PN 4Q G~ ••N:vtk'si'. (|[ CALIFORNIA SAhDIfljO 3 1822 01108 6436 The Gospel in Literature -e5£> JOSpH NELSON GREENE ^4:^- v^^:mm ■t.'^h: ^mr..!.'. 32 ■■■■•■'J"--- ' r>i ""■'' "'I'liiii'iii^ii i III i 11 11 III! mil II 30 P^'' 3 1822 01108 6436 .^7 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE By JOSEPH NELSON GREENE God spake In time past unto the fathers by the prophets. — Hebrews 1:1. God's prophets of the Beautiful these poets were. — Mrs. Browning. Cincinnati : JENNINGS AND GRAHAM l^etn gorfe: EATON AND MAINS Copyright, 1910, By Jennings & Graham Contents Page ENOCH ARDEN; Or, Love's Self-Crucifixion, 9 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT; Or, God at the Fireside, 39 GOLDSMITH'S VILLAGE PARSON; Or, The Saintly Character, 69 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL; Or, The Sacrament of Daily Service, 99 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON; Or, Christianity's Debt to the Past, 129 THE ANCIENT MARINER; Or, The Nearness of the Spirit World, 157 SNOW BOUND; Or, Character Formed at the Fireside, 183 SAUL ; Or, The Awakening of a Soul, 211 Preface Literature and the gospel are bosom friends. The stories and teachings of the gospel have been extravagantly borrowed by literature and made to form an essential part of its life. A lover of the gospel should be a lover of literature, for in the latter he finds much of the fonner. The lover of literature should come to have a wholesome regard for the gospel, for if he reads wisely he sees that the latter furnishes much of the color and life of the former. The combination is a de- lightful one. To properly appreciate that combination will mean to develop the liter- ary instinct and to cultivate the devotional spirit. To aid somewhat toward this desir- able end the following chapters are pre- sented. If these chapters should encourage preach- 5 PREFACE ers and religious teacliers to employ more freely the beauty and strength of literature in presenting the gospel, and lead the gen- eral reader to a better appreciation of the value of the combined devotional and liter- ary spirit, their mission will not be in vain. 6 ENOCH ARDEN; OR, LOVE'S SELF-CRUCIFIXION ENOCH ARDEN; OR, LOVE'S SELF-CRUCIFIXION English literature owes a large debt to Christianity. Much of the subject matter and many of the themes of our best litera- ture have their origin and inspiration in the gospel of Christ. Matthew Arnold says that the chief object of religion is conduct, and that conduct is three-fourths of life. This is only another way of saying that religion has to do with life. But literature in its best forms has also to do with life. It is not surprising, therefore, that the Christian religion and literature are mutually helpful. The gospel of Christ has given much to lit- erature, and literature has done much to popularize the gospel. It is a debatable 9 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE question as to which debt is the larger, that of literature to the gospel, or of the gospel to literature. But this much is certain, that the debt of literature to the gospel is large, for the spirit and teachings of the gospel color the pages of all our literature. "We ex- pect to find these teachings in the Bible, for the Bible is the text-book of the gospel. We look for them in devotional books. But we find them as really in that literature which convenience has labeled secular. Remove from Shakespeare every coloring of the gos- pel of Christ and you have ended in Lady Macbeth ambition's war with conscience; you have closed the soliloquy of Hamlet, who fears to take his leap into the dark of an- other world; you have released the soulless Shylock from the penalty his depraved life deserves. Take out of all secular literature the truth that had its birth in the gospel of Jesus, and you have made a wound in the literature of the nations from which the life- blood will speedily ebb away. The best poetry is only the gospel set to 10 ENOCH ARDEN music. Poets are preachers, though they may little dream that they have preached. In the lines that have come from their pens there are messages of religious import, though the verses that convey them may be called secular. So it comes to pass that we have sermons in secular literature. The ser- mons are more important than the literature, just as food is more important than the ves- sel in which it is carried. It is the food we want, whether the vessel be iron or gold. In Tennyson's poem Enoch Arden we have rich food carried in a golden vessel. The message is noble. It appeals to the heart. It calls to a more unselfish living. And likewise, the story itself is golden. Here is a tale that is tender, beautiful, and enno- bling. Enoch Arden is peculiar in this, it is a story without sin. It is a picture that has no iniquity to stain its fair canvas. The actors on this stage are all noble characters. There is no villain here. No impure life walks among the pure. It is true that in one instance a dark mind without the circle 11 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE of these actors offers the suggestion that there may be sin within the circle, but the circle itself remains unspotted. The story is clean. Here is a tale of suffering and sor- row, but no sin. Here we see tears and heartaches and breaking of home ties; long years of patient yearning, hoping, and de- spairing; cries of pain smothered, self-cruci- fixion, death in unspeakable loneliness, but no sin. Annie Lee lived on in a happy home without sin. Enoch Arden fought his hard fight, suffered alone, endured in hopeless de- spair, but he went to his grave without sin. Herein is a large element of the glory of this story. And herein is a large part of the message of Enoch Arden, tliat a man may face the battles, endure the disasters, and suffer the defeats of life, and yet lie down in his grave at last with a clean soul. The opening scene of the poem is one of tenderness and naturalness. The glory of childhood enshrines it. In the foreground is the sea, with its beach stretching back to- ward the cliffs, which are crowned with the 12 ENOCH ARDEN village buildings, chief among whicli are the church and the mill. The picture could not be complete without the church and the mill, for these are the centers of social life. Al- ways the mill has stood as the sign of in- dustry and the agency for satisfying man's need for physical food. And the church has ever stood as the sign of man's higher na- ture and the agency for satisfying his need for spiritual food. The church and the mill ! These two must ever be friends. This twain must ever travel side by side. For where industry thrives and civilization advances, there too must the church go with her sancti- fying influence and molding ]30wer. And wherever the church goes there too the mill must be, for the church can not exist apart from the industries of men. In the village bordering the beach stood the mill and the church. The background of the picture is complete. On the beach in the foreground of the picture three children are at play. They are Annie Lee, the prettiest maid of the village ; 13 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE Philip Rae, the miller's son, and Enoch Ar- den, a sailor's son, made fatherless by a win- ter shipwreck. These three children are the chief actors in the story. But they do not remain child actors. As they move before ns we see them grow to manhood and woman- hood. They feel the strain of life, experience the glow of love and the bitterness of de- spair, encounter their defeats, and win their victories; they take up life's burdens, make their homes, rear their children, and do tJieir part in the world's work. But for the present they are children. A childish love affair arises, for Philip Rae and Enoch Arden both love Annie Lee. The children play at housekeeping in a cave be- neath the cliff, and both boys would claim the little girl as wife. And when they would come to strife, Enoch Arden, stronger built, would come off victor, and Philip Rae would weep in the wrath of his defeat and say, ' ' Enoch, I hate you. ' ' And the little woman would weep too, and ask them not to quar- rel, for she would be wife to both. 14 ENOCH ARDEN So cliildliood grew to manhood and wom- anliood, and the love of the children grew likewise. Philip and Enoch still loved Annie Lee. But the love of Annie Lee grew to- ward Enoch Arden. One autnmn eventide Philip read in their eyes and faces his own doom. He wisely left them to their bliss, while he went away to face the world alone, bearing in his heart a lifelong hunger. Poor Philip Rae! Behold him, a man with a life- long hunger in his heart. A type he is of multitudes who walk the earth feeling their hunger and bearing their loads not because of disappointed loves merely, but because of blasted hopes, the injustices of the world, sorrows unspeakable. Few are the men who, as they go, do not bear in their hearts some sort of hunger. But the test of manhood is the ability to fight on and be strong in spite of the hunger. He is a weakling who will sit down in despair because his heart aches. He is a hero who will accept the ache of the heart as a spur urging him on to nobler liv- ing. And there are more of these heroes 15 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE about us than we think. They have been dec- orated with no medal of honor, but they are nevertheless heroes, because, while the heart aches, the mind is active, the hands are busy, and the life is true. Thus Philip Rae was a hero. He went his lonely way, but not to despair. He took up life's tasks. He succeeded in temiDorai affairs. He gained honor and wealth. He became a leading citizen of the little village. He remained a manly man. But he still bore in his heart his lifelong hunger. Enoch Arden and Annie Lee were mar- ried. Into their home children came. First a daughter came, and then a son. Then, after years had gone, Enoch on an ocean trip was hurt and, far away from home, lay on a bed of affliction. During his misfor- tune and his absence another child was born into his home. As Enoch saw his family in- crease there grew up in his heart a desire that his children might have a better educa- tion than had been his own. More wealth was therefore essential. An opportunity for 16 ENOCH ARDEN securing the desired wealth seemed to be pre- sented to Enoch in an announcement that a vessel was soon to leave the port and sail to distant lands in quest of gain. Upon this vessel Enoch secured a place as boatswain. It would be weeks before the vessel sailed, and before that time Enoch felt that he would be fully recovered and ready for the voyage. When sufficiently recovered, Enoch went back to his home to acquaint his wife with his plan. She protested against it, sorrow- fully, declaring that despite Enoch's bright coloring of their future prospects she felt sure that if he took the voyage she would never see his face again. But Enoch was more confident and more persistent, and his plans won. Their earnings were invested in a little store, which the wife might manage during Enoch's absence, thus providing a support for the children. Then Enoch went back to the port from which his ship was to sail, having said to his wife that at a cer- tain time on a certain day the ship would 2 17 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE sail past their home, and, though far out at sea, if she would take the glass and look, she might see him standing on the deck. The day and the hour came, and the ship ap- peared in the distance. Annie took the glass and looked. "She could not fix the glass to suit her eye; perhaps her eye was dim, her hand tremulous." At any rate, the oppor- tunity and the vessel passed, and Annie saw not the face of Enoch. The vessel moved awav and was lost in the dim distance. Yes, the vessel was lost and Enoch was lost. As the years passed by, no message came, no voice was heard from that distance. All was as silent as though the vessel had sailed away into the land of the dead. Meanwhile, what of this quest of Enoch Arden? While we must admire the motive that sent him afar, we are compelled to feel that his wisdom was at fault. He was taking chances too great. He was sacrificing too much that was certain and safe for some- thing woefully uncertain and imsafe. Enoch had a lovely little home with a faithful wife 18 ENOCH ARDEN and growing children. True, they were poor, but happiness had found a nesting-place in that humble home— that was worth more than all the world beside. The humble home where happiness and love abide is richer far than the palace from which happiness and love have flown. It was a bad bargain for Enoch Arden to give up the happiness al- ready his, and go in search of wealth which perhaps should never be his. And yet the mistake of Enoch is one the world witnesses over and over. Too often we miss the joy of present living because we are engaged in a mad chase after something we would pos- sess in the future. The simple life of the present is omitted while we dream of the larger life of the future. Every day brings its own blessings. They should be embraced to-day, and not discarded for a blessing that may possibly come to-morrow. The best phi- losophy of life is to live each day at its best, and enjoy all the blessings it brings. To- morrow is uncertain. Certainly one should be ever ambitious for better things, but not 19 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE at the price of the sacrifice of the opportu- nities of the present. It is bad living to bar- ter away the certain happiness of to-day for the uncertain prospect of happiness to-mor- row. But what of the wife and children after Enoch had gone! The wife was a poor sales- woman and business manager. The business waned. The baby sickened and died. When the stricken mother had laid the child to rest and sat alone in her sorrow, Philip Rae, still bearing the hunger in his heart, came in to comfort her. But not of self did he think. He thought of Enoch's children, the boy and girl yet left. He begged of Annie the privi- lege of sending these children to school and caring for all their needs, for he was rich. Enoch might repay him if he wished when he returned. And if he did not so wish, well. At last Annie consented to the proposition, and the children were placed in school. Philip Rae loved them well and lavished much wealth upon them. The children grew, and learned to call him Father Philip. The 20 ENOCH ARDEN memory of their own father faded, and their love for the new father increased. The years went by, and no news of Enoch came. The conviction grew upon all that Enoch was dead. Ten years moved slowly by, and then Philip dared to speak to Annie of the cer- tainty of Enoch's death and of the love in his heart for her. But Annie pleaded for time. She would wait another year, and if no word came from Enoch she would accept the silence as heaven's answer that Enoch was dead. Then she would listen to the de- sires of Philip. The year rolled by, and Annie, still in doubt, prayed one month more of time. It was granted, Philip saying, *^Take your own time, Annie; take your own time." And so she held him off until another half year had slipped away. Then, in a vision one night, Annie seemed to see Enoch beneath a palm tree, the sun shining brightly above him. To her the vision seemed as a message assuring her that Enoch lived no more on earth, but lived in another world, where the tree of life 21 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE was growing and the snn was shining bright for evermore. So her answer was finally- given to Philip, and they were wedded. A new home was formed for Annie and her children. After a while a new life came into their home, and Annie became happy in her new estate and almost forgot the sorrows of the past. But what of Enoch? Not successful was his quest. The ship on which he sailed was called Good Fortune, but bad fortune came to ship and crew alike. A storm drifted the vessel far from her course and wrecked her on the shore of a strange island. Enoch and two others clinging to the wreckage were washed ashore. On the island were game and fruit in plenty; but as time moved on, the two companions sickened and died, and Enoch was left alone. As the years wore away the fire of hope died not utterly from his heart, but it was hope long deferred. At last the day of his deliverance came. An- other vessel, drifted from her course by a storm, approached the island in search of 22 ENOCH AEDEN water; and Enoch, now like a wild man in appearance, was discovered, pitied by the crew, taken on board, and at last by their ef- forts landed in the harbor from which he had sailed away years before. He was again near his own home. But now fears as ter- rible as those that had haunted him on the lonely island possessed him. A power as great as that which had hurried him home- ward seemed to lay its hand upon him and stop him from going home. Home? Had he any home? Had he a wife, a child, a home? Was he to go on, to find new-made graves, and have his last lingering hopes blighted? Was he to go on and find worse than graves —his loved ones now the loved ones of an- other in the light of a home he dare not en- ter; living, yet dead to him forever? Here is one of the most tragically terrible situations in all literature. Here is a trag- edy not terrible in its blood or crime, but ter- rible in the unmitigated sorrow of a lonely, friendless heart. It is the tragedy of tears, with no hand to dry them; of a breaking 23 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE heart, with no bahn at hand ; of an agonizing question, with no answer forthcoming; of a soul-burdened cry for friendship and love, with only a mocking susjDense for an answer. That is tragedy! But on Enoch moved, toward the old home village. It was a dark, misty night, and few people were on the streets. On he moved until he stood before the house that had once been his home. But not a light was seen, not a voice was heard. Finally Enoch distinguished upon the door a bill of sale, and, fearing the worst, cried in his de- spair, '^Dead, or dead to me?" Then he turned and went back to the wharf, to an old inn, where he lived in seclusion for several days. Then from the landlady, who was an able gossip, and who failed to recognize Enoch, he heard the story of the death of his own babe, the education of the two children by Philip Rae, and of the marriage of his wife to Philip. And as the woman closed her story with the words, ' ' Enoch, i^oor man, was cast away and lost," Enoch himself re- 24 ENOCH ARDEN peated, ''Cast away and lost," and again he murmured, ' ' Lost. ' ' Knowing the worst, and all hope now gone, Enoch felt that he might die in peace if only he could get one more glimpse of Annie's face and know that she was happy. And so one night, when it was all darkness without, and the lights were burning brightly within the home of Philip Eae, Enoch crept up tlirough the darkness close to an open window and looked in. He saw Annie seated on a chair and at her side the daughter, now grown to a young woman. The boy, now tall and strong, was standing not far away. And Philip Eae sat at Annie 's side, rocking on his knee a little babe. A picture it was of a lovely, happy home. But when the picture met the eyes of Enoch Arden he staggered like a blow had fallen upon him, and a cry heavy with pain and loud with despair rose from his heart— but it never passed his lips. The only place the cry was heard was in the soul of Enoch and the ear of God. But why did he not relieve the bursting heart by giv- 25 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE ing vent to his despair in one mighty cry? Ah, he feared to cry, lest that cry, "like the blast of doom, wonld shatter all the happi- ness of the hearth" within. The love of Annie constrained him. Great is the constraining power of love. It lays its hand upon a life and checks it in its wayward course. It compels conduct. The young man who loves his mother will not by his ungrateful or sinful life drive the dagger of pain into her heart. He would, like Enoch, rather suifer himself than cause her to suffer. The husband who loves his wife will not insist on those practices that destroy her happiness. Love constrains him. The Christian who loves the Lord will sacri- fice some of the desires of a selfish life rather than bring pain to the Master's heart. A Christian can in no better way declare his lack of love for Jesus Christ than by doing that which brings sorrow to the Savior's heart and hurt to His cause. Christ said, **If you love Me, keep My commandments." That is, ''If you love Me ye tvill keep My 26 ENOCH AEDEN commandments. Ye will please Me." If Enoch Arden loves Annie he will not pain her. And so the cry of despair is hnshed, and Enoch walks away in the darkness, and Annie is left undisturbed in her happiness. Back to the inn Enoch goes, bearing in his heart his burden and holding his secret until, bowed down with his burden, his life is be- ing crushed out. Sickness overtakes him, and on his deathbed he surrenders up to the landlady his secret, on condition that it should not be revealed until after his death, and revealed then only that Annie may be told that Enoch loved her to the end, and that Philip Eae might be told that Enoch blessed him with his dying strength, and that the children might Imow that their father's last prayers ascended for them. And so Enoch died, the secret was told, *'and when they buried him the little port had seldom seen a costlier funeral." Why did Tennyson write this poem ? Per- haps a purely historical answer would be dif- ficult to give, as the necessary external evi- 27 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE donee is not to be found. But from the in- ternal evidence, the content of the poem, we may venture an answer. If we, like Enoch Arden, a castaway on a strange island, should accidentally discover this poem and know nothing of its history or authorship, and should ask why it was written, we would not answer that it was written for the sake of telling a sad story, nor for the sake of romance merelv, but rather for the sake of a truth stranger than fiction. That truth is the power and beauty of love as expressed in self-sacrifice. Here is a story of Love's self- crucifixion. Enoch Arden is the personifica- tion of heroic love. He loves devotedly. He loves unto toil, unto danger, denial, and sac- rifice. He loves unto death. The highest expression of love is self- crucifixion. Love at its best will suffer even unto death rather than permit its object to suffer. Measure love by the lofty standard of what it is willing to suffer, and you dis- cover its time worth. Lower standards do not evidence love at its best. A man may 28 ENOCH ARDEN give his wife a present— it may or may not be a mark of love. Many a present lias passed where no love existed. One may speak a kind word— it is no mark of love. Many a kind word has been born of pity or of policy when love was absent. One may even i^erform a kind deed that costs a sac- rifice, and yet no love may be manifested. There may be nothing more than the milk of hmnan kindness in the deed. You can not test love on these lower planes. But pitch it on the higher plane of self-sacrifice, and you learn its worth. When the husband prayed that he might take upon himself the pain the wife endured, and suffer in her stead,— that was love. When the mother longed to fix upon her life the penalty that had been decreed to her boy, and die for him,— that was love. When God gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever belieyeth on Him might not i^erish, but have eternal life,— that was love. When Jesus Christ walked to the cross and laid His hands and feet upon it, and spilt His blood, that men 29 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE might come to know God,— that was love. Love at its best suffers, and dies if need be, for its object. Love can reach its best only in a life that is good. Herein is the great message of Enoch Arden. Love and Goodness must ever be boon companions if either becomes her best. Love is her best only when joined with Goodness. Why did not Enoch Arden cry aloud that night when he saw his loved ones Jiappy in the home of another? Why did he not let fly that shriek, and shatter all the happiness of the hearth within"? Why was he able to resist so that the cry was smoth- ered? A life weakened by the touch of sin could not have resisted so. But Enoch Ar- den was possessed of the strength of Good- ness and Love combined. And Goodness placed her hand alongside of the hand of Love, and together they stopped the mouth of Enoch Arden, and the fatal cry was hushed. It was Goodness joined with Love. Mephistopheles could not have done that. There was too much of lust in his life. Lady 30 ENOCH ARDEN Macbeth could not have done that. There was too much blood upon her lily-white hands. From lives like these the cry would have fallen, the blast of doom would have sounded, and happiness would have been shattered, for in such lives hate is stronger than love. Sin has strangled Goodness. With Enoch Arden it was not so. He was clean, and therefore he was strong, and there- fore Love triumphed. Hence, when he tip- toed from the garden of Philip Rae, lest he might be discovered and the happiness of Annie shattered, he carried in his bosom a broken heart, but two ministering angels walked by his side, and one was called Love and the other Goodness. Sisters they. Yes, this is the message of Enoch Arden, that he who would love best must live well. Love is evermore crippled by wickedness. The man who spends for drinlc the money that should bring comfort to wife and chil- dren is robbing them not only of his money, but of his love, for whislr^^ dulls the line edge of love. He who has unbalanced his man- 31 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE liood by intoxication can not love as of yore. The man who proves untrue to his marriage vow and submits himself a slave to lust makes it impossible to love wife and liome as he should. The man who by craft, deceit, and cruelty defrauds and injures others, to gain unscrupulous ends, has hardened his own power of love until he, like the sin of his life, is cold and relentless. Sin strikes a deathblow at love. Drop one particle of black ink in a glass of pure water, the water is tainted. Another and another drop, and the water is colored. Another and another drop, and the water is black. Every drop of ink spoiled the purity of the water. Love is the water. Sin is the ink. Mix them, and love is tainted. Mix them, and love is col- ored. Mix them, and behold! love itself is transformed into sin. He who would love much must keep himself clean. If it be sug- gested that some who have been bad have loved still, let the question also be suggested as to how much stronger, more beautiful, and heroic that love might have been if sin had 32 ENOCH ARDEN been left out, for the message of Enoch Ar- den is true that sin cripples love, and he who would love best must keep himself pure. The highest form of human love is that of the soul for its God. Highest because it enriches and ennobles all other love. He who loves God with all his hea.rt will find no difficulty in loving his neighbor. Love for wife and kindred and friends will mean more. The hard tests of life will be more patiently endured. The march up Calvary's liill for the crucifixion of self in some great crisis will be made more possible. And chiefly, the holy life, which is the guiding star of hu- manity, will be more possible in the presence of love for God. While the highest form of human love is that of the soul for God, the highest example of love is that of God's love for man. His- tory has some splendid examples of love. Literature has pictured some examples of love that are inspiring, as that of Enoch Ar- den. But the supreme type is that exhibited in Christ's sacrifice for the world. It was a 8 33 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE crucifixion not only of self, but of a Self the richest the world has known ; a Self that was a bond between earth and heaven; a God- man; a type of love and a sacrifice that was, which ought to arouse a response from ever}'' noble, grateful soul. There is an old tradition which tells of a tribe of Seneca Indians once living in the neighborhood of Niagara Falls. They had the custom of holding a festival once every year for the purpose of making an offering to propitiate the Spirit of the Falls. The offering was the most beautiful maiden who could be found in all the tribe. On a cer- tain night, when the moon was shining brightly upon the waters, she was required to step into a white canoe filled with fruits and flowers, and, rowing out to the middle of the river, be swept by the current over the falls to a certain death. On one occasion the maiden chosen by the priests for the sacrifice was a daughter of the chief of the tribe. The chief was a stern and brave man, but he loved his daughter with a tender, passionate love. 34 ENOCH ARDEN Yet, because of her marvelous beauty tlie daughter was selected as the fairest of the tribe, and the priests declared that she must be offered to the Spirit of the Falls. The brave chief, feeling the justice of the choice made, yielded to the fatal decree and, though with breaking heart, unhesitatingly offered his daughter for the sacrifice. When the fatal night arrived the people were assem- bled, the moon was shining brightly, and the maiden stepped into the white canoe, paddled boldly out into the current, and drifted to- ward the falls. Then the waiting multitude saw a strange sight that fQled them with awe. The old chief was seen to step into another white canoe, and giving a few mighty strokes, his boat shot alongside the boat of his daugh- ter. Their eyes met. There was a look of infinite love, a swift embrace, and together the chief and his daughter dashed over the falls to the rapids beneath. The old father loved the daughter too much to permit her to take the death journey alone. That was love. The name of the chief 35 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE was revered because he died with one lie loved. But tliis story lacks the superlative element. Better would it have been if the chief had stepped into the boat of the girl and died for her, leaving her yet among the living. It may be a great thing to die ivith another, but it is infinitely greater to die for another. That is what Christ did. When hu- manity's boat was about to drift over the falls He placed the feet of the doomed race safely on the shore, while He Himself stepped into the boat and went down into the rapids alone. 36 II THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT; OR, GOD AT THE FIRESIDE THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT; OR, GOD AT THE FIRESIDE One of the deplorable facts in the history of poetry is that the world, while lauding the poetry, is so often compelled to lament the poet. The production is worthy of com- mendation, while the man who wrote it is often so unworthy that the reader is com- pelled to apologize for his shortcomings. This is true, because some of the men who have pictured an ideal in literature have been unable to realize that ideal in their own lives. In this class we must place Robert Burns, the author of ''The Cotter's Satur- day Night." Few men are more beloved as a poet by their countrymen and by the world than Robert Burns. Yet few men are more lamented as a man than he. His poems have 39 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE faithfully pictured the life and virtues of the noble peasantry of his brave little land. He has truly sung the glories of Scotland. His verses have touched responsive chords in the lives of all men. Burns the poet is a favorite. But when we speak of Bums the man we must pause to blush and weave a cloak of charity to throw over the multitude of his sins. Burns committed the glaring mistake of trifling with the affections of his heart in the early days of his life when character was forming. The affections are laid at the very foundations of one's life and are a de- termining factor in the life. If they are guarded and given a wholesome development they will determine a life of nobility. The life will then become strong and firm in rec- titude. But if the affections are tampered with and undermined in youth, their injury will determine an unstable, weakened life, in which an indecisive conflict will be continu- ally waged between nobility and ignominy, between the good and the bad. 40 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT This was the mistake of Burns. As a. boy of seventeen he had numerous love affairs, ■wrote verses in j^raise of many girls, gave himself to the dance and the wine cup, grew in years bearing the early unbalanced traits of character, until finally he became seem- ingly incapable of constancy. While claim- ing one woman as wife, he declared his pas- sion for another, and upon the occasion of the death of the latter wrote a beautiful little poem as a tribute to her. When we read the lines to Mary in Heaven we are impressed with their tenderness and intensity of affec- tion. But when we recall that they are lines written bv a man to one not his wife, and that when the lines were written he was declaring his love for two women (one of whom was his wife), the verses become robbed of their sweetness, and we feel that somewhere in the life of the man who wrote them there must have been a fundamental moral and ethical lack. But such was Robert Burns. The mis- takes of his youth followed him to his grave, as youthful mistakes are wont to do. His bi- 41 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE ographers have said two things of liim that should stand as a warning to all subsequent generations: (1) "He died in the prime of manhood, miserable and neglected." (2) "In all but his poetry his was a defeated life." A defeated life! AVhat a sad commentary! How much more the life and poetry of Rob- ert Burns might have meant to the world if his had been a victorious instead of a de- feated life! As it was the well-known "Elegy" that brought Thomas Gray into fame, so it was "The Cotter's Saturday Night" that brought llobert Burns into fame. This poem was written when Bums was twenty-six years of age. The evident purpose was to give a true and immortal picture of a very common phase of Scotch life. The cotter was a well- known character in Scotland. He was one who lived in a cot or cottage on a farm. His position corresponded to the position of a tenant on a farm in this country. The cotter was usually a poor man, and necessa- rily so, because of his position. Often he had 42 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT a large family of children. As the children grew in years it became necessary for them to hire out to work on neighboring farms, in order to help support themselves and the family. Their work took them away from home during the week, but on Saturday night, when the week's toil was ended, the young people came gathering home for the Sabbath rest. Hence on Saturday night there was a glad reunion in the home of the cotter. It is a picture of this Saturday night reunion that Burns presents in ''The Cotter's Sat- urday Night." The scene described is abun- dant in i^ractical suggestions, and its rela- tion to religious history is significant. The poem therefore furnishes a splendid subject for study from the practical and religious standpoints. Like a pleasing panorama the scenes of "The Cotter's Saturday Night" are made to pass before us. It is a chill day in Novem- ber, short as winter days are, and at its close the cotter collects his spades and hoes and finds his way toward his own home. He is 43 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE dreaming of the joys of the approaching night and the rest of the Sabbath day. As he approaches his home his little children toddle forth to meet him, and with them the father walks into his humble cot to find a fire glow- ing in the fireplace, a clean hearthstone, a thrifty wife's loving smile, and a lisping in- fant which the father is soon rocking on his knee. The jDoet gives a tender touch of sen- timent here when he says that these home at- tractions combine to beguile his anxiety and care and make him ''quite forget his labor and his toil." There is nothing so calculated to drive away the care and fatigue of a hard- laboring man as a home where the hearth is clean and smiles abound and love reigns. Happy the man who has a home of that kind, to which he may betake himself when the brain is weary or the body aches! It is a place of refuge from the strain and storm of life. Wise is the wife who seeks to cre- ate that kind of a home and refuge for hhn whose days are given in toil for her! The cotter had such a wife and such a home. 44 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT Presently the older children who through the week have been working on neighboring farms come dropping in. Among them is Jenny, the oldest, now a woman grown in youthful bloom, the love-light sparkling in her eyes. The poet could hardly be true to life and leave out the little love affair which he now hastens to introduce, for love will find its way into the cottage of the poor as well as the palace of the rich. Cupid had been shooting his shafts at Jenny as she had toiled abroad, and now the love-light shines in her eyes. But before the meaning of that love-light is seen, let us look upon a splendid home scene. Brothers and sisters with father and mother are shut within the four walls of their humble home. What care they for the world without— they have a world of their own within. Mark you, these are brothers and sisters, not merely kin by blood. There is a kinship by blood and there is a communion of spirit. Brotherhood or sisterhood is a communion, a fellowship of spirit. There 45 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE are boys and girls bom of the same parents who are hardly brothers and sisters. The same blood is in their veins, but there is no fellowship of spirit, no mutual proprietor- ship of common interests; no love. But in the cotter's home we find brothers and sis- ters. Common poverty and common toil have knit their hearts as one. Hence not with glumness or with thoughts afar from the family circle they sit in each other's pres- ence. Their thoughts are at home. With genuine interest they inquire of each other's welfare and of the experiences of the week since last they met. Each tells the news of what he has seen or heard. The mother sits by with needle and shears mending the chil- dren's clothes, until the old garments look almost as good as new. The father sits by mingling wholesome advice with all the nar- ratives of the children. He exhorts them to mind their master well; to labor faithfully and never trifle or play when the master's eye is not upon them. The real character of the father is revealed when he says: 46 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT Be sure to fear the Lord alway — Lest in temptation's path ye gang astray. Implore His counsel and assisting might ; They never sought in vain vpho sought the Lord aright." But now a rap is heard at the door. The love-light in Jenny's eye burns afresh, for she knows what the rap means. With blushes she confesses to her mother that a neighbor lad was come that way with her that evening, and, his errands done, he would spend the evening in their home. The mother quickly grasps the situation, hur- riedly inquires the young man's name, and, learning that he is no wild rake, but a young man of good repute, is well pleased. The young man enters and is taken into the fam- ily circle. He is bashful, but all unite to make him feel at home. The father talks of horses, plows, and cows; the mother adds her kindly words, and the young man's heart is filled with joy. The mother is likewise pleased because her daughter is honored with attention, as well as are the other girls of the neighborhood. 47 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE It is here, while picturing this simple love affair, that the poet digresses to philosophize on two important themes. One is the bliss- fulness of pure, innocent love. The other is the perfidy of the villain who could betray a sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth. Is there in human form, that bears a heart, A wretch, a villain, lost to love and truth. That can, with studied, sly, ensnaring art. Betray sweet Jenny's unsuspecting youth? Curse on his perjured arts! dissembling smooth! Are honor, virtue, conscience, all exiled? Is there no pity, no relenting ruth. Points to the parents fondling o'er their child? Then paints the ruined maid, and their distrac- tion wild?" Now the supper hour arrives, and the members of the family assemble around the simple board. Their highland hospitality makes the suitor one at the table. Oatmeal pudding, milk, and cheese a twelve-mouth old constitute the evening meal. But with as much joy as though they were at the table of a king the members of that contented circle 48 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT partake of the supper, while wit and laugh- ter serve as spice for the food. The evening meal ended, the climax of the scene is presented. Around the fireside they gather— parents, children, and guest. Another glimpse of the father's character is seen as he spreads the open Family Bible upon his knees, chooses a chapter with care, and says, "Let us worship God." Here is a tender picture of a home scene with a phase of life that has ever served as a safegniard to the lives of children and of nations— the family altar. Here there is a church in the home, as was so often true in apostolic times. Parents and children mingle their voices in singing some familiar song. Then "the priestlike father reads the sacred page;" reads of Moses or Abraham, of Job's pa- tience, of Isaiah's wild prophecies; or per- haps of later times, when the Savior walked the earth with men; or of the heroism and struggles of some who followed the Savior even unto death. Then, having ended the reading, the father prays. It is a prayer of 4 49 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE simplicity. Tlie poet is true to life in re- fusing to put upon the lips of this humble saint a prayer beyond his state. There is no attempt at words or rhetoric. There is no digression to interests far away from this highland home. If this prayer may be called somewhat selfish, it is yet natural. It ex- presses the longings and hope of the heart of that good father. He prays for his own. But, after all, this is the selfishness that char- acterizes the majority of our prayers. We pray for our own. Thus the cotter prays. The reach of his prayer is even unto heaven. He looks ui3on his family circle, unbroken and unstained by sin, and his longing is that it might remain so forever. And he prays that thus they might meet in future days, ' ' no more to sigh or shed a bitter tear, ' ' and in the society of each other dwell, while cir- cling time moves round in an eternal sphere. In a scene like this there is something that appeals to our hearts. The man of the busy worldly life may not practice this cus- tom of family prayer in his own home, but 50 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT tliere is something in it which finds him. Men admire religious faith in its simple and sincere expression. They detest the dress of pomp and parade in which faith is sometimes clothed, but they admire simple faith in Grod. The thing that makes this scene in the cot- ter's home striking is a religious faith un- disturbed by doubt, unstained by sin. But the scene is not entirely ended yet. Family prayer over and tJie social evening ended, the friends separate. The guest re- tires, the children are in bed, and then, as the last act of the night, the parents engage in secret prayer, **And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, That He who stills the raven's clam'rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flowery pride. Would in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide. But chiefly in their hearts with grace preside." The curtain drops. Silence and slumber inile in the cotter's home, and the angels of God keep vigil there. The student of literature is compelled to 51 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE mark a striking difference between this poem and one like that of ''Enoch Arden," by Tennyson. This poem of Burns is chiefly a description— a description of a tender home scene. It is not a story ; it is a picture. But "Enoch Arden" is a narrative rather than a description. It is a story as well as a picture. It has movement. It is full of ro- mance and tragedy. It keeps the reader on the tiptoe of expectation. But in ''The Cot- ter's Saturday Night" it is different. Here you see only a picture. It is beautiful. Its colors blend harmoniously. With it we are pleased. It speaks of home, and love, and faith, and God. It lacks the thrilling, sen- sational elements of "Enoch Arden." But the lack is atoned for by the abundance of practical suggestion. It exalts the home, character, and God. And because ' ' The Cot- ter's Saturday Night" is a tribute of praise to home, character, and God it will ever have a high place in the affections of the world. As long as home, character, and God are loved this poem will live. 52 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT The scene of religious devotion pictured in this poem is one all will commend. It ap- peals to the heart. But not all will recom- mend such a practice to modern American life. Many will say the scene is beautiful, but it is not fitted to present conditions. We can not bring such a scene as that into mod- em life. But why not? As a matter of fact, one of the things American life needs most keenly is the introduction of just such scenes as that. If into this land the cotter's Satur- day night could be introduced and trans- formed so we would have the laborer's Sat- urday night, the business man's Saturday night, and the professional man's Saturday night, our land would be stronger and safer and the life of our people better. But be that as it may, there is something about the cotter's Saturday night that ap- peals to our hearts. Whatever the condition of modern life may be, we enter the home of this cotter and come forth feeling strangely refreshed. In this home tenderness, affec- tion, fidelity to each other, cleanness of life, 53 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE and simple faith in God all blend to make a refreshing atmosphere. As the story of '* Enoch Arden" is marked for the absence of sin, so is ''The Cotter's Saturday Night." Here is no villain, no crime. Lives true and innocent are here swayed by noble purpose. There is a music permeating this scene as sweet as that which stirs the heart as one reads the story of John Alden and Priscilla in ''The Courtship of Miles Standish." We are inclined to hold in contempt the Puritan customs, but somehow there yet lingers in our hearts a resj^ect for Puritan virtues. It will be a sad day for our land when we come to despise those virtues. May that time never come! It will be profitable to analyze this scene in the poem and discover what those elements are which create its wholesome atmosphere and provide its sweet music. Aside from some minor features, which need not be men- tioned, there are three chief elements discov- erable here which give richness to the scene and provide practical suggestions. These 54 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT three mentioned briefly are: Home, Man- hood, and God. Home is exhibited as the center of grav- ity for the family life. In ''The Cotter's Saturday Night" the home occupies a unique place. It has an undisputed sway over these lives. Toward it the lives of all the members of the household turn. When the father's toil is ended it is of home he thinks, and homeward he goes. When the children close the work of the week it is of home they think, and toward home tliey go. Home is the meet- ing-place of the members of the family. It is the center of the social life. No substitute for the home is offered or needed. We may be unconscious of it, but it is nevertheless true that this striking exhibition of the home is one element of ''The Cotter's Saturday Night" that endears it to our hearts and causes us to love the poem. This poem speaks in loud language the value of the home as a center of family life. To substitute other institutions or places for the home is a dangerous proceeding. 55 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE When a child comes to the place where it goes home only when there is no place else to go, when other places and attractions are exalted and the home despised, it has come to a dangerous place. Let home be a spot loved by every child. The parent, too, needs to realize the importance of making the home so attractive that the children love it. The cotter was wise in this respect. The most effective sphere for the moral training is the home. The home molds the child that makes the man. Its influence should be the best. The education should begin early. A mother asked a minister when she should begin the education of her child, who was then four years old. He replied, '^ Madam, if you have not already begun you have lost those four years." The advent of the child is the sig- nal for the process of home education and home influence to begin. No better compli-. ment can be paid home or parents than to find the children loving the home and longing to abide beneath its roof. The crime of modem society is the at- 56 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT tempted dethronement of the home. There are various substitutes which society is of- fering for the home circle. Chief among these may be mentioned the club and the lodge. There is certainly a legitimate place in society for the club and the lodge, but when these become a substitute for the home, or in any way usurp the authority of the home, then ihej have become a menace to society. The home is injured then by their presence. When a man belongs to so many lodges that he has no night in the week for his family, he is guilty of a gross transgres- sion. When a woman is so absorbed in clubs that she neglects the interests of her chil- dren and forgets the joj of home life, she has become intemperate in her conduct and is making herself a curse rather than a bless- ing. There are some homes literally clubbed to death, and some communities have met the same fate. It would be a good thing for some of these club-dazed people to take down ''The Cotter's Saturday Night" and see in it a picture of the best club under heaven, 57 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE the home cliih, and ask themselves if it would not be a good idea to start a club of that kind. The best club on earth is the home club. Manhood is exalted in this poem as the worthy guardian of home and nation. In the scene presented the cotter is the chief character, and the cotter is a 7nan. He is poor, but a man. Not learned is he, but a man. He is a man whose presence graces and dignifies the home circle and whose char- acter gives strength to the land he loves. Note some of the elements of his manhood. He has loyalty to and love for his home. He is in his element in the presence of wife and children. Home is the dearest spot on earth to him. That is an evidence of manhood. It is no evidence of manhood to belittle the home and imagine that it is a good place for women and children, but that men had bet- ter be on the street or in the lodge, club, or saloon. The man who exalts his home and is proud of his family is one who has the fine fiber of manhood. But the man who counts it a weakness to stay around home 58 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT and associate with his family is one who lacks in the essential elements of manhood. Our cotter was also a man of clean per- sonality. There are some things conspicu- ous for their absence from this scene. There is no portrayal of our cotter crowned with a halo of tobacco smoke. No profanity is heard falling from his lips. No fumes of whisky are detected on his breath. It would be extremely difficult to associate such things with this picture of the cotter. He is a clean man. There are some practices in the pres- ent days which are commonly associated with manhood, but which lack much of being manly. They are unclean and senseless. Manhood is impaired by their indulgence. Manhood at its best is clean and rational. It does not stoop to injurious practices merely because they happen to be common. Any un- clean, injurious practice prevents reaching the highest ideal of manhood just to that de- gree in which the practice is indulged. Our cotter was manly because he was free from injurious habits. 59 THE GOSPEL IN LITEKATUKE Again, the cotter was a manly man be- cause he possessed a religious spirit. A striking thing is said of him. He took the Word of God, turned its pages, and presided at the family altar with ''patriarchal grace." Something priestly is in his make-up. He is at home with the Sacred Book and while min- istering concerning divine things. He talks with the children of things religious. A wise father he ! If fathers more universally were able to minister and talk as this cotter, the lives of the children would be safer. It is said that Voltaire was once discussing his skeiotical ideas with some friends at his table, when he suddenly exclaimed: ''Hush, gentle- men, till the servants are gone. If they be- lieved as we talk, none of our lives would be safe." Anti-religious views furnish little safety for morals or for lives. But faith in God is a guarantee of safety for both. Happy the father who can teach that faith to his children. Our cotter could so teach it. He has manhood, because he loves his home; he is clean in his life and is on familiar terms CO THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT with God. Burns could not realize that man- hood in bis own life, but be was wise to picture it as tbe crowning glory of tbe cot- ter's life. God at tbe fireside is tbe guarantee of a nation's glory and permanence. It is after describing tbe scene in wbicb faitb, prayer, and tbe Word of God form so large a part, tbat tbe poet says, "From scenes like tbese old Scotia's grandeur springs, tbat makes her loved at bome, revered abroad." Tbis is tbe wise deduction from tbe entire scene. Tbe people in wbose breasts are love for bome and love for God are people all but invincible. Tbey are tbe liberty lovers and bome defenders of tbe world. Read history, and it will be seen tbat those peoples who have revered God and brought Him into their homes and hearts are tbe peoples against whom tyranny has had to wage its hardest fight. The yoke of oppression has ever rested uneasily upon their shoulders. They have been patriotic, brave, and persistent in their struggle for liberty. Witness such peo- 61 THE G08PEL IN LITERATURE pies as those of Switzerland, South Africa, and this loyal little land of Scotland. God at the fireside has given strength to national life and to individual greatness. It is in the presence of the divine that the greatest ideas have been born and the greatest works have been performed. Among the great paintings at Florence are the angels of Fra Angelico. They are said to have been painted when the artist was on his knees praying and rever- ently pursuing his work. They were born of prayer. In speaking of the splendor of this work Michael Angelo said, "Surely the good brother visited Paradise and was allowed to choose his models there." Yes, his models were chosen there. His work was done in a divine atmosphere. Here is a message from "The Cotter's Saturday Night," that the best life is lived and the best work is done in the divine presence. This poem is loud in its cry to enthrone God in the home and in the individual life. It is in this strain that Burns closes the poem. The last verse is a prayer that God 62 THE COTTEE'S SATURDAY NIGHT may continue to abide within the land the poet loves. "O Thou! who poured the patriotic tide That streamed through Wallace's undaunted heart; Who dared to nobly stem tryannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part, (The patriot's God, peculiarly Thou art. His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) O, never, never, Scotia's realm desert." This is his prayer. And here is one of the messages of the poem to us,— that God must be our abiding help if our land and lives are to be their best and safest. Give God's Word the place it deserves as the foundation of our faith and as the guide for our feet. Do not get the idea that the Bible is obsolete. Its interpretation may be a matter of variation in some minor de- tails, but its truth will forever stand unhurt by all the charges of criticism or of skepti- cism. This little verse is a gem of prophecy and of faith : **Last eve I paused beside a blacksmith's door. And heard the anvil ring the vesper chime ; Then, looking in, I saw upon the floor Old hammers worn with beating years of time. 63 ft THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE 'How many anvils have you had,' said I, ' To wear and batter all these hammers so ? ' * Just one,' he answered, then with twinkling eye; 'The^anvii wears ^he hammers out, you know.' And so, I thought, the anvil of God's Word For ages skeptic blows have beat upon ; Yet though the noise of falling blows were heard, The anvil is unworn — the hammers gone." God's Word is an anvil upon which the blows of opposition may fall without avail. It will remain when the hammers are gone. Hged the message of this poem and exalt the Word to its ri^iitful place in the life of home and la,nd. Likewise give ivorship of God the place it deserves. This message, too, the poem speaks. We need the old-time faith and praise, secret prayer, the family altar, God at the fireside. Let this religious devotion exist, and we will have a land freer of greed and graft, and blessed with a pennanence which neither time nor foes can endanger. Let the scene of "The Cotter's Saturday 64 THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT Night" be repeated all over our land. Exalt worship. Revere the Word. Give God a chance. Our lives will be cleaner. Our his- tory will become more glorious. Our Nation will be more secure. Give God a chance. 65 Ill THE VILLAGE PARSON, FROM GOLDSMITH'S ''DESERTED VIL- LAGE" THE VILLAGE PARSON, FROM GOLDSMITH'S "DESERTED VIL- LAGE" Oliver Goldsmith, author of ''The Deserted Village," was an enigma. The study of his character is an unfailing source of interest, because it reveals a puzzle hard to solve. As one reads his life he is filled with astonish- ment and wonder; astonishment that one so worthless, seemingly, could ever command the respect of the literary world ; and wonder as to what sort of a creature the man really was. Was he a blockhead or a genius? Was he a knave or a saint? Was he a reformer or a fool? His was a life in which nature mingled some queer ingredients and through which she played some queer capers. He was good 69 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE and bad. He was wise and foolish. He acted strangely and wrote beautifully. His queer- ness began with boyhood. He was known in school as a dull boy, and even in college rested under the stigma of being an inferior student. As a boy, however, he showed some genius for poetry and wrote verses, consign- ing them to the flames almost as fast as he wrote them. As a man he showed much vac- illation and lack of purpose, mingled with a reckless disposition. He chose companions who were bad, and formed unfortunate hab- its. Often his reckless ways brought him into difficulty and reaped severe condemna- tion. But withal he had a heart so big and a spirit so good at the bottom that a multi- tude of his sins were covered. At one time he essayed to study law, and fifty pounds were given him by an uncle, with which to begin his education; but he lost the money at a gaming house before he reached the school. Again, he studied medicine, and practiced it in a suburb of London for a year or more; but he amounted to little more than 70 THE VILLAGE PARSON a quack doctor, and soon gave up the profes- sion. Again, he traveled through some Euro- pean countries on foot, with his harp, and sang and played, supporting himself as a tramp musician. Thus from one calling and attempt to another he drifted, like a feather blown by the wind. But meanwhile he pos- sessed a heart of love and had the music of poetry in his soul. And when he surrendered himself to the good that was in him, and lis- tened to the singing of the Muses, he gained the attention of the world. And to-day he has the distinction of being one of the most loved writers in English literature. But, as in the case of Burns, while we may love the poems we find ourselves compelled to apolo- gize for the poet. "The Deserted Village," in which the de- scription of the Village Parson occurs, is said to be the finest poem Goldsmith ever wrote. It was written to express the poet's sorrow at the decay of rural scenes and peas- ant life, while luxury and pomp seemed to flourish. It is in one view a poetic treatise 71 THE aOSPEL IN LITERATURE on political economy. The view of Goldsmith has been criticised as being unwarranted, yet we need to remember that the dangers Gold- smith decried in this poem one hundred and forty years ago (1770) are the veiy dangers we are crying out the loudest against to-day. The two great social and political evils we decry to-day are the dangers of wealth amassed in the hands of the few, and the danger of a decayed citizenship exhibited in dishonesty and graft. Now listen to Goldsmith's deliverance concerning these evils : 111 fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, Where wealth accumulates and men decay. Princes and lords may flourish or may fade — A breath can make them as a breath has made — But the bold peasantry, a country's pride, When once destroyed can never be supplied." To all of which the majority of us will say, "Amen." When that day comes in which wealth accumulates and men decay, a dan- gerous day is at hand for any nation. Man- hood enshrined in poverty is a better safe- 72 THE VILLAGE PARSON guard for a nation than degeneracy clotlied in wealth. The ''village" described by Groldsmith as having become deserted and fallen into decay is generally sujoposed to be Lissoy, in County Westmeath, Ireland, a village where his father, who was a minister, once had a parish. It is not supposed that the descrip- tion is true to the actual condition of the village, but rather that the village furnished the material and suggestion for the poet's imaginative description. The village was once the poet's home, and in his thought he sees wealth accumulate and men decay until the village is deserted, her landmarks re- moved, the old home place destroyed. The poet had hoped, after the long and wild wanderings of his life were over, to find a resting-place and burial spot here in old age. (( And as the hare whom hounds and horns pursue. Pants to the place from whence at first she flew ; So had I hoped, life's long vexation past. Here to return and die at home at last." 73 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE But now all is changed. Tliis hope is blighted, and the poet, as he looks upon the deserted village, cries: **Thy sports are fled and all thy charms with- drawn. Amidst thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen And desolation covers all the green." That word "desolation" seems to contain the burden of the poet's complaint. The vil- lage is all desolation. And so will be the land in the moral and material sense, when wealth accumulates with the few and men decay. It is not with the poem as a whole, how- ever, that we are concerned, but with the description of one character who lived in this village in the days of its prime. It is the village parson. This is one of tlie most beautiful descriptions of one of the most saintly characters found in literature. And the question instantly arises, ''Where did Goldsmith get his model?" A suggested an- swer may be found in the fact that Gold- smith's father was a preacher in the village of this poem; and while there is no positive 74 THE VILLAGE PARSON historic evidence to determine this point, we may infer that just as the village of his youth suggested the village of the poem, so the father of his youth suggested the parson of the poem. Mrs. Hodson, a sister of Gold- smith, believed the ''parson" to be a por- trait of the father. If this is the case, here is one of the finest compliments ever paid by a son to his father. It is suggestive of an incident in the life of General Lew Wal- lace. In ''Ben Hur" he portrayed a beauti- ful character, the mother. When the book was finished Wallace requested his step- mother to read the story, and asked for her opinion. She replied that the book was a beautiful, rare story, and that the character of t'he mother was magnificent. And then she said, "Son, how in the world did you ever get your conception of a mother like that ? ' ' The son replied, ' ' Mother, do n 't you know it is a picture of your own dear self?" And if the father of Goldsmith had asked where his son got his conception of the vil- lage parson, he could doubtless have said, 75 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE ''Father, it is a picture of your own dear self." That father's influence doubtless had more to do with the successful outcome of the waj-ward boy's life than we know. What would have been the ultimate end of such a reckless nature had it not been steadied by a vision of a father saintly and good? Per- haps the good had been entirely submerged and Goldsmith's name had never been known; for visions of such parents' lives have a wonderful restraining influence on the lives of reckless children. This incident was once related in an ad- dress by the Rev. Newell Dwight Hillis : ''Recently an old man gave us the story of his wonderful career. In an hour of temp- tation he determined to disappear from his home and city, to forswear every duty, and to turn his back on honor. In his madness he went to the railway station, for the new career was now to begin. But suddenly, as he stepped from the carriage, he thought he saw his old father, long since dead, standing in 76 THE VILLAGE PARSON the door of the station. The father lifted his right hand, and the youth lieard a voice say- ing, ' My son, go back ! Go back!' The man turned and fled as though an angel with a flaming sword had waved it in his face. An hour later, and once more he had taken up his accustomed task. But from that day he looked back to the event as to a moment when his feet stood on the edge of a preci- pice. He tells us that forty years have come and gone since that weak hour, and that he still believes that vision was vouchsafed to preserve his soul." To some of us that reads like the history of our own experience, for at the moment of a great temptation, when we were about to enter a pathway of sin and ruin^ the vision of a saintly father or mother has stood across our patliway and said, "Go back!" and we have gone back to honor and a bet- ter life. Here is an obligation of parent- hood, to make possible a vision before the child that shall say in an hour of danger, 77 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE ''Go back." God pity the child who can have no such vision as that because he has no such parents as that! When one reads ''The Deserted Village," it is the picture of the Parson that rises above everytliing else. Goldsmith himself compared this noble life to some tall cliff that lifts its awful form, swelling from the vale and midway leaving the storm-, Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread Eternal sunshine settles on its head." JLtiterally that describes the position of this character as this writer sees it in its re- lation to the rest of the poem. It rises like the tall cliff above the stoinn and clouds of other environments. The decay of sweet Auburn, the character of the stem school- master, the prophesied decay of the land, all sink into the valley beneath the clouds, while the character of the village parson rises into the upper sunshine. Let us note the beauti- ful description and analyze the character and 78 THE VILLAGE PARSON discover the elements which add beauty and greatness to this life. Of the village parson, Goldsmith says: **A man he was to ail the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, And ne'er had chang'd or wish' d to change his place ; Unpracticed he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashion' d to the varying hour; For other aims his heart had learn' d to prize, More skill' d to raise the fallen than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train. He chid their wanderings but relieved their pain ; The long remember' d beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruin'd spendthrift, now no longer proud. Claim' d kindred there, and had his claims allow' d; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. Sate by his fire, and talk'd the night away ; Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done. Shoulder' d his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won. Pleas' d with his guests, the good man learn' d to glow. And quite forgot their vices in their woe : Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e'en his failings lean'd to virtue's side: 79 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE But in his duty prompt at every call, He watch' d and wept, he pray'd and felt for all ; And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledg'd offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reprov'd each dull delay, Allur'd to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid. And sorrow, guilt, and pain, by turns dismay' d, The reverend champion stood. At his control. Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whisper' d praise. At church, with meek and unaffected grace. His looks adorn' d the venerable place ; Truth from hi§ lips prevail' d with double sway. And fools, who came to scoflf, remain'd to pray. The service past, around the pious man. With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; Even children follow' d, with endearing wile, And plucked his gown, to share the good man's smile. His ready smile a parent's warmth exprest, Their welfare pleas' d him, and their cares distrest ; To thera his heart, his love, his griefs, were given. But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. The question may arise as to why the de- scription of the village parson is given such 80 THE VILLAGE PARSON a prominent place in the poem. The answer may not be far to seek when we remember that the parson was perhaps the most promi- nent character in the village. In olden days, even to a greater degree than to-day, the minister was a prominent person in any com- munity. He was a leader in almost every sense; a necessity and fixture. In our study of ''Enoch Arden" it will be remembered we called attention to the fact that the poet gave a place to the mill and the church in his description of the village. In his poem, Goldsmith does the same in the opening lines. It is natural, for these are the essen- tial marks of civilization. As the church and mill are essentials of community life, so the miller and the minister are essentials. Plu- tarch once, after traveling far and wide, came home to remark that he had found cities without walls, literature, coin, or kings— without forum or theater ; but that there was no city, nor would there ever be a city, with- out temple or church. And so the church has ever been prominent, the minister has been 8 81 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE lorominent. Formerly the *' English pulpit combined the functions of the lecture, the hall, library, newspaper, and books," says some one, and truly. The minister was the source of information in all these ways. He was teacher, lecturer, news agent, and preacher combined. His sphere has been narrowed to-day by the growth of books and libraries, by the multiplication of newspa- pers and lecture platform. In keeping with the spirit of the age the minister's work has become more special than general. He is to- day a specialist in Biblical, moral, and spir- itual lines. He is no longer the newspaper or library of a community ; but he is a moral physician, a spiritual light and hope, a right- eous d}Tiamo. It will be noticed that it is in this light that Goldsmith describes the character of the village parson. It is as a moral and spiritual leader; a character so saintly in itself that it stands as an example, exhortation, and inspiration to every one who knew the life. It was in this sense tliat the parson was especially prominent in the vil- 82 THE VILLAGE PARSON lage, and therefore be is prominent in the poem. But the Village Parson is presented at tJiis time for the sake of a study of his char- acter. Hence to the analysis of the charac- ter we apply ourselves. The only adverse criticism which one can imagine as being offered against the charac- ter is that its elements are of the gentle, passive kind rather than the active, aggres- sive kind; and that therefore we have a character effeminate rather than stalwart. But a greater mistake would be difficult to make. Such a criticism is based on the com- mon error that good is allied with weakness, and that wickedness and strength of charac- ter are companions. But such is not the case. It is the reverse of the case. Goodness is streng-th, though it may make no commotion in its manifestation. And wickedness is weakness, though it may make much commo- tion in its manifestation. Men have said that Christ's character lacked the sturdy, heroic elements, such as courage and endur- 83 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE ance, because it is represented as pure and meek and peaceful. But they make a mis- take; for when the need came, Christ gave the greatest exhibition of courage and endur- ance the world has ever seen. Witness the agony of Gethsemane and the crucifixion on Calvary, while in the midst of it all the spirit of the man remained true and unruffled. That was heroism of the highest type. And the truly heroic spirit is stored up in the character that is pure and good and gentle. And when the need comes, such a character will show it has the sterner virtues and has the stuff of which heroes are made. Such is our Village Parson. He has the gentler qualities of a saintly character, but these are only the storehouse of the more fiery virtues. You can trust a man like him anywhere. Place him on a battlefield, where the interests of home and land are at stake, and he will fight like a Phil Sheridan. Place him in a crisis where terrors appall and death lurks near, and he will stand with firm feet and unblanched face, while those you said 84 THE VILLAGE PARSON were possessed of tlie sterner virtues will tremble and seek a coward's retreat. Such a character is the Village Parson. He is a saint with the elements of a hero. He has a worthy reputation. ' ' A man he was to all the country dear." Everybody loved him because everybody spoke well of him; he had a splendid reputation. And herein is a compliment paid not only to the parson, but to the community; for a good reputation is a joint product of a good man and a good people. Have you thought of that? We imagine sometimes that a reputa- tion is determined by the individual himself, but it is not. His character is ; but his repu- tation is determined largely" by the commu- nity, and that because people will see other lives so much in the mirror of their own lives. It would be impossible for.i.an angel to have an unquestioned reputation in a com- munity of devils; they would see the angel in the mirror of their own lives. Christ did not have a firstrclass reputation with some people. They said He was in league with 85 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE Beelzebub. They said it because they were themselves in league with Beelzebub. And so it often happens that a good man is given a bad name, slandered, because of the bad- ness in which he lives. We can't always de- termine our reputation, but we can deter- mine our character; and it is a comfort to remember that Almighty God doesn't care a fig about the reputation, but He does care everything about the character. Now, the Village Parson was fortunate in having a good reputation; but he was more fortunate in having a good character. There is but one expression that will fitly de- scribe this character, and that is, ''The Saintly Character." There are many traits of character here, but the tenn saintly may include them all. Here are such virtues as purity, love, charity, truth, faith, holy influence. It is a saintly life; the kind we admire, though we may not realize the ideal; the kind which makes a community rich, though its worth may go un- noted. 86 THE VILLAGE PARSON Notice the Parson's integrity— absolute Tightness. Here is a man clean, honest, trust- worthy. He has passed the point of com- promise with any form of worldliness or wrong. "E'en his failings leaned to virtue's side." What a volume of history is written in those words! Write them in your mind and heart, and if you remember nothing more of this address or of the Village Par- son, remember this: He was the man of whom it wa,s said, ''E'en his failings leaned to virtue's side." Here is a confession we must all make — failings are our heritage in this life. None of us is absolutely perfect. When any one preaches the doctrine of a per- fection that releases from all defects and fail- ings, he is witnessing against himself that he is ignorant of the Bible and human nature. We will have failings. But here is the re- deeming consideration: we can, if we will, ordain that these failings lean to the side of virtue rather than vice. Better be criticised for leaning too far toward right than too far toward wrong; and it will be for one or the 87 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE other you will be criticised. If it is a ques- tion of intemperance, better be called a tee- totaler than a moderate drinker. The results are mucli better. Doctor Torrey in one of his addresses gives this testimony: "I recall a moderate drinker who I don't think was ever intoxicated in his life. He despised a drunkard, but he laughed at the abstainer. That man had three sons. Every one of the three became a drunkard." Better had it been for him to have been called a teetotaler! If it is a question of honesty, better be called too scrupulous than dishonest. If it is a question of religion, better be called too careful of conduct than be classified with a crowd of worldlings. AYhen you are passed the way of all the world there is no more glorious tribute that can be chiseled in the marble above your dust than this, "His fail- ings leaned to virtue's side," for in that all may read a life clean, honest, true. Unselfishness is prominent here. He was unselfish in his ambition and possessions,— "rich at forty pounds (two hundred dollars) 88 THE VILLAGE PARSON per year." * ' Unpracticed to seek for power by doctrines fashioned to the varying hour. ' ' Not his desire was it to be the builder of a city, or the leader of an army, or the master of millions, or by the achievement of some great feat to have his name forever inscribed on the pages of history. His spirit was like the Master's, of whom a great skeptic said, "No man allowed the interests of humanity to predominate over the interests of self-love so much as He." The Village Parson had caught the Master's spirit. Up Calvary's side with his Lord he had marched and nailed self-interests to the tree, and as self-interests were crucified, humanity's interests were res- urrected. So there grew up the spirit, too, of altruism. Altruism is prominent here, and this is but the reverse side of unselfishness— and these two are philanthropy. Philanthropy is an open hand, the back of which is unself- ishness, the palm of which is altruism. The Village Parson was a philanthropist. He had altruism. ''To relieve the wretched was 89 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE liis pride." "He watched, and wept, and prayed, and felt for all." He ser\^ed. And here is a great crying need of the present day; a service not for self utterly, but for others much. The world is self-crazy. It has forgotten the brother. Man has forgotten that he is his brother's keeper. He has for- gotten that he ha^ a brother. This is the crime for which our brothers' blood will cry out against many of us at the bar of God. He who is blessed with time and talent, and uses it all on self while the world suffers, is guilty. He who has money and spends it all on self and none for the good of mankind, is a sinner before God. The commonest sin of the world is selfishness. It is the sin of which the saloonkeeper is guilty. The gam- bler is guilty of it. The thief and murderer are guilty of selfishness. Christians who have a good time, while God's cause halts and the world himgers, are guilty of it. It is the common sin. Refreshing is it to find a man like this, of whom it may be said, "To relieve the wretched was his pride." 90 THE VILLAGE PARSON Godliness was the climax of liis character. God was his theme. To lead to God was his business. *'A11 his serious thoughts had rest in heaven." He "allured to brighter worlds and led the way." Here was a man who had friendly intercourse with God. Like the te- legrapher who sits at his key and feels that the clicking sounds are registered off yonder in the silence and distance, he lived at the keyboard of prayer, and when he touched the instrument he knew that off yonder in the station by the Throne the message was re- ceived; and as he waited, back the answer came. We talk of wireless telegraphy as though it were something new. It is not new; it is as old as the ages. With it Abra- ham sent his petition flying over the doomed city of Sodom. Moses by it flung his voice far beyond Sinai's flaming summit; John by it sent his word across the sea of glass. By it to-day from all points of the compass the prayers leap to the common receiving station at the courts of our God, and answers com© back again. Our serious thoughts, too, may 91 THE GOSPEL IX LITERATURE find rest in heaven. And tlius are earth and heaven linked together. The saiatly life must be a life of prayer. Such lives as these are those which men love and ujDon which God can depend. When one reads a description like this and lays the book aside and sits in silence a moment, he almost expects to hear a voice from the heav- ens saying, ''This is a beloved son in whom I am well pleased," for we feel that God is pleased with and can depend on a life like this. A traveler crossing the ocean recently was / caught in a bad stonn, and relates this ex- perience. He, being a little alarmed, went up to the captain and said, '* 'Cap, can we weather it?' 'Put your ear to that tube,' was the reply. I did so, and could hear the steady 'chug' of the engines as they per- formed tlieir full dutv. 'Down there ' he said, 'is the chief engineer, and he^^elieves in me. I 'm up here, and I believe in him. I rather guess we '11 ride this blow out.' " The traveler adds: "I did not Worry anj 92 THE VILLAGE PARSON more. With two such men standing together for safety of ship and passengers, I was con- ] tent to go to my stateroom and sleep as if ) I were on land." i When God can point to a man down here and say, ' ' There is a man I believe in, ' ' and that man can point np and say, ''There is a God I believe in," you have a combination that guarantees safety and service. Let the vessel of the Church be manned thus, let any righteous cause be manned thus, and the out- ; come is assured. God is ever trustworthy, but what He wants is men,— men. whom He can trust, men who are saintly men. 0, for saintly men! We need them to walk through the ranks of society, that iniq- uity-smitten men may touch the hem of their garments and feel a new virtue in their lives„ We need them to stand in the realm of poli- tics with faces transformed and garments glistening with honor and truth, until greed and graft shall become fearful and afraid and hide their faces in shame. We need them to walk down the aisle of business, exerting 93 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE the i^ower of righteous influence until from tlie bosom of unscrupulous men the demons of dishonesty, deception, and trickery shall run to drown themselves in a sea of dark- ness. But the road to that saintly life is the one the Village Parson traveled. There is no other. It is the road of faith and prayer taught in God's Word. Let me therefore commend to all this Word as the text-book and guide for the saintly life. Some one has called it the book of two pages, a red page and a white page. The red page is the blood of Christ, the white one the holiness of God. True. Read the red page, and you see the cleansing from unrighteousness, for the blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth from all sin. Read the white page, and you see the saintly char- acter; we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is. This Book is the way. All the good have trod this pathway. The saints of ages gone, the village parson and all his kind, your fathers, your mothers have read the page of red and the page of white; and 94 THE VILLAGE PARSON reading, have been made whole. Dear old Book! Precious Book! Mother's Book, fa- ther's Book. In it you learn the way to the saintly character here— the way of life here- after. The saintly life possessed here is eter- nal life possessed herafter. 95 IV THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL; OR, THE SACRAMENT OF DAILY SERVICE THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL; OR, THE SACRAMENT OF DAILY SERVICE Bishop Quayle in his 'Mean Valjean" says: ** Christ lias slipped upon tlio world as a tide slips up the shores, unnoted, in the night; and because we did not see Him come— His presence is not apparent. Nothing is so big with joy to Christian thought as the absolute omnipresence of Christ in the world's life." Let us grasp this thought of the omnipres- ence of God in the world's life. When the scientist searches far in nature he finds much of God and comes back to tell us God is everywhere. And when the student of lit- erature searches the libraries of the Chris- tian nations for nineteen centuries past, he finds much of the story and the spirit of the 99 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE Christ and comes back to tell us the Christ- tide has been slipping up the shores of the centuries and that it has come into the thought and books of men until the world is full of it. The world of letters is big with the spirit of Christ. There is a strange legend of a world that grew colorless in a single night. The color faded from the sky ; the sea became pale and motionless ; the green vanished from the grass and the color from the flowers ; the fire died from the diamond, and the pearl lost its light. Nature put on her robes of mourn- ing, and the people who lived there became sad and afraid. A world had lost its life and light. If to-night, with one sweej^ of the arm, you brush from literature the Christ, the scenes and suggestions from His life, the spirit which He exhibited, the principles for which He stood, you would have a world made colorless in a night. It would be the world of letters, for Christ is the color thereof. This truth is forcefully illustrated in the themes we have presented in the pre- 100 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL ceding pages. Take the Christlike love out of ''Enoch Arden," and what have you left? Take the Christlike faith and prayer from ''The Cotter's Saturday Night," and the Christlike character from the Village Par- son, and you have nothing left but faded flowers. And what shall we say of the "Vi- sion of Sir Launfal!" Whatever our inter- pretation may be, we all agree it is full of the Christ. Take Christ from it, and you have left only a soulless thing. ' ' The Vision of Sir Launf al ' ' has its roots deeply buried in the soil of history and po- etry, and to understand the nature of the poem we must know something of the soil. The background of the poem is the old leg- end of the "Holy Grail." The Holy Grail was the cup which the Lord used in the last supper on the night before crucifixion. An ancient legend declared this cup was secured by Joseph of Arimathea, who wished to pre- serve something which belonged to Christ and who brought it to England, where it was handed down from generation to generation, 101 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE being committed to those whose lives were holy. But in the course of time the cup came into unholy hands and was lost. Thenceforth it became a favorite task of the knights of those days of chivalry to go in quest of the Holy Grail. Legendary accounts of these quests became rife. They employed the im- agination of poets and historians, who in their accounts mingled fact with legend and romance until it became difficult to distin- guish one from the other. In the sixth centuiy lived a semi-legen- dary king known as King Arthur, who formed in his court a round table, where he assembled many noble knights who per- fonned many noble achievements. There are legends of the attempts of these knights to find the Holy Grail. From the legendary ac- counts of this round table Tennyson wrote his ''Idyls of the King," among which is the search for the Holy Grail. It was from Ten- nyson's Holy Grail that Lowell received in- spiration for ''The Vision of Sir Launfal." In Tennyson's "Holy Grail" the knights 102 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL give themselves to a year's search for the Grail, and three of them are able to catch a vision of it ; one only is able to possess it, Galahad. And here is the pivotal point upon which the story turns. Two were not able to possess, because in the two there was too much of sin and self. But the third found the Grail, because he had been willing to lose himself to find it. In the castle of the king there was a chair known as Merlin's chair, in which, if one sat, he lost himself. Galahad had sat within the chair, for he would lose himself to find the Grail. Here is the great thought of the search for the Grail— the los- ing of self. And this, too, is a chief thought in ''The Vision of Sir Launfal." It was after reading the * ' Holy Grail ' ' of Tennyson that Lowell began writing ''The Vision of Sir Launfal." He wrote in the heat of inspired passion. He himself had caught a vision ; for it is difiicult to read the *'Holy Grail" without catching a vision and feeling a new inspiration. Lowell wrote un- der inspiration. In about two days this 103 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE splendid poem in its finished form came from his heart and pen, and it is said in its pro- duction he hardly took time to eat or rest. In the glow of his insj^iration he produced a work which is at once a poem, a philosophy, and a theolog5^ It is profound ; so profound that a casual reading will not reveal its riches. They, like diamonds and gold, must be searched for. It will be an aid to our un- derstanding of the poem if we give an analy- sis and explanation of it before we enter deeper into its philosophy. The poem may be divided roughly into five divisions. First is the approach, con- sisting of the first verse only. Then there is a prelude to part one, followed by part one itself, as the poet has arranged it. Then a prelude to part two, followed by part two itself. Or, to put it in another way, the poem consists of the approach, two introduc- tions, and two parts ; five divisions in all. The approach. This is the first stanza. We have given it a separate division because it has no essential connection with the theme 104 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL of the poem, but is rather a description of the poet's approach to the theme. It pic- tures a musician at his instrument, letting his fingers wander dreamily over the keys un- til the very inspiration of the sounds causes the birth of a more definite music in his soul, and his wandering, dreamy notes are called in from far awav and made to do service in expressing the real theme of his soul. Thus the poet approaches the theme of his produc- tion. Beginning far away and indefinitely, it comes nearer and nearer and becomes clearer, and under the inspiration of his dreaming he is able to create and produce the theme of this splendid poem. But the poem itself is a picture of inspired effort and achievement, so that a chain of inspiration runs through the first part of the poem. The organist is inspired to his theme by the sound of his music. The poet is inspired to his i^roduction by the voices of legend from afar and of nature and life near. And Sir Launf al is inspired to his task by the beauty and brightness of a June day. This is the 105 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE general method of approach. The first stanza with the musician is the suggestion of it. The introduction to part one continues the thought of inspiration as it concerns the quest of Sir Launfal. The argument runs somewhat like this. Not only in our infancy, as another poet has said, do heavenly inspira- tions lie about us, but over our manhood the skies still bend. Heavenly influences are still present. They are freely given. Other in- fluences cost a price. ''Earth gets its price for what Earth gives us. " ' ' 'T is heaven alone that is given away, 't is only God may be had for the asking." And one of heaven's richest free gifts is a June day. ' ' June may be had by the poorest comer." ''And what is so rare as a day in June?" It is heavenly inspiration abundant. It is this inspiration of the June day that causes the knight, Sir Launfal, to undertake his search for the Holy Grail ; and under that inspiration he prepares for the keeping of his vow and the beginning of his quest. Thus the introduction ends. 106 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL Part one opens with Sir Launfal order- ing his spurs and richest mail, for to-morrow he will go over land and sea in search of the Holy Grail. But to-night he will sleep, not on a soft pillow, but on a bed of rushes, hop- ing that before the morning comes some vi- sion will be vouchsafed him which will serve as a guide in his quest for the Holy Grail. The vision came. The vision is given in the poem as naturally as though it were real his- tory; and we may, for the sake of the truth taught, forget it was a vision and think of the story as real. Summer sunshine and beauty are every- where as Sir Launfal rides forth from the castle— everywhere except in the castle itself. But it, with its cold wall, its dark towers, and closed gates, stands as an "outpost of win- ter, dark and gray." From the dark tower Sir Lamifal dashes forth, mounted on his best charger, his armor glistening as though it had gathered up all the rays of the sum- mer sun and flashed them forth in one mighty blaze. It is summer everywhere. But as Sir 107 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE Launfal rides forth he notes by the sidi of the castle gate a leper crouching on the earth and begging witli outstretched palm. What will the knight with the noble motive in his soul of finding the Holy Grail do now? You get the answer in a feeling of loathing which fills his soul, while the flesh beneath the ar- mor begins to creep in its disgust, and he tosses the beggar a piece of gold in scorn. He rides on, but the voice of the beggar sounds in his ear, speaking a new philosophy of charity. The substance of the philosophy is this : The gold that is given from sense of duty is worthless. That is no true alms which the hand can hold. That is the true alms, though it be small, which is given to ''that which is out of sight." ''That which is out of sight." Ah, what is "that which is out of sight!" Not a hungry mouth or a naked body. It is that cord of divinity which runs through human nature and binds all men together as brothers. We speak of the brotherhood of man. On what is it based? Not on blood or color; not on posi- 108 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL tion or condition; not on wealth or educa- tion : but on this, that we are all sons of God. There is in all our natures that divine ele- ment which is the common cord which binds us all as brothers. In this are we brothers, not that we have a face that is white or yel- low or black; not that we have a blood that is blue, or a common education or position; but because we have a common divine ele- ment—are sons of God. This is ''that thread of all sustaining Beauty which runs through all and doth all unite." Runs through leper f Yes. Through knight ? Yes, through all. Ah, brother, learn that truth and make it operative in your life, and you have found the Holy Grail. And Sir Laun- fal hears the words of this philosophy ring- ing in his ears; and he will find the Holy Grail now, for the beggar has pointed out the way, and Sir Launfal can not forget. The curtain falls on Sir Launfal awhile. In the Prelude to Part Two we have a different scene. It is winter. A beautiful and complete description of a December day 109 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE is now given in contrast with the June day. A cold wind sweeps down from the upper mountain snows five thousand summers old. The brook builds him a home of ice in which to hide himself. The descrii:)tion of the win- ter palace of ice is one of the literary ex- cellencies of the 23oem. The winter scene has no outpost of suimner in the castle. It is winter everywhere. In the hall are song and laughter, and the merry light from the yule log fire; but tlie castle's cold walls and grim towers stand like sentinels at home in the presence of the winter's frost. Sir Launfal is a part of the winter scene. But the years have passed now, and it is winter in his life. After years of wandering he has come back. The long gray locks of Sir Launfal's hair furnish a harp upon which the wintry winds play and sing a cheerless song, and the re- frain of it is, ''Shelterless, shelterless, shel- terless." And this wanderer approaches the castle which was once his own, only to be or- dered away by the stem voice of a steward whose scorn is as great as that Sir Launfal 110 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL had shown when he tossed the coin to the leper. And so all night he sat before the castle gate, his condition made more comfort- less by the light from the hall fire as it flashed through tlie window slits of the old castle. In Part Tivo we see Sir Launfal again going forth from the castle, not as a young knight in flasliing armor, but an old man turned with scorn as a beggar from a door which once had been his own. He is a differ- ent man now. Formerly there was a cross blazoned on his coat of armor, a badge of his knighthood. Now another badge he wears, for deep in his soul he wears the sign of the suffering and the poor. But as he goes, behold ! there is a leper crouching at the road- side begging an alms. What will Sir Laun- fal do now? We saw what he did when, as knight, he rode forth from that castle gate years ago. What will he do now! There is no loathing feeling now or creeping of the flesh in repulsion. Sir Launfal sees the leper, ''lank as a rain-bleached bone;" but 111 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE he sees more. He has a new vision now. He sees in him an image of Him who died on the tree. He sees a divine element in the leper ; they are brothers. Three persons are now in the gronp by the roadside: the leper, Sir LaunfaJ, and the Christ; and there is a cord that binds the three in one, and they are brothers. Sir Launfal faces the Christ, and says: "Mild Mary's Son, acknowledge me; Behold through him I give to Thee." And not with scorn, but with brotherly love, he divides with the leper the last crust of bread, breaks the ice on the stream, and from a wooden bowl gives him to drink. And a light shines round the place. The leper seems transformed, and a voice softer than silence says, "Lo, it is I;" and then the voice declares that the Holy Grail for which he had sought in vain was found in the spirit of the act performed, not an alms tossed in scorn, but a brotherly deed done in the name of Christ, accompanied by the giving of self. 112 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL The words with which the Christ commends Sir Launfal have become immortal: Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, — Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me." So the vision closed. The Grail is dis- covered in vision, but the effect is real. Sir Launfal awakes, and the grim castle which had repelled summer is compelled to throw its gates wide open. Sir Launfal shares his earldom with his serfs, for they are brethren. "The meanest serf on Sir Launfal' s land Has hall and bovver at his command. And there 's no poor man in the North Countree But is Lord of the earldom as much as he." But what is the meaning of all this? What would the poet teach? AVhat philoso- phy and theology here are found? The vi- sion is a parable; and as the parables of Jesus had their meaning, so this. Perhaps the meaning will be clearer by asking some preliminary questions. What is the Holy Grail? Who is Sir Launfal? What is the search in the philosophy of the poem? 8 113 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE What is the Holy Grail? Historically it was the cup from which Jesus drank at the Last Supper; and this literal cup furnished an object of quest for the chivalry of the days of King Arthur. But evidently Lowell gives it a figurative application. In the poem be- fore us it is not the cup for which Launfal seeks; it is something for which the cup stands. Evidently, from the contents of the poem, it is an ideal of life that is sought; a true ideal, as contrasted with the false. Let us call it the Christlike life; that ideal of right existence exhibited in the spirit of Christ. It is the spirit of Christ: it is the Christ Himself. It is a Christ life which is the ideal life. Call it the Christ if you will. Call it salvation. It is the same. Who is Sir Launfal? Lowell himself gives a hint in the Author's Notes. He says there he has enlarged the circle of competi- tion. He includes more than knights. Every man is included. Launfal is the idealization of the universal man. Every man is he ; any man is he. 114 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL What is the search? In the light of what has been said the search appears as the at- tempt of the individual to rise above the nat- ural base or inferior life and become pos- sessed of the higher life, the ideal life; the saved life as it is exhibited in the life and spirit of Christ. In the interpretation of this vision fur- ther we may differ somewhat from the usual interpretation. The usual interpretation is that it is an attempt to reveal the true idea of charitv as contrasted with the false. The conmion idea of charity is to give an alms to the needy, perhaps with contempt, as Sir Launfal did at first. But the true idea is to give the self with the gift, as he did at last. For ''the gift without the giver is bare." So the interpretation runs. This truth is certainly taught in the vision; but there is something more important which lies back of the theme of charity. Again, others interpret the vision as ex- hibiting the idea of universal brotherhood. The conception of the divine element in man 115 THE GOSPEL IN LITEliATUiiE furnishing a cord wliich binds all men ay brothers is the theme some tell us. And again we will admit the truth; for the thought is prominent that the leper and knight were brothers to each other and to Christ. But again we must say that there is a theme tliat lies back of the brotherhood idea as well as the charity idea. The vision is a portrayal of the transformation of a life, and the idea of charity and brotherhood are prominent incidents to that transformation. But it is the transformation primarily that concerns us. In the vision it is not the proc- ess or method of transformation that is ex- hibited, but rather the fact and effect of transformation of life. In the fact and the effect the poet sees the method of social re- generation. The fact of transformation is impressed in the striking contrasts of the story. In the first scene Sir Launfal is a picture of the natural (unregenerate) untransformed life. He has ambitions poorly founded. He would seek the Grail, not for any particular good, 116 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL but for a pastime and for the honor there might be in its discovery. Moreover, he is selfish and heartless. All nature is clothed in beauty, but his heart is not beautiful. When he sees a beggar he is disgusted and his flesh creeps. He does an act of external charity, but spoils it with the scorn of his heart. He is narrow and unsympathetic; as heartless and cold as the grim castle which has successfully resisted the sunshine and summer which have tried in vain to enter. The cold castle is itself a type of Sir Laun- f al 's life. He has resisted the bright, whole- some influence which would transform his heart. But look at Sir Launfal in the next scene, as he comes back an old man. The change in years is only a suggestion of the change in spirit. Sir Launfal is different within as well as without. No false ambitions sway him. He is humble. He has learned much. A new spirit possesses him. It is the spirit of love. Love for man and love for God. Whether Sir Launfal recognized it or not, 117 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE when he found that spirit of love and brother- hood he found the Grail. But he has the spirit now. He sees the leper not with scorn, but compassion. He is not content to toss a coin in scorn, but in love he divides his crust of bread and gives a cup of water in the Master's name. Mark you, it was unto the Master the deed was done— "through Him I give to thee." The divine element seen in Christ is likewise seen in the beggar, and to Christ in him (rather to Christ through him) he gives. Here is a different man ; here is a life transformed, and the sub- stance of the transformation is this, that the individual selfishness is lost in universal brotherliness and Christlikeness ; and that is salvation. As the poet here does not suggest the process by which this transformation occurs, we will leave that point untouched. Fill it in with your imagination or your theologj'-, and let us pass on with the poet to the ef- fect of the transformation. This effect is seen in two ways, in character and conduct. 118 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL In character Sir Laimfal is different. He is humble, sympathetic, kind. More, he has a new conception of his relation to man and God. To the leper he says, ''I behold in thee an image of Him who died on the tree." He could not say that before. Now he could see a brother and the Christ in a beggar. But in conduct, too, he is different. Now he gives hiniself in service, not a coin. A kind word is spoken, bread is given, need is re- lieved; a brother is served. And that this thought of service as a result of the trans- formed life is chief with the poet, is shown in the thought presented in closing— a de- scription of the castle in the last verse. The gate stands open, summer is on, birds sing, the poor come and find a home there, and Sir Launfal makes his earldom to do service for needy brothers. Thus in the poet's idea the effect of the transformed life — the Christ life found, which is the Holy Grail — is a changed character, a new conduct, a blessed community, man a Christlike servant of his fellow-man. 119' THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE The great mission of this poem from the practical standpoint is to emphasize the les- son that the true Christian life, or saved life, must express itself in service, and that broth- erly service is a sacrament as pleasing to the Lord as partaking of the elements of His shed blood and broken body. And it is a lesson the world has needed sadly to learn, for it is one the world has ignored. As a matter of fact, the old conception of the ef- fect of salvation was to gain heaven merely. Study ''The Holy Grail" of Tennyson and you find that when Sir Galahad found the Holy Grail he was immediately translated into heaven by an escort of angels. That was the idea of the past, that one was saved to escape hell and reach heaven. But the idea of Lowell is different, and so with Christ. One is saved to become a servant of others; to be another Christ, by suffering and sympathy to enter the lives of others and bring them to a higher life. And this is the gospel of Christ. That man whose idea is to be saved merely to escape hell and reach 120 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL heaven has not learned the a-b-c of the Chris- tian life. Nor has one reached the supreme evidence of salvation until he is possessed of a genuine desire to know God in serving men. The watchword of this age is, ^'Ser\^- ice to my brother." You who are failing here are missing the real essence of Chris- tianity. The Church has its fields of labor for all; you may help bear her burdens and do her work; you may by your talents and money in a hundred ways serve men and honor God. Let us give this parable a personal ap- plication. Heaven lies around us in our in- fancy ; and not only so, but in manhood heav- enly influences daily urge us to be our bet- ter selves, to seek the Christ life. You have felt them, brother. It was summer in your soul. The good mounted upward. But may- hap you followed tlie inspiration in a wrong waj^ and thought the better life reached by some external act. Not so. The road to it is only through a transformed within. And that transformation comes only when one has 121 / THE GOSPEL IN LITERATUKE been willing to discard sin and selfishness and to lose himself individually in the gen- eral brotherhood of the race; when one re- ally, by faith in God, sinks self in the sea of divinity which unites man with man and man with God. And when one has thus lost himself he suddenly finds liimself in a large capacity ; he has become a savior to the rest of the brotherhood and gives himself in daily service. And this is The Sacrament of the Christian life most worthy to exalt— daily service. Carlyle once sat in a window overlooking the crowded streets of London and wrote, ''There are four million people in London, mostly fools." There may have been some truth in his statement, but nearer the truth would it have been had he said, ''Four mil- lion, mostly sufferers," for the city and coun- try are full of people who are needy and hungry, not for bread, but for human love and sjTnpathy. Let us look at a typical pic- ture from real life. A little fellow, four years old, was 122 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL brought from the shims to a Chicago orphans ' home. AMien he was brought upstairs to be i put in bed, had his bath, and tlie matron \ opened up the sweet httle cot to put him be- | tween clean white sheets, he looked on in amazement. He said, "Do you want me to \^ get in there?" "Yes." "What for?" "Wliy, ' you are going to sleep there." He was / amazed beyond description. The idea of go- ] ing to sleep in such a place as that — he did 1 not know what to make of it. He had never \ slept in a bed in his life before ; never. / He was put to bed, and the matron kissed him good-night— a little bit of a chap, only four years old; and he put up his hand and rubbed off the kiss. He said, "What did you j do that for?" But the next morning he said, "Would you mind doing that again— what you did to me last night?" He had never been kissed before and did not know any- thing about it. It was only about a week later, the ma- tron said, that the little fellow would come around three or four times a day and look 123 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE up with a pleading expression in his face and say, ** Would you love a fellow a little?'* After a few weeks a lady came to the home to get a child. She was looking for a boy ; so the matron brought along the little chap, and the lady looked at him. She said, "Tommy, wouldn't you like to go home with me?" He looked right down at the floor. She said, ''I will give you a hobby-horse and lots of playthings, and you will have a real nice time, and I will give you lots of nice things to do." He looked right straight at the floor— did not pay any attention to her at all. She kept talking, persuading him, and by and by the little fellow looked up into her face and said, ''Would you love a fellow a little?" There is a tremendous pathos in that. That is the yearning of the world, after all— for somebody who will love a fellow a little. And Christ has given the world its sublimest response to that yearning in the life of love which had its climax on Calvary. But the Christian is called to love a little, too. 124 THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL And we find our Holy Grail ; we possess our transformed lives in order that day by day we may partake of the sacrament of broth- erly service. And this is the gospel of Christ. I am my brother's keeper. Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. And He whose life has been epit- omized in the statement that He went about doing good, said, "I have given you an ex- ample, that ye should do as I have done to you. ' ' In Ralph Connor's book, *'The Doctor," tbere is the character of a depraved gambler who is converted; his life is transformed. He hungers to reach others of his class, and finally one of the worst of his former com- panions comes to seek from him the better way. The converted gambler is poor at ex- planation; he can not tell the how, but he knows the fact. And so he simply puts a New Testament in the hands of his friend and tells him he can bank on that book. The rough mountaineer read the story and teach- ing of Christ, and one day the story got hold 125 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE of him and he pressed the book reverently to his lips and said, ''I 'm agoin' to follow that trail." That is the trail for all to take —the trail of the life transformed through Christ, and which, transformed, seeks the transformation of another. For such service the world is dying; for such love the world is hungering. As followers of Christ, it is ours to love much and serve much. The Master has said, ''Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye have done it unto Me." 126 V THE PRISONER OF CHILLON; OR, THE CHRISTIAN'S DEBT TO THE PAST THE PRISONER OF CHILLON; OR, THE CHRISTIAN'S DEBT TO THE PAST In his ''Tlianatopsis" W. C. Bryant declares that *'all that tread the globe are but a hand- ful to the tribes that slumber in its bosom;" the earth itself is ''the great tomb of man." There is more than poetry in this declara- tion. The life of to-day is founded on the death of yesterday. The feet of the living tread the dust of the dead. When we build our structures high in the air we first sink their foundations deep into the earth. We recognize the relation between the height and the depth because we can see it. It is tangible. But it is just as true, though not as easily recognized, that the im- material structures of society to-day have 9 129 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE their foundations deep in the soil of yester- day. Do we boast of liberty? It is founded on the servitude and struggle of yesterday. Do we cry peace anon ? It is conditioned on the war and blood of bygone days. Are we proud of the civilization of our land and age? It has come up, like the white-robed host, through great tribulation. It owes much to the toil and conflicts of the generations of the past. Do we talk freely of our Chris- tianity and her worth to the world? Let us remember that her foundations go back to Gethsemane, where the sweat-drops issued in blood, and to Calvary, where the blood gath- ered in a stream which flowed for the heal- ing and saving of the world. And let us re- member that all through the years the struc- ture has been enlarged by the blood and tears and struggles and sufferings of countless martyrs and saints. Christianity is largely indebted to the past. The Christian owes a vast debt to the past. It is the debt of Christianity to the past that is suggested as one reads **The Prisoner 130 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON of Chillon," by Lord Byron. Had our fa- thers been made of less heroic stuff, when the horrors of persecution assailed them they might have played the coward and forsaken the principles which they held, and Chris- tianity might have become a forgotten thing. But our fathers were heroes. They dared to suffer and die for a sacred cause. Their voices come ringing down the years heavy with heroic purpose. "We are the sons and daughters of men who gave their bodies to the flames at the stake and sang triumphant songs while the flesh roasted; of men who at the rack had the life drawn out by pain- ful degrees without a murmur; of men who submitted to the indignities and horrors of a dungeon life, long and cruel, and yet counted it all joy. These, our fathers, were not only heroes, but seers, and they were willing to suffer because they could see that through their suffering there would be trans- mitted to the generations of ages to come the gospel of a crucified Lord, which gospel guar- anteed freedom from the curse of sin and sal- 131 THE GOSPEL IN LITEKATURE vation to the joys of an eternal existence. The dead bodies of Egj^pt were preserved embalmed in linen folds with ointments of myrrh and cassia and chemicals. But the liv- ing gospel of Jesus has come down to us pre- served in the pain of many martyrs and anointed with tears of much sorrow. Lord Byron, the author of ''The Prisoner of Chillon," is another of the great English poets for whose life we must apologize while we praise his work. AVhen a boy he was, like Burns, unusual in his attachments to the opposite sex. From the ages of eight to eleven he had passionate affection for several girl idols. Had that early passion been prop- erly restrained and directed, the later life of Byron might have been different. One can not read his life and of his parentage with- out feeling that this boy suffered from lack of parental influence. His father was a reck- less profligate, who squandered his fortune at the gambling table. The home life was un- liappy and resulted in a separation between the father and mother. It is said that even 132 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON after the separation the mother treated the son with alternate affection and violence. Evidently at an age when sorely in need of wise counsel and a directing hand, he was neglected. At any rate that early passion de- veloped to a marked degree. Poor boy ! He little knew of the volcanic fires slumbering deep in his nature, suggested by that abnor- mal attachment to tlie opposite sex. At this trait parents so often smile. God forbid! It is common for parents to wink at the fore- tokens of danger seen in their children's lives. Childish love affairs are considered cute and jDractices are encouraged that are hazardous to both refinement and morals. In the spirit of amusement parents encourage a dangerous familiarity between the sexes, and in a short time that familiarity grows to sensuality. It is playing with fire. Parents would be in better business if they would teach the children the spirit of chivaliy in- stead of softness, until girls came to recog- nize the dignity and sacredness of their own position, and boys in the spirit of true 133 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE knighthood came to honor and defend the modesty and purity of girlhood. When Byron grew to manhood and was iwriting some of his earlier poems he was delving into the immoralities and excesses of London society. A little later, in a spas- modic effort at reform, he married an at- tractive yomig woman and lived in marriage just one year. It was an unfortunate, miser- able year for the bride, and at its end she, now a young mother, returned to her father's home and refused to live longer with Byron. These domestic affairs set tongues wag- ging. Byron's virtues and vices were freely aired. Many accusations were made against him. Though guilty, he had some family pride left, and in those days of gossip said: ''My name, which has been a knightly or noble one, since my fathers helped to conquer the kingdom for William the Nonnan, was tainted. I felt that if what was whispered was true, I was unfit for England; if false, England was unfit for me." So he withdrew to Italy, where his life was still licentious, 134 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON and, as a biographer has said, ''His genius was tainted by his indulgences." How brightly his star of genius might have shone we shall never know. It was obscured by sin. His own death was doubtless hastened by his wayward life, and he died at the age of thirty-six years— in the prime of life— but his manhood burned out. Just three months before his death he wrote a poem known as ''Byron's Latest Verses," in which he de- scribed his own sad condition. Every young man on the road to license and sin should stop long enough to read these verses of Byron. They are the words of a man who has gone that way and learned what the end is. Let me quote these lines: My days are in the yellow leaf. The flowers and fruits of love are gone; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone. I know of no more dismal testimony in literature than that, ' ' My days are in the yel- low leaf"— it is fall time. What, fall of the year at thirty-six? Sin speeds at an awful 135 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE pace! ''The flowers and fniits of love are gone." Ah, here is poverty indeed. The flowers of love in his own life withered. How barren must that life be that has not pure soil enough to grow one flower of love ! The fruits, too, are missing! No love of child or wife or friend or home to cheer. No smile of God to bless. But wait. There is a heri- tage left, ''The worm, the canker, and the grief. ' ' The worm, how it gnaws ! The can- ker, how it eats! The grief, how it pains! But these, and these alone, are the heritage of a man who has traveled the way of license and sin. Ah, as we listen to this testimony of a mined life we hear, too, the voice of Holy Writ saying, "There is a way which seemeth right unto man, but the end thereof is death ; " it is the way of sin. "The Prisoner of Chillon" was written by Byron during his sojourn in Switzerland, after his separation from his wife and depar- ture from England for the last time. The poem has an historic background. While the prisoner of the poem is a creation of Byron's 136 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON imagination, the prison is a reality. The prisoner, while imaginative, is yet a type of many who suffered for their faith, and the experiences through which he passed may be accepted as historically true in the lives of many noble martyrs. But the prison itself stood as described in the poem, and so stands to-day. It is located on the east shore of the famous Lake Geneva, called Leman by the Romans. The prison proper, or dungeon, is located in Chillon Castle, which is builded on a lonely rock near the east end of the lake, and is almost entirely surrounded by water. The castle and dungeon are exceedingly old, having been built centuries ago. The Geneva patriot Bonnivard, so the records show, was confined in this dungeon as early as 1530, but the dungeon itself dates back much fur- ther than that. From this confinement Byron got his idea of the Prisoner. The dungeon with its darkness, coldness, and loneliness stands in striking contrast with the beauty of the scenery about it, for Lake Geneva is noted for its beauty. For centuries the beau- 137 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE ties of this spot have been celebrated, and to- day a constant stream of beauty-lovers pours into Lake Geneva. From the lake the im- mortal Mont Blanc is plainly visible, though forty miles away ; and its white, snow-capped summit is often seen reflected in the deej^ly blue waters of Lake Geneva. Byron visited Switzerland and Geneva in 1816 and beheld the lonely dungeon, whose walls were washed by the waters of the beau- tiful lake. His imagination was aroused by what he beheld, and he wrote the now well- known poem, ''The Prisoner of Chillon." In the poem the Prisoner is spokesman. He tells his own story and makes his own horrible description of suffering. He begins abruptly : My hair is white, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night As men's have grown with sudden fears," and thus the poet psychologically prepares the reader for a story of unusual interest. 138 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON Hair whitened, not with years nor with fears ! What, then, is the cause? The mind is thrown intO' a state of expectancy. The ques- tion of the aroused mind is answered a little further on, when the poet makes the prisoner say, ''But this was for my father's faith I suffered chains and courted death. ' ' Now we have it. Here is to be the story of one who suffered for the faith of his fathers and for loyalty to his father's God. So the story be- gins. The father of the Prisoner perished at the stake for the faith he would not forsake. Six sons were left, and of these all but one, the Prisoner himself, had finally followed the father to a martyr's grave. The sublime spirit of the martyr is suggested in the de- scription of the manner in which these sons met their death, namely, "Proud of persecu- tion's rage." We are made to think here of Polycarp, who welcomed death at the stake, crying: ' ' Six and eighty years have I served Christ, and He never wronged me. How can I now 139 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE forsake Plim, my King and Savior?" and of Hugh Latimer, who shook hands with the flames as they leaped up to lick out his life's blood, and shouted to a fellow martyr through the heat, ' ' Be of good cheer, Ridley ; we shall this day light such a fire in Eng- land as shall never be put out." The spirit of the martyr, "proud of persecution's rage," is a blessed heritage for the Chris- tian of to-day, and should inspire courage and loyalty in the service of the world's Savior. The Prisoner proceeds to tell how the sons met their death: ''One in fire and two in field." This left three, of whom the Pris- oner was one. With the three we are con- cerned in the story. These three were cast into the dungeon of Chillon for their faith in "the God their foes denied." The description of the dungeon is given so vividly we are able to reproduce it in our thought. It is dark, for its walls are tight; only one opening, high and small, admitting one lonely ray of light, which, as the poet 140 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON says, is like a ''suubeam which has lost its way." It is damp. The prison floor is be- low the level of the lake, and sometimes, when the waves dash high, the spray is flung through that narrow opening in the wall to keep company with the sunbeam which has lost its way. It is bare. No wood or stone forms the floor; but the cold, bare earth without a blade of grass forms the resting- place of the captive feet. ''In Chillon's dun- geon deep and old" are seven pillars of stone, to which are attached seven rings, and to the rings seven chains. A capacity for seven the dungeon thus possessed, yet the three broth- ers were the only victims confined therein. Each was chained to his stone column, and the chain was so short no pace could they take, nor touch each other's hand. So dark was it they could not see each other's face. They were three, yet each alone. And yet the one consolation remained of being able to speak each to each through the darkness. The Prisoner of Chillon was the eldest of the three brothers, and so he endeavored to 141 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE become comforter to the others. As they talked their voices seemed to change from day to day, until, their naturalness gone, they sounded like the echoes of the dungeon stone. As the weary weeks wore away the second brother in years pined away and died. When the Prisoner, by the silence, became conscious his brother was dead, in a frenzy he at- tempted to break the chains that bound him and rush to the brother's side; but all in vain. Then came tlie cruel keepers to bury the dead. Right where the body had fallen they digged the grave, and although the Prisoner pleaded that his brother might rest in a grave upon which the sun could shine, there in the dark dungeon they buried him. And the Prisoner dwelt in the presence of two brothers; one dead, one living. But the youngest brother was soon to meet the fate of the second, and he too was struck with death, and the Prisoner saw or rather felt him withering away until all was still. The Prisoner expresses his feelings at that time in these memorable words: 142 THE PRISONER OF CHILLON God, it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood ; 1 've seen it rushing forth in blood ; I 've seen it on the breaking ocean Strive with a swollen, convulsive motion ; I *ve seen the sick and ghostly bed Of sin, delirious with its dead ; But these were horrors — this was woe Unmixed with such, — but sure and slow." It is at tMs point in the story the genius of the poet reaches its climax. With a touch of art which is true to life the poet invests the Prisoner with supernatural power as he lahors under the stress of this second death, and with a Herculean effort he breaks the chain which binds him to his pillar and rushes through the darkness to the pillar where the youngest brother has stood. His own words are, "With one strong bound I rushed to him; I found him not." "I only stirred in this black spot." **I found him not." What pathos, and yet what religious philosophy in the words. The Prisoner found the cold form. He says 143 THE GOSPEL IN LITERATURE be took the hand that lay so still, yet he found him not. It is a statement akin to that of the Savior, who, as He stood over the life- less form of the damsel, said, ''She is not dead." She, " the spirit, was living and im- mortal, though^ th'fe -^bd^y was cold. In the dungeon of Chill on he was not to be found, though the body was there. The soul was ,gbner He was absent. Have you never ex- perieiiced the pathos, the philosophy of this ii^ when you have beiKied with tear-dinmied eyes oveu the cold foiin of oAe you loved, and laid your hand upon tho^e ifty hands or pressed your lips upon the brow as white and cold as marble| You found her not. You found him not.. fTh^' spirit was gone. And yet, if you had