The Idylls Of Deare Childe. I. Deare Childe. A Parish Idyll

'Who is the greatest in the Kingdom of Heaven?'

A SIMPLE cross, let in the outer wall
Under the chancel window, and beneath
A little slab, of marble also, graved
With these two words, spelt anciently, DEARE CHILDE.
These and no more, and yet he lingered here;
He who had wandered with me, and had scanned,
With heedless eyes that cared to rest on none,
The carven annals on a score of tombs.
He who had laughed at this, and sneered at that,
Nor gave elsewhere a reverent word for one,
Yet lingered here, and lingered on, until
I moved away to test him; still he stayed
And kept his eyes upon the simple cross
And those two words; and when I spoke to him
He moved not.  Coming back and touching him,
I said, 'What keeps you?'  As he turned, I saw
The face was wholly changed, the open brow
Thrid as with pain or thought, the careless eyes
Filmed with a mist of tears, and the strong lips
Set closer, as prepared against a sense
Of quivering weakness.  Facing round again
Upon the little monument, he said,
'Tell me of him, or her.'  I thereupon,
In sudden memory of a bygone day
And a great loss which dimmed this life awhile,
Knew why the simple words on one unknown
Had power to move him by the touch of that
Which, says the great Bard, 'makes the whole world kin.'
So without word of wonder I replied:
'Of her, who underneath the Holy Sign
Sleeps there, the record is but that of all
Who die ere yet the pure baptismal robe
Is soiled, or stained, or torn in this bad world.
Yet there are words of hers I know and keep,
Said in her last hours, little childish words,
Yet all divine in their simplicity,
Pure gold, with no touch of the base alloy
That mars all earthly treasure; you shall hear,
I am no miser though it is pure gold;
Share it, it shall enrich your soul as mine.
She was the daughter of a shepherd here,
And born hard by, there, where you see the smoke
Rise from the cottage underneath the eaves
Of that grove-covered hill.  He who begot
And she who bare her were and are to me,
Of all the flock on whom I tend for God,
Worthiest of love and honour: poor in truth,
Save in that wealth which passeth not away;
Humble, save in that greatness which alone
Is lord of death; not known within the world,
But written amid God's chosen saints; and she,
This quiet sleeper, was their only child.
Seven years, that fled like Eden hours, was she
The sunshine and the music of their home.
Such blessed sunshine! in the holy blue
Of innocent eyes, in the fair, guileless face,
And myriad glimmers of her golden hair:
Such music! in the run of little feet
That beat the merry pulse of laughing hours,
And in the loving prattle of the lips
That framed the simple tale of daily needs,
Of daily hopes and pleasures, aims and ends,
So sweetly, or that spake on holy themes
With all the intuition marvellous,
The fearless, reverent confidence of those
Whose angels see the Father's face in Heaven.
Ah me! perchance that sunshine was too bright
For this all-darkening world, too sweet perchance
That music for the jarring dissonance
Of sin and sorrow.  He who loved her best
Did what was best, and we that wept His will
Yet praise Him; praise Him for the treasure lent,
For that sweet angel-visit which unawares
We entertained; for that dear memory
Which makes the past of those seven wingèd years
An Eden of remembrance; more than all
We now have learned to praise Him that again
Into His blessed keeping, undefiled,
He took her back, to meet us at 'that day.'
You wonder at my speech of 'us' and 'we,'
As thou she had two fathers. She had two —
Him the true, faithful man of whom I spake,
The shepherd of the flocks on yonder wold,
And me, the pastor of the sheep of God
Folded within this vale and on those hills;
His child according to the flesh, and mine
According to the Spirit — mine the arms
In which she died to sin and lived to God;
Mine the priest's hand that traced upon her brow
The token of her new inheritance,
Yon sacred sign; mine, too, the lips that sware
Her vows of fealty.  And from that hour,
As by an instinct, I, who had no child,
Gave all the father's heart within my breast
To her, and she to me a daughter's love;
Such love as to the others of her home,
And reverence withal as unto one
Nearest, she held it, unto God and Heaven,
Which coming all so full from one so pure,
Not seldom smote and pricked a heart that knew
Its own defilement.
                      So it was, that when
God's message came that we must render up
The treasure lent awhile, to me they gave —
In the wild grief that shook them more than mine,
Marking the severance of the fleshly bond —
The task to tell her that the end was nigh.
I went alone into the little room,
And using the familiar name she knew,
"Dear child," I said, "God wants you very soon
To go to Him.  He has a better home
Above, you know, with angels in His Heaven,
Where there is perfect peace and no more pain."
"Oh, that is good," she answered, "no more pain!
It hurts me so, and mother cries to see it;
But, sir, will she come there, and father too,
And you?"
            I answered, "But a little while
And we will come; God has not sent for us,
He calls you first, soon He will send for us,
And we will come, and you will meet us there,
And we shall never part, nor grieve, nor die."
  "Am I to die, sir?" tremulously she said;
And when I could not speak for sudden tears,
Went on, "Oh, now I know I am to die,
Like little Alice at the farm last year,
Who used to gather flowers and play with me;
But she fell ill, and angels came from God
And took her up, you said, beyond the stars.
But oh! they cried so when she went away!
Will mother cry, and father if I go,
And you, sir? Oh, 'tis sad for you to cry!
May I not stay awhile?"
                        I answered her,
"Your father, mother, and I love you, dear;
You know it!"
                "Oh, I love you so!" she said.
"But there is One who loves you more than all:
Who loves you best?" I asked her. Then a smile
Childlike and holy, as I never saw
On other lips, so human and divine,
Flowed over all the tender little face,
And broke in utterance, "Jesus loves me best,
Jesus, Who died upon the cross for me!"
  And much it moved me, watching her, to see
How the sweet head before the Holy Name,
Despite the languor of its feebleness,
Essayed the wonted reverence where it lay.
"'Tis Jesus," I replied, "Who loves you best,
That calls you.  Will you wait awhile, or go
Now when He calls you?"
                        "Now, oh now," she said,
And smiled again, and clasped her little hands;
"And I shall see His face, and hear His voice,
And He will come and take me in His arms
And say your words, 'dear child,' and bid me rest,
Making me love Him ever more and more.
And I shall wait for you, and you will come,
And mother dear, and father when He sends,
And He will make us glad and good for ever."

  'That noon — for it was morning when I spoke —
There came upon her bitter throes of pain;
But nought save sudden spasms of the brow,
And the shook lips and quicker breath betrayed
The tribulation of the passing life.
No wailing or complaint to vex our ears,
But ever and anon we heard her say,
In whispers softly, "There is no more pain;"
Or she would murmur, "Jesus loves me best,"
And then again would whisper, "No more pain."
  'But when the sun was low at eventide,
The bitter pain had passed, and she lay still,
Too weak for words, but smiling peacefully
With eyes that looked upon us with such love,
Our hearts in battle with the struggling tears
Were nigh to bursting.  Then we knelt and prayed,
And as we rose the parting sunlight streamed
With its last glory through the window panes,
And o'er the dying child.  She could not speak,
But first at us, and after toward the west,
Looked wistfully.  And then the mother said
Divining, "She would have you sing the hymn
You taught her for the sunset every day."
  "And so we sang the hymn of eventide,
"Abide with me;" and while we sang her soul
Sang with us in that marvellous sweet smile,
That was like music too divine for sound.
We sang and darkness deepened, but that smile
Grew brighter yet, and brighter, till the close,
"In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!"
Then, with "Amen," was breathed on little sigh,
And song, and smile, and soul fled up to heaven.
  'Deare Childe! I think that we thus are more blest
Than by thy life — we are more near to God:
That holy sleep in Jesus which thou sleepest
Has power to lull us also into dreams
More bright of waters still and pastures green,
Where thou art waiting till He bid us come:
He, the Good Shepherd, Who doth feed His flock,
Gather the little lambs within His arm,
And gently lead the heavy laden home.'