Song

Above the edge of dark appear the lances of the sun; Along the mountain-ridges clear his rosy heralds run; The vapours down the valley go Like broken armies, dark and low. Look up, my heart, from every hill In folds of rose and daffodil The sunrise banners flow.

O fly away on silent wing, ye boding owls of night! O welcome little birds that sing the coming-in of light! For new, and new, and ever-new, The golden bud within the blue; And every morning seems to say: "There's something happy on the way, And God sends love to you!"

NAAMAN: [Appearing at the entrance of his tent.] O let me ever wake to music! For the soul Returns most gently then, and finds its way By the soft, winding clue of melody, Out of the dusky labyrinth of sleep, Into the light. My body feels the sun Though I behold naught that his rays reveal. Come, thou who art my daydawn and my sight, Sweet eyes, come close, and make the sunrise mine!

RUAHMAH: [Coming near.] A fairer day, dear lord, was never born In Paradise! The sapphire cup of heaven Is filled with golden wine: the earth, adorned With jewel-drops of dew, unveils her face A joyful bride, in welcome to her king. And look! He leaps upon the Eastern hills All ruddy fire, and claims her with a kiss. Yonder the snowy peaks of Hermon float Unmoving as a wind-dropt cloud. The gulf Of Jordan, filled with violet haze, conceals The river's winding trail with wreaths of mist. Below us, marble-crowned Samaria thrones Upon her emerald hill amid the Vale Of Barley, while the plains to northward change Their colour like the shimmering necks of doves. The lark springs up, with morning on her wings, To climb her singing stairway in the blue, And all the fields are sprinkled with her joy!

NAAMAN: Thy voice is magical: thy words are visions! I must content myself with them, for now My only hope is lost: Samaria's King Rejects our monarch's message,--hast thou heard? "Am I a god that I should cure a leper?" He sends me home unhealed, with angry words, Back to Damascus and the lingering death.

RUAHMAH: What matter where he sends? No god is he To slay or make alive. Elisha bids You come to him at Dothan, there to learn There is a God in Israel.

NAAMAN: I fear That I am grown mistrustful of all gods; Their secret counsels are implacable.

RUAHMAH: Fear not! There's One who rules in righteousness High over all.

NAAMAN: What knowest thou of Him?

RUAHMAH: Oh, I have heard,--the maid of Israel,-- Rememberest thou? She often said her God Was merciful and kind, and slow to wrath, And plenteous in forgiveness, pitying us Like as a father pitieth his children.

NAAMAN: If there were such a God, I'd worship Him Forever!

RUAHMAH: Then make haste to hear the word His prophet promises to speak to thee! Obey it, my dear lord, and thou shalt find Healing and peace. The light shall fill thine eyes. Thou wilt not need my leading any more,-- Nor me,--for thou wilt see me, all unveiled,-- I tremble at the thought.

NAAMAN: Why, what is this? Why shouldst thou tremble? Art thou not mine own?

RUAHMAH: [Turning to him and speaking in broken words.] I am,--thy handmaid,--all and only thine,-- The very pulses of my heart are thine! Feel how they throb to comfort thee to-day-- To-day! Because it is thy time of trouble.

[She takes his hand and puts it to her forehead and her lips, but before she can lay it upon her heart, he draws away from her.]

NAAMAN: Thou art too dear to injure with a kiss,-- How should I take a gift may bankrupt thee, Or drain the fragrant chalice of thy love With lips that may be fatal? Tempt me not To sweet dishonour; strengthen me to wait Until thy prophecy is all fulfilled, And I can claim thee with a joyful heart.

RUAHMAH: [Turning away.] Thou wilt not need me then,--and I shall be No more than the faint echo of a song Heard half asleep. We shall go back to where We stood before this journey.

NAAMAN: Never again! For thou art changed by some deep miracle. The flower of womanhood hath bloomed in thee,-- Art thou not changed?

RUAHMAH: Yea, I am changed,--and changed Again,--bewildered,--till there's nothing clear To me but this: I am the instrument In an Almighty hand to rescue thee From death. This will I do,--and afterward--

[A trumpet is blown without.]

Hearken, the trumpet sounds, the chariot waits. Away, dear lord, follow the road to light!