THE DREAM OF PILATE'S WIFE.
By Edwin Markham
[Edwin Markham, in Success.] "When he was set down on the judgment-seat, his wife sent unto him, saying, Have thou nothing to do with that just man: for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him."
"When Pilate saw that he could prevail nothing, but that rather a tumult was made, he took water, and washed his hands before the multitude, saying, I am innocent of the blood of this just person: see ye to it." Matt. 27:19, 24. You can not wash your hands of this: that crimson would defy
The many waters of the sea, the cisterns of the sky.
His blood will be upon your name; nor years can wash it white—
Not till the leaping seas shall wash the great stars from the night.
You say the Galilean only dreams a foolish dream,
That He is but an idle leaf upon an idle stream;
No, He is the Man of the People, hated by scribe and priest;
He is the fear at the temple door, the specter at the feast.
Shall the whispering house of Annas draw down upon your head
The hatred of the future and the shadow of the dead?
Why palter with this priestly crew? They hold a long intent:
When the wheels of the street have pity will the hearts of the priests relent
You say you fear Tiberius—you fear the roar of Rome;
But this Man is to Caesar as a sea-rock is to foam.
Whoever turns from this Man's truth, he takes the thorns for bed;
He plows the seas for gardens, and he sows the sand for bread.
O, let the Galilean go, strike off His cruel bond;
Behold that fathomless silence and those eyes that look beyond.
There's more than mortal in that face,—than earthly in this hour;
The fate that now is in the bud will soon be in the flower.
O Pilate, I have suffered many things in dream to-day,
Because of this strange Teacher of the straight and mystic way; I saw Him hanging on a cross where the stones of Golgoth are,
Then laid, at last, in a guarded tomb, under the evening star.
I saw Him rise again one dawn and down a garden go,
Shining like great Apollo white, our god of the silver bow;
And then the wind of vision tore the veil of time apart,
And love of Him ran greatening from camel-path to mart;
His story was a wonder on the eager lips of men,
The scourged Galilean walked the roads of earth again.
I saw Jerusalem go down before the wrath of spears,
And turn into a field of stones under the trampling years.
All these fair towers and walls went down, with a great and terrible cry,
While signs and portents threw on earth their shadows from the sky,
Where spectral warriors strode the clouds like giant cherubim,
Going to battle in the night, now glorious, now dim.
Then whispers wild; the shout of crazing prophets on the street;
The wail of mothers by their dead; the sound of running feet;
And then the temple reddened up, and stood, a cone of flame;
Then ashes, and Jerusalem had withered to a name.
World-battles roared around this Man, the world's mysterious King;
But over the storm of the ages I could hear the seven stars sing.
Rome crumbled, and I heard a voice across the ruin laugh;
A Power had risen on the world, shaking the thrones as chaff;
And down the ages ran your name, a byword and a jeer;
"He suffered under Pilate!" sounded ever in my ear.
The deeds of some are clear forgot, but yours did breathe and live;
Some are forgiven in the end, but none could you forgive.