Collected Works (Vol. II)

122 AHAB Ah, that was life! I feel my sword Live, bite, and shudder in my hand, Smite, drink, the spirit of its lord Exulting through the infinite brand ! My chariot dyed with Syrian blood ! My footmen wading through the flood ! Ay! that was life! Before the night Dipped its cool wings, their hosts were stricken Like night itself before the light. An hundred thousand corpses sicken The air of heaven. Yet some by speed Escape our vengeance—ours, indeed ! Fate, the red hound, to Aphek followed. Some seven and twenty thousand died When the great wall uprising hollowed Its terror, crashed upon its side, And whelmed them in the ruin. Strife, Strength, courage, victory—that is Life ! Then—by my father’s beard! What seer Promised me victory? What sage Now in my triumph hour severe Spits out red oracles of rage? Jehovah’s. The fanatic churl Stands—see his thin lips writhe and curl ! ‘‘ Because thou hast loosed the kingly man, To uttermost destruction’s dread In my almighty power and plan Appointed, I will have thy head For his, thy life for his make mine, And for his folk thou hast spared, slay thine.” But surely I was just and wise! Mercy is God’s own attribute ! Mercy to noble enemies Marks man from baser mould of brute. To fight their swordsmen—who would shirk ¢ To slay a captive—coward’s work ! ‘¢T have loved mercy,” that He said ; Nor bade me slay the Syrian Chief. Yet my head answers for his head ; My people take his people’s grief. Sin, troth, to spare one harmless breath, Sith all my innocents earn death ! By timely mercy peace becomes, And kindly love, and intercourse Of goodly merchandise, that sums Contention in united force. ‘* Praise who, relenting, showeth pity; Not him who captureth a city !” A wild strong life I’ve made of mine. Not till my one good deed is done— Ay! for that very deed divine— Comes the fierce mouth of malison. So grows my doubt again, so swell My ancient fears for Israel. I hurled Jehovah’s altars down ; I slew and I pursued his priests ; I took a wife from Zidon Town ; I gave his temples to the beasts ; I set up gods and graven shapes Of calves and crocodiles and apes. Myself to sorceries I betook ; All sins that are did I contrive, Sealed in the Thora’s dreadful book— I live, and like my life, and thrive ! Doth God not see? His ear is dull? Or His speech strangled, His force null? Nay, verily ! These petty sins His mercy and long-suffering pardon. What final crime of horror wins At last His gracious heart to harden ? What one last infamy shall wake His anger, for His great Name’s sake? Is there one sin so horrible That no forgiveness can obtain, That flings apart the bars of hell, | For which repentance shall be vain? . Ay! but there is! One act of ruth Done in my rash unthinking youth ! Who wonders if I hold the scale. Poised in my deep deliberate mind, Between the weight of Zidon’s Baal And Judah’s God-—each in his kind A god of power—each in his fashion The hideous foeman of compassion ?