A TWILIGHT ON THE MOUNT OF OLIVES.
By Joaquin Miller
THE Day sat by with banner furled;
His battered shield hung on the wall;
One great star walked the upper world,
All purple robed, in Stately Hall;
Some unseen reapers gathered golden sheaves,
And heaped the westmost reach of burning eaves. God’s poor by Hebron rested. Then
Straightway unto their presence drew
A captain with his band of men,
And smote His poor, and well-nigh slew,
Saying, “Hence, ye poor! Behold the king this night
Comes forth with torch and dance and loud delight.” His poor! how much they cared to see!
How begged they prone to see, to hear!
But spake the captain angrily,
And drove them forth with sword and spear,
And shut the gate; and when the king passed through
These lonely poor—they knew not what to do. Lo, then a soft-voiced Stranger said:
“Come ye with me a little space;
I know where torches, gold and red,
Gleam down a peaceful, ample place;
Where song and perfume fill the restful air,
And men speak scarce at all; for God is there.” They passed; they saw a grass-set hill.
“What king hath carpet like to this?
What king hath music like the trill
Of crickets mid these silences,
These perfumed silences, that rest upon
The soul like sunlight on a hill at dawn? “Behold what blessings in the air!
What benedictions in the dew!
These olives lift their arms in prayer;
They turn their leaves; God reads them through.
Yon lilies where the falling water sings
Are fairer robed than choristers of kings. “Lift now your heads! yon golden bars
That build the porch of heaven, seas
Of silver sailing golden stars—
Yea, these are yours, and all of these!
For lo! the king he hath not yet been told
Of silver seas that sail these ships of gold.” They turned, they raised their heads on high;
They saw, the first time saw and knew
The awful glories of the sky,
The benedictions of the dew.
And from that day His poor were richer far
Than all such kings as keep where follies are.