the drunk and the half-drunk; the senseless bawlers of silly jokes; the maudlin bellowers of “Auld Lang Syne.” But, after all, these noisy people were but the tide-tossed scum and flotsam upon the surface of a broad, strong stream. The crowd, like the nation, had had a lesson--stern, convincing--and it was sound at core.

As the solemn hour drew near, a scarcely-broken silence fell upon the multitude. From the hearts of many rose unspoken prayers.

High in the winter night the London bells were chiming, ringing the Old Year out, ringing the New Year in.

* * * * *

Hark to the bells!...

“The year is dying in the night, Ring out, wild bells!...

The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.”

Hark, they are chiming still!...

“Ring out the feud of rich and poor Ring in redress to all mankind.”

Chime on, chime on!...

“Ring out old shapes of foul disease; Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; Ring out the thousand wars of old, Ring in the thousand years of peace.”

Ring out! Ring in!...

“Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be.”

The “faithless coldness of the times,”--was that, too, dying with the Old? Were “sweeter manners, purer laws” to dawn with the first daybreak of the New?

No answer came from earth or heaven. The deep and secret things were not revealed; none knew what was in the darkness of the future.

The ringers paused. Hush! the hour is striking.

The last vibration quivers on the air. Deep silence falls.

Then once again the bells ring out--clear-toned, hopeful, strong:

“_There’s a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door!_”

THE END

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