Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PURE OF HEART; GENNESARET, by SILAS WEIR MITCHELL


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PURE OF HEART; GENNESARET, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: O'er my head the starry legions marched upon their trackless way
Last Line: While afar the westward summits slowly turned from gold to gray.
Subject(s): God; Nature


O'ER my head the starry legions marched upon their trackless way;
Far below, Gennesaret's waters, silent, in the moonlight lay,
And the Orient, brooding mother of all creeds that men hold dear,
Cast her mystic spell upon me, and I murmured, "Was it here?"
Was it here a man, a peasant, strange ambassador of God,
Called to hear His stately message those sad children of the sod;
Sowed for them hope's boundless harvest, lavished for those shepherds rude
All that wonder-wealth of promise, each divine beatitude?
Marvelling, my thought I carried into sleep, and if the earth
Breathed some memory of the legend, or in dreams it had its birth,
Who may say? I tell the story as it came to me at night,
From the underworld of slumber, from the inner world of light.
On the hilltop, in the twilight, grave and still the Master lay,
While the westward summits crimsoned, lustrous in the dying day.
What had I to learn, a rabbi, schooled and lessoned in the law?
Half in doubt and half in wonder, there apart I stood, and saw
How some gentle impulse moved Him, and there came upon His face,
With the final gold of sunset, other light, of joy and grace,
While the mountains cast their shadows, slowly cloaking all the hill
Where the multitude in silence waited on the Master's will;
For His features stirred, uplifted as with thought upon the wing,
Stirred as stirs the great earth-mother when she feels her child, the spring.
Wistfully men bided, longing for the voice their eyes entreat,
Forward bent, hands locked, and quiet, till He rose upon His feet.
And He gave as none has given through the long and weary years,
Blessings that have lightened labor, promises that answer tears.
When at last the white-clad peasants slowly from the hill withdrew,
Long I lingered, why I knew not, till at last I surely knew
That my soul some yearning counselled, bidding me remain. I stayed,
Bolder for the dark, then heard Him: "Rabbi, ask. Be not afraid."
Low I questioned: "Lord and Master, who most surely are the pure?
Is it they who, born and dying, have no sorrow to endure,
Like the snow that melts at morning, from the soil of earth secure?
Who is it shall see ...?" But spoke not that one word is left unsaid
When the priest intones the psalmist, and the sacred scrolls are read.
"Who is it shall dare behold Him, and the Nameless One abide,
When the seraphs' wings are folded, and the angel hosts divide?"
Then I felt how great my daring, and my forehead flushed with shame;
Like a child in fear I waited, waited for the word of blame.
But He said, "Draw near, O Rabbi," and those strange eyes fell on mine,
And I knew that not in folly I had sought what none divine.
Touching heart and lips and forehead, as when one salutes a friend,
Low I bent, assured and silent, waiting what His heart would send.
"See, O Rabbi," and a gesture summoned with the lifted hand;
Lo, a mighty wind, arising, drave across the wakened land,
Swept Gennesaret's startled waters, beat across the billowed grain,
Waking from its evening quiet, far below, the dreaming plain,
While the gnarled and aged olives wildly swayed above my head,
Heavy with the summer fruitage wherewithal a man is fed,
Rich with oil that feeds the lamps that keep remembrance of the dead.
And, behold, the wind He summoned for His parable, at will,
Gone as flies a bird, and stillness fell upon the lonely hill.
"Thou art learned in all our learning. Once at Nazareth I saw
How men listened to Thy teaching, 'Come and read My higher law.' "
"Rabbi, Rabbi, sweet at evening are the lilies bending low;
Was it prayer they breathed, when rising from their dewy overflow?"
Wondering, I answered: "Master, who may know? But pure and sweet
Are they to the desert weary, freshness to the sand-hot feet."
For I guessed where now He led me, and with thought that swift forewent,
As if spirit spake to spirit, glad at heart, I stood intent.
"Lo," He said, "behold the olives failing with the summer heat,
Guarding still their precious harvest, though the mad wind on them beat."
"Yea," I cried. "Oh, surely, Master, strong are they, yet pure and sweet."
For I guessed the fuller meaning of His speech, as one foreknows
When on Lebanon the rose-light prophet of the dawning glows.
And I said: "Not they are purest who, in hermit trance of prayer,
Bide untempted in the desert, sinless as Thy lilies were;
More there be who share Thy promise, more for whom this hope has smiled:
They the burdened, they the weary, they who ever, unbeguiled,
Through the home, the street, the market, bear the white heart of the child."
Lingering, I heard His answer: "Go in peace." I moved away,
While afar the westward summits slowly turned from gold to gray.





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