Calvary. Book V. the Condemnation of Christ

Ye sacred Guides, whose plain unvarnish'd page, Penn'd by the hand of Truth, records the scene, Where CHRIST before the bar of impious men, Patient of all their scorn, arraign'd, betray'd And of his own abandon'd, silent stands, You I invoke; so from the same pure source, Whence my faith flows, shall also flow my song, Not idly babbling, like that shallow rill Trickling at foot of the Parnassian Mount, But deep, serene, to hallow'd airs attun'd: Aid me from Heav'n, where now before God's throne In evangelic attributes ye stand Six-wing'd and thick bespangled o'er with eyes, Ranging all points before you and behind, Seraphic minstrels, chanting day and night Your ceaseless hallelujahs to the name Of Him, who was and is and is to come. Led by your hand with trembling step I press The sacred ground, which my Redeemer trode, Now like a lamb to slaughter led, and now Pendent, Oh horror! on the bloody tree; And whilst to tell his sacrifice of love, His soul-dissolving agonies I strive, My heart melts into sorrows deep as those, When the sad daughters of Jerusalem Water'd his passage to the cross with tears. Musing my pious theme, as fits a bard Far onward in the wint'ry track of age, I shun the Muses haunts, nor dalliance hold With fancy by the way, but travel on My mournful road, a pilgrim grey with years; One that finds little favor with the world, Yet thankful for it's least benevolence And patient of it's taunts; for never yet Lur'd I the popu'lar ear with gibing tales, Or sacrific'd the modesty of song, Harping lewd madrigals at drunken feasts To make the vulgar sport and win their shout. Me rather the still voice delights, the praise Whisper'd, not publish'd by fame's braying trump: Be thou my herald, Nature! Let me please The sacred few, let my remembrance live Embosom'd by the virtuous and the wise; Make me, O Heav'n! by those, who love thee, lov'd: So when the widow's and the children's tears Shall sprinkle the cold dust, in which I sleep Pompless and from a scornful world withdrawn, The laurel, which it's malice rent, shall shoot So water'd into life, and mantling throw It's verdant honors o'er my grassy tomb. Here in mid-way of my unfinish'd course, Doubtful of future time whilst now I pause To fetch new breath and trim my waining lamp, Fountain of Life, if I have still ador'd Thy mercy and remember'd Thee with awe Ev'n in my mirth, in the gay prime of youth— So conscience witnesses, the mental scribe, That registers my errors, quits me here— Propitious Pow'r, support me! and if death, Near at the farthest, meditates the blow To cut me short in my prevented task, Spare me a little, and put by the stroke, Till I recount his overthrow and hail Thy Son victorious rising from the grave. Now to that dismal scene return, my thoughts! Where CHRIST in midst of an irreverent crew, Usher'd by torches through the darkling streets, And now at summit of the holy Mount Arriv'd, before the pontiff's lofty gate, Waiting the call of impious pride, attends. The halls and lobbies vomit forth a swarm Of saucy servitors with ideot stare Gazing the wond'rous Man, and venting loud Their coward mockeries: He stands unmov'd. Great is the stir within, and on the post Through all the palace runs the buzzing news Of this great Prophet's capture, circling round With ever new enlargement of strange sights And fearful doings in the garden seen Of those who took him. CAIAPHAS meanwhile Summons the Temple-chiefs, elders and scribes, A hasty Sanhedrim: No longer now With stately step in measur'd pace they march; Huddled together by their fears they flock, They cluster in a throng, safest so deem'd, And fill the council seats. In speech abrupt And brief their hierarch the cause expounds Of their so sudden meeting—CHRIST is seiz'd, The Prophet, whom they dreaded, is in hold, Th'Enchanter, who by league with Belzebub Scar'd them with magic spells, is at their door; Now is the time to put his art to proof, Now is the moment to decide if thus Their unreveal'd Messias shall appear After long promise in this abject state A shackled pris'ner, or a conquering king. Admit him! with faint voice some two or three Of the least timorous cry.—Behold, he comes! The rabble throng rush in, and at the bar Of the immur'd divan present him bound With cords, his raiment soil'd with hands profane, His head uncover'd and his sacred locks By the rude winds and ruder men despoil'd Of their propriety, dishevell'd, spread Like shatter'd fragments on the branching top Of piny Lebanon after a storm. Silence now reign'd, the roar of tongues was hush'd, And expectation with suspended breath Sate watchful when some sign or word of power Should in a miracle break forth upon them. None such that patient Sufferer vouchsaf'd, Nor menace nor complaint his eye bespake, But meek serene composure. Noting this, As cowards out of danger loudest vaunt, The council now took heart: Then soon were heard The lying tongues of witnesses suborn'd Various and loud; but these no order kept; Falshood with falshood clash'd, and each to each Irreconcileable, as all to truth: Shame held the council mute, for vilest hearts, Cloak'd in the robes of judgment, will affect Some outward shew of what they ought to be, Then most malicious when most seeming just. Confusion now ensu'd and perjury In it's own labyrinth had lost itself, When some of graver note within the pale Of justice seated, but far thence remov'd In conscience and in heart, started new charge, Averring they had heard the Pris'ner say— I will destroy this temple made with hands, And within three days will another build Made without hands.—The charge was gravely urg'd, And, colour'd to the semblance of a plot, Breath'd sacrilegious menace to God's house, Fit matter for descant pontifical: When CAIAPHAS, as foremost in degree So first to sound forth danger and affix Solemnity to malice, from his state With magisterial dignity arose, And sternly fixing on the face divine His eye inquisitorial, thus began. Hear'st thou what these alledge? The words in charge Stand witness'd by these present: Face to face Th' accusers they and thou th' accused meet: Justice is open. What is thy defence? Answerest thou nothing?—Nothing answer'd he, But as a lamb before it's shearers mute He open'd not his mouth; the mystery couch'd Under those words, prophetic of his death And following resurrection, to expound To their perverted minds beseem'd not him, Searcher of hearts and Savior of mankind: Silent not pertinacious he endur'd Their scorn, nor did his meek demeanour shew More than the dignity of conscious truth, Which knows itself prejudg'd and scorns a plea. But CAIAPHAS, who brook'd not this repulse, And still occasion sought from his own lips By subtlety to' ensnare him, thus re-urg'd Question with solemn adjuration back'd. Hear me, thou man accus'd, and answer make I do adjure thee by the living God To what I now demand. Art thou the CHRIST, The very CHRIST, Son of th' eternal God, Or art thou not? Resolve us who thou art! Then JESUS by this solemn adjuration urg'd, Lifting his eyes to heav'n in mute appeal, Whilst all his Father's virtue in his face Effulgent beam'd, these glorious words pronounc'd; Hear them, O heav'n, and Oh! record them, earth, Write them, ye mortals, on your hearts—I am, I am the CHRIST; all that you ask I am; And ye shall see me coming in the clouds Of heav'n, enthron'd at the right hand of Power. As when on rapine bent a savage horde Arab or Indian, in some sandy dell Or by the sedgy lake in ambush lodg'd, Upon the watch-word by their leader giv'n Leap from their treach'rous lair with sudden yell And bloody weapons waving to surprize And overpower th' unguarded traveller, Fatally trapp'd into their murderous snare; So at the signal of their priestly chief Uprose the dire divan with rushing sound, Like roar of distant waters. Terror-struck, Frantic as Bromius, with furious hands Th' enthusiastic hierarch seiz'd his robes, And into tatters like a cancell'd scroll Tore them, exclaiming vehement and loud That all might hear—What need of further proof? Ye' have heard his blasphemy. How think ye, sirs? What may such crime deserve?—Th' infuriate priests Seiz'd by like phrensy with one voice pronounce— Death be his sentence!—Death through all the hall Rebounding echoes back th' accurs'd decree. Horrible sentence! Murder hatch'd in hell; Libation for the fiends! Daemons, on you And on your generations to all time His righteous blood shall rest. Now uproar wild And horrid din succeeds: The scoffing crowd Rush to the bar, so privileg'd, and there With scurril taunts and blasphemies revile The patient Son of God. Oh thought of horror! The Savior of mankind revil'd by man, The Just by th' unjust! Others more profane Vent their vile rheum upon his sacred face, Or smite him with their palms, then gibing cry— Tell us who smote thee; prophesy, thou CHRIST! Monsters, that CHRIST hath prophesied, your doom Already by that Prophet is pronounc'd, The lips you strike have utter'd it: Behold! Jerusalem is fall'n, her towers are dust, Your city smokes in ruin: Lo! what piles Of mangled carcases; what horrid scenes Of violated matrons: Hark! what screams Of infants butcher'd in their mothers arms; And look! your temple blazes to the sky; It's beams of cedar overlaid with gold, It's fretted roof with carvings rich emboss'd, And all it's glorious splendor feeds the flames Insatiate; mark how high their serpent spires Hissing ascend: God fans them in his ire: Thither the wild beasts of the desart hie, There carrion owls by midnight haunt, there dwells The dragon, and the satyrs dance: 'Tis done! That prophecy is seal'd. There yet remains An awful consummation unreveal'd, Till God shall gather up your scatter'd race Still vagrant o'er th' inhospitable earth. Ah! wretched people, broken and dispers'd, Did ye preserve the oracles of God But to convict your own obduracy? Sad nation, on whose neck the iron yoke Of persecution hard, too hard, hath lain, And yet lies heavy, will ye not accept A High Priest, holy, harmless, undefil'd, From sinners sep'rate and exalted high Above the heavens? And do ye not perceive The word of JESUS in yourselves fulfill'd? Rue then the prophecy, which you provok'd, Of faithless fathers ye still faithless sons! Whilst shuddering I recount the impious taunts Of that blaspheming rout: But neither taunts Nor violence could shake the Savior's peace; He in his own pure spi'rit collected stood, Nor of their base revilings took account. 'Twas now that CHRIST, knowing himself denied Three times of PETER, turn'd and look'd upon him. He from the garden, where his Lord was seiz'd, Following at distance JUDAS and his band, Had kept his eye upon their moving fires, And up the sacred mount pursued their track, Till at the palace-door he stood and sought Admission with the crowd; when there behold! A damsel at the portal scans him o'er With scrutinizing eye and strait exclaims— Thou too wert in this Galilean's train; Thou art of JESUS.—Sudden to his heart The coward tremor runs and there suggests The fear-conceived lye; before them all With confidence to falsehood ill applied— I know not what thou say'st—he strait avers, And to the porch goes forth: There in his ear The cock his first shrill warning gives and sings The knell of constancy's predicted breach, Of constancy, alas! too strongly vouch'd By him in rash and over-weening zeal, Boasting like martyrdom with CHRIST himself, Sole sacrifice appointed for mankind. But he, though of presumption warn'd, by fear Still haunted and the guilty dread of death, Strait to a second questioner replies— I do not know the man—and to engage Belief, binds down the falsehood with an oath. Fatal appeal to Heav'n! insult to God And His all-righteous ears! Is this the man, Who with such glowing ardor self-assur'd— Though all shall be offended, I will not— Proudly averr'd, and for that pride reprov'd— Though I should die with thee, dauntless rejoin'd, Yet will I not deny thee—? Man, weak man, Pride was not made for thee. If PETER fell Presuming, who shall say, Behold! I stand In my own strength nor ask support of God? And now, as if devoted to his shame, Curious to pry, yet fearful to be seen, He mixes with the throng that crowd the hall; And there once more is challeng'd for his speech, As savo'ring of the Galilean phrase; Then with reiterated oaths abjures His Master the third time; when hark! again The cock's loud signal echoes back the lye In his convicted ear; the prophet bird Strains his recording throat, and up to heav'n Trumpets the trebled perjury and claps His wings in triumph o'er presumption's fall. Oh! fall'n how low, is this thy promis'd faith, Favor'd of CHRIST so highly? Know'st thou not, Disciple, thine own Lord? or know'st him only In safety, in prosperity, in power, For thine own selfish ends, a summer guest, Prone to desert him in the wint'ry hour Of tribulation, poverty and woe? Is thy frail memory of that slippery stuff, That a friend's sorrow washes out all trace Of a friend's features? Look upon his eyes! Behold, they turn on thee: Them dost thou know? Their language canst thou read and from them draw The conscious reminiscence thou disown'st? Mark, is their sweetness lost? Ah! no; they beam Celestial grace, a sanctity of soul So melting soft with pity, such a gleam Of love divine attemp'ring mild reproof, Where is the man, that to obtain that eye Of mercy on his sins would not forego Life's dearest comforts to embrace such hope? O death, death! where would be thy sting, or where These awful tremblings, which thy coming stirs In my too conscious breast, might I aspire To hope my Judge would greet me with that look? Vaunt not yourselves, ye scorners, nor exult In this recital of a good man's fall, Faithful historian of his own offence: But rather let it physic your proud spleen To mark how mean, prevaricating, false And despicable a vain-glorious man. PETER's denial, David's heinous sin, And all the guilty lapses of man's heart, Though summ'd together into one account, Each spot and blemish malice can search out To tarnish the fair lustre of a name, Stand but as lessons of humility, Warnings of frailty to o'er-weening man; And if our mournful page hath now set forth The fall of virtue, let it next record It's glorious resurrection: We have shewn The' offender in his shame, what now remains But to display the penitent? Behold! Abash'd he stands bath'd in remorseful tears: One glance from his beloved Master's eye, Like Nathan's parable, hath rous'd from sleep His drowsy conscience. Mark, where he retires To weep in solitude and purge his heart By sorrowful repentance of it's guilt. O PETER, could my verse fit offering make, That verse should be bestow'd upon thy tears. Now the assembled elders and their chief, After short consultation had, resolve With the next dawn of morning to arraign Their Prisoner at the praetorian bar Of PILATE, procurator for the state Imperial of Rome and Caesar; he Held judgment sovereign of life and death In tributary Jewry, judge corrupt, And like Rome's venal emissaries prone To every sordid purpose; train'd in blood And for tribunal bloody therefore fit. Meanwhile forth issuing from the fatal hall, Scene of his shame, the sad Disciple took His pensive way across the temple-court Silent and solitary, seeking where To' unbosom his full sorrows and give up His soul to pray'r, and pardon seek of God For his revolt. Pale through night's curtain gleam'd By fits the lunar intermittent ray, That quiv'ring serv'd to light his lonely steps To the fair gate call'd Beautiful, whose porch High over-arch'd, on writhed columns propp'd Of spiral brass convolv'd, was for it's shade Of CHRIST and his Disciples much in quest. Hither he came, and falling on his knees, Like the' humble publican smote on his breast, And this confession self-accusing made. Here let me fall and in repentant tears Weep out my soul upon these piti'less stones, Made sacred by His steps, whose awful name Thrice blasphem'd, thrice abjur'd, I dare not speak, Though in my supplication. Can I say, Spare me, O God of mercy? Can I ask Pardon of God, unpardon'd of myself? Oh! wretched recreant creature as I am, What shall redeem me from this misery, And reconcile my conscience to itself, A perjur'd conscience? Never more can peace Dwell in this bosom; never can my soul Ascend out of the dust, or lift a thought In hope tow'rds heav'n. With JUDAS let me dwell, Colleague in treason; with his sin my sin In the' execration of all time be link'd. Or shall I venture to look up and say, O God, behold a wretch, who dares not sue For mercy but for mitigated wrath, For punishment proportion'd to my bearing, Protracted, not too sudden, lest it take My senses from me and with them all power Of meditation, penance and atonement? Spare me a little to abhor myself; And if the arrow, which my conscience drives Into this guilty heart, draws not enough Of it's vile blood to purify what's left, Let the strong hand of justice force it home And finish me at once. Was I not warn'd Of my presumption, and a signal set To number my denials, when I swore Never to swerve but follow him to death? Mine, like ISCARIOT's, was predicted sin: I spar'd not him, I call'd his wilful guilt, Obstinate malice; and can I now urge Necessity my plea? All things are known To CHRIST; the evil motions of my will He saw, not over-rul'd: I might have pray'd For grace, support, prevention; I pray'd not, But heedless of the prophecy and blind. Rush'd into sin prepense, self-will'd, self-lost. What fascination seiz'd me to draw forth The sword in rash defence of Him, whose word Legions of Angels could have call'd from heav'n? And what prevaricating daemon breath'd The lye into my lips, when the same night, Nay, the same hour, that saw me prompt to' oppose My life to danger, saw me meanly shrink From what I courted, and behind a lye Three times repeated like a coward sculk? And did I not know CHRIST whom I denied? Did I not know the Master whom I serv'd, Who call'd me to him, pour'd into my heart His heav'nly doctrines, rais'd my lowly thoughts From the mean drudgery of a fisher's trade, And taught me in the energy of faith To walk upon that sea, in which ere-while I dragg'd the net and toil'd for daily bread? O memory, once my glory, now my curse, To what sad purpose do I call thee home, Absent in danger, present in despair? Is there a wonder done of CHRIST on earth I have not witness'd? Did I not behold Dead Lazarus revive at his command? What shall I say to him, whom I saw die, When living he arraigns me face to face? What answer make to those, whom I have serv'd From one small wallet with the bread of thousands? The very blind, ere they receiv'd their sight, Saw more than I, and hail'd him LORD and CHRIST. Who shall believe when I renounce belief? The very dev'ils own Him whom I denied. Can I call these accurst, whose impious cry Dooms him to death; who smite him with their palms Blaspheming? Harder than their hands my heart. Wretch, 'twas my false tongue train'd them on to murder; On me, me only all their sin rebounds: I stand condemn'd, they free. Can I forget How oft my lips confess'd him Son of God? Perish that tongue, which could revoke it's faith, Disown confession and belie my heart. Denied of me on earth, when in the clouds Of heav'n he comes at the right hand of Pow'r, And sends his Angels with the trumpet's sound To gather his elect from the four winds, When, as a shepherd culling out his flock, To separate all nations and divide The good from evil he proceeds, Ah! then, Then will he not retort the fatal words First us'd of me, I know thee not! Depart, Thou wicked servant, into outer darkness, There weep and gnash thy teeth in fires prepar'd For SATAN and his outcast crew accurst? Thus he all night with deep remorse o'erwhelm'd, Mournfully kneeling at God's temple-gate, Bewail'd his crime and supplication made For pardon; and let after-times attest How full a portion of God's spi'rit abode In this blest Penitent, when with the sound Of rushing mighty winds it was pour'd down On him and on his fellows, thence install'd Apostles, and with gifted tongues inspir'd To speak all languages and preach the Word Of CHRIST throughout the whole converted world. Here in this very spot, where now he kneels Repentant, fill'd ere long with pow'r divine, He bade the cripple in the name of CHRIST Rise up and walk: He at the word in sight Of all the people rose and stood and walk'd And in the temple gave loud praise to God. Then let not his offence, pardon'd of God, By man but for example's sake be nam'd, And once more, hail, thou renovated Saint! Made brighter by repentance: Enter thou Into thy Master's joy once more; resume Thine apostolic primacy, and feed, Shepherd of CHRIST deputed, feed his flock. Nor shall thy faith once faulter, nor thy zeal Shrink from the test of martyrdom, reserv'd To glorify thy Master on the cross. Now morning from her cloudy barrier forth Advancing crimson'd all the flecker'd East, As blushing to lead on the guilty day. With the first dawn the wakeful elders meet, Short council hold, for little time suffic'd To take their voices, whose relentless minds In the same bloody league were banded all; And now unanimous with their high priest In stately grave procession forth they march To find their heathen judge, and at his bar Arraign the Holy One.—But check, my heart, Thine indignation; let the verse proceed!— Him in his seat of judgment high enthron'd, With axes and with lictors round embay'd In martial state, with reverence they salute, And lowly stoop their tributary heads To his vice-gerent majesty: With smile Of condescending favor he accepts Their abject greeting, and to his right hand Their chief advances; others in their ranks And orders he disposes; then with feign'd Solicitude, as if to seek the cause Of this concerted meeting, he begins. What cause so weighty brings JEHOVAH's priest With these wise elders and time-honor'd scribes Thus early to seek justice at my bar? Appeal so reverend, with such leader grac'd And by such followers witness'd, well demands Of Caesar's servant his most equal ear. Whereto the' high priest, second to none in craft, With solemn accent and demeanor grave Masking his base collusion, thus replies. When he, whose hand the sword of justice sways, Her balance also holds in equal poise Over this realm provincial, we have cause To thank the master of our liberties, Who by such delegation of his power Makes light that yoke, which else would gall our necks, Though Caesar lays it on us: Then let praise Be giv'n to Caesar for the love we bear To PONTIUS PILATE. Have I leave to say, That we your servants, a peculiar race, Pay worship to one God and hold at heart As sacred that commandment handed down From our forefathers, which for ever makes His undivided Unity the creed Of all our nation; and whoe'er blasphemes His name and controverts our holy faith, Dies by our law? This sentence we have pass'd, But execution staid, so bound in duty, Upon a certain Nazarite, by name JESUS, obscure of birth, but of our peace No slight disturber; for the common herd, A monster as you know with many heads, And every head with twice as many ears Itching for novelties, have rais'd this man To dang'rous eminence; and for he cheats Their gross credulity with juggling sleights, Which they call miracles, have blown his pride To such a monstrous bulk, he now scales heaven, There seats himself—Oh! where shall I find words To speak his blasphemy?—at God's right hand, His Son, his equal, sharer of his throne, Judge of the world, if this be not a crime For death to expiate we are slaves indeed, And every statute, ordinance and law Rome leaves inviolate, JESUS shall break Unpunish'd: Nor is this, dread sir, the whole Of his presumption; mark, I pray, the heighth To which his phrensy rages, mark his threat! He will put down this temple in three days And in like time with hands invisible Erect another.—Patron of our laws, Fountain of justice! ought this man to live? Such madness breath'd into our peoples minds Will spur them to the deed, break every band That ties them down to order, and turn loose Their fury not on us alone but Rome, Not on our temple only but perhaps On this tribunal, which Heav'n guard! And now Take the whole matter of our charge at once: This JESUS hath pronounc'd himself a king, Our king, your master's rival: You best know If your great empe'ror abdicates his right To our allegiance, which we fain would hold, Where we have vow'd it, to imperial Caesar, Not to this mean mechanic, Joseph's son. This is our plea, O PONTIUS, why we claim Justice against the pris'ner, who now waits Your sentence under guard and bound, as fits Delinquent so atrocious: I have said. To him the Roman—Be it known to all, The sentence, which you urge against the life Of your now absent pris'ner, cannot pass By practice of our law, till face to face With his accusers he shall stand at bar, And licence have to answer for himself Touching the crime in charge; therefore these words, Which you have largely spent, are spent in air, Else might the ear of justice be forestall'd By the empleader's charge, and so perchance Let fall the axe upon the guiltless head. Much knowledge of your laws I cannot boast, Nor with these learned scribes hold argument; For so much therefore as to them pertains I on the part of Caesar am no judge; His tributes, his supremacy and rights Disputed or oppos'd I shall uphold 'Gainst all offenders. Let th' accus'd appear! This said, behold the blessed Son of God Dragg'd to a pagan bar! There whilst he stood A spectacle of pity, patient, meek, Submitted to his fate, PILATE, who knew Him innocent and his accusers false, Envious and cruel, ey'd him o'er and o'er, And as he ponder'd in his mind how base The sentence he was now requir'd to give, Some sparks of Roman virtue, not quite dead Though faintly felt in his degene'rate breast, Revolted from the deed: Soft was the touch, Though ineffectual, which sweet pity gave To his stern heart: He wish'd, yet knew not how, To' unfold the gates of mercy, and through them Let pass the rescued Innocent to life; The son of Epicurus could no more. Upon the Sufferer's brow serene he saw Where innocence and sanctity enthron'd Sate visible and claim'd his just award: He turn'd him to th' accusers and beheld Such malice, as brought up to view a groupe Of his own furies from their fabled hell; Then with a frown he cries—What law is your's, Which makes this man a culprit ere he's tried? Unmanacle his limbs! A Roman judge Hears no man plead in shackles; he, who speaks In life's defence hath call for every aid That Nature can bestow, free use of limbs, Action and utterance to grace his cause, And hold him up against the world's contempt: I will not hear a man that pleads in bonds. Cut those vile cords asunder: Set him loose! And now our blessed Lord, his arms releas'd From the harsh thongs, which the malignant Jews Had bound about them, 'gan to re-compose His decent vesture and with calm survey To note his persecutors, those dire priests And cruel hypocrites that bay'd him round. In every breast transparent to his eye Malice and craft and envy he discern'd: In PILATE's face the shifting hues bespoke Internal strife of passions all in arms, Combat 'twixt good and evil: In his hand He held a scroll, which with intentive eye And thoughtful brow deep pondering he perus'd: The writing well he knew, but the contents, Thus worded, much perplex'd his wav'ring thoughts. "O Pilate, if thy wife was ever held "In honor, love or trust, I do adjure thee "This once take warning from her voice inspir'd "To snatch thee from destruction. Oh! withhold "Thine hand from that just person, harm not him, "That holy JESUS, who now stands before thee; "Touch not his sacred life, or on thine head "A fearful judgment thou shalt else pull down: "A mighty Pow'r protects him, what I know not, "But mightier sure than all the Gods of Rome; "For I have seen his glory in a dream, "And dreams descend from heav'n. Pilate, beware!" Such was the warning scroll he now perus'd, Ev'n on the judgment seat, by timely hand Sent for his rescue: Happy! had he turn'd His heart so warn'd to justice, and obey'd The visitation of the spi'rit vouchsaf'd: But he, like Caesar, deem'd his manhood pledg'd To make slight 'count of a weak woman's dream: Yet much confus'd, uncertain and perplex'd He look'd around, and saw all eyes upon him: The Jews impatient, JESUS at the bar Prepar'd for trial: What shall he resolve? Break up the court and judgment put aside For a mere vapor, for no better plea Than to indulge a woman's fond caprice, And bid the law stand still and wait the time " Till PILATE's wife shall meet with better dreams?"— Such scorn he dar'd not to provoke, and now Loud murmurs fill'd his ear: Compell'd to rise, Though uncollected and in mind disturb'd, He thus address'd the LORD.—Art thou a king, And of this nation, who accuse thee to me, King of the Jews?—Thou say'st it, JESUS cried: But say'st thou of thyself this thing, or taught Of others art thou prompted so to speak?— Am I a Jew? the fault'ring judge replied; Not I, but these, who if thou wert a king Were thine own subjects, elders, priests and scribes, These have accus'd thee. Not of them am I; Nor in this business covet further share, Than on the part of justice to demand, What hast thou done? How answer'st thou their charge? Of this world were my kingdom, said our LORD, My servants would defend their King, and fight To save me from my' oppressors: But I reign Not on this earth, nor is my pow'r from hence. Art thou a king then?—interpos'd the judge:— Thou say'st, cried JESUS, that I am a king; And truly to this purpose was I born, And for this cause came I into the world, That I should witness bear unto the Truth; And all, that to the Truth belong, hear me.— What is the Truth? said PILATE, but his voice Now falter'd and his thoughts unsettled, wild And driv'n at random like a wreck, could grasp No helm of reason; only this he knew There was no fault before him: This aloud To all he publish'd and pronounc'd him clear. Whereat with rage and disappointment stung, Furious as wolves defrauded of their prey, Uprose the priests appellant, and afresh Urge o'er and o'er their aggravating charge, Forging new falsehoods and re-forging old: The Preacher of forbearance, peace and love Perverter of the nation now they call, Fomenter of sedition, spreading wide From Galilee, the cradle of his birth, Throughout all Jewry to the capital; Where now assuming to himself the name, Prerogative and state of King and CHRIST, He stirreth up the people to revolt, Forbidding them to pay their rightful dues Of tribute to Rome's emperor, himself Exalting above Caesar. This and more In the like strain of virulence, with lips In aspic venom steep'd they now depose; Nor had they brought their malice to a pause, When PILATE, hoping he had now found plea To shift the dreaded sentence from himself, Thus interposing check'd their clam'rous spleen. Break off, and let your tongues take rest awhile: It is not at this bar you must emplead This man, a Galilean as it seems; Whom, being such, it is not mine to hear But HEROD's: Let his special tetrarch judge 'Twixt him and you: Thither remit your suit. This said, he rose preventing all reply, Whilst they, though by procrastination gall'd, Yet of their tetrarch confident, submit: But nor with HEROD could their malice speed To it's main purpose: Little care had he For all their priestly clamor; in his thoughts Religion had no interest, truth no weight: For prophets and for prophecies no ear Had he, alike regardless how CHRIST preach'd, Or they complain'd; yet much he wish'd to see Some splendid miracle of him perform'd, Something to strike his senses with surprize And satisfy a wanton curiosity, Made eager by the fame of those great works, Whereof he much had heard and nothing seen. But when our LORD to all his questions mute Nor word nor sign vouchsaf'd, to wrath impell'd, What by enticements he had fail'd to gain By taunts he hop'd to' extort; and now his spleen To impious scorn and mockery gave the rein: Forthwith his Pris'ner in a gorgeous robe Apparel'd as a king, to all his court Held up for sport and laughter, he expos'd. Loud was the roar of blasphemy the whilst, And wild the revels of the scoffing throng As the lewd orgies of the frantic god, Or clamor of that sacrilegious rout, When their mad rage the Thracian minstrel tore, Whose wonder-working harp could charm the ear Of hell and call dead nature into life. The priests look'd on and grinn'd malicious joy; Yet would not HEROD execution doom; Or willing to appease the jealousy Of PILATE, or content to mark his scorn Of JESUS by this arrogant display Of mercy, as not dreading whom he spar'd. Now once again at PILATE's bar he stands, Not as before like malefactor tied And round begirt with cords, but overlaid With a rich load of sumptuous mockery; A lamb compell'd to carry the proud spoils And guilty trappings of the ty'rannous wolf. Again the judge with slow unwilling step To his tribunal mounts and thus he speaks. You still persist to bring this man to me As a perverter of your nation's faith And loyalty: Your witnesses I've heard, Ponder'd their depositions and throughout Examin'd ev'ry tittle of your charge: Him too I've question'd in the ears of all Here present, and no shadow of offence Can I discern to warrant your appeal For execution, and pass judgment on him: No, nor yet HEROD, for to him I sent You and your pris'ner, and behold him freed, Nothing is done unto him worthy death: I will chastise him therefore and release; Yet this chastisement rather to allay Your anger, than so merited of him, I shall inflict. Remember this your feast Hath the long plea of custom to be mark'd With pardon and forbearance: To reprieve One culprit from his sentence I am bound No less by inclination than by rule And usage immemorial: Make your choice! But let it fall on innocence not guilt. Instant all voices echo'd forth a cry— Hence with this man! away with him to death! Give us the murd'rer, set Barabbas free: Let JESUS perish!—Wherefore; for what crime? PILATE exclaim'd: What evil hath he done? No cause of death in JESUS can I find, Be witness for me, justice, none in him; But for that wretch, on whom ye would bestow Pardon misplac'd, so various are his crimes, So black their quality, ye cannot name A death more terrible than he deserves. Take of the guiltless blood what stripes can draw To satisfy your longing, but forbear To take the life, if not for pity's sake, In honor of yourselves, that ye may say, There was one prophet, whom ye did not kill. Loud as the winds that lash the raging seas And all as deaf, redoubling now the roar, Th' infuriate Jews rend their blaspheming throats, Howling for blood; 'till deafen'd with the din Of, Crucify him! crucify him! dreadful cry, PILATE, who 'twixt their tumult and the death Of that just Person saw no middle course, By which t' escape, one solemn act prepar'd, By expiatory washing of his hands In presence of the multitude, to purge His soul, and thereof God alone is judge, From the pure blood of that devoted Lamb. Behold! he cries, I pour this water forth, And therein make ablution of my soul From all participation in your crime, By washing of my hands from every stain Of this inhuman sacrifice, each spot And sprinkling of this guiltless Victim's blood. Rest on your heads the murder! I am clean. This said, he turn'd and fix'd a pitying look Upon the LORD; then sigh'd and gave the word: Eager as hounds, when slipp'd upon their prey, In rush the throng, and soon the hissing scourge Whirl'd with impetuous swing aloud resounds Gashing that sacred flesh, whose bleeding stripes Heal'd our sin-wounded souls; upon his brow A thorny crown they fix, whose tortu'ring spikes, Thrust rudely in by sacrilegious hands, Furrow his temples and with crimson streams Cover his face divine: Him thus abus'd, Mangled with stripes and all o'er bath'd in blood, In purple robe they scornfully array And drag to public view.—Behold the man!— PILATE proclaim'd with horror in his voice And out-stretch'd arm, that pointed to a sight, Which had to pity mov'd their steely hearts, Had they not been of metal forg'd by fiends And temper'd in the sternest fires of hell. Dry-ey'd, as rock of adamant unmov'd, Obdurate to his sorrows they look'd on, Nor from their crucifying clamor ceas'd, Till PILATE, now all hope for JESUS lost, Yielding to their tumultuous fury, cried. Take him and do your bloody work yourselves: Impose it not on me; I find no cause Of death, no fault in JESUS. Take ye him And crucify him! Of his guiltless blood Lo! I am innocent; see ye to that! On us and on our children be his blood!— Then answer'd all the Jews. Tremendous words, Tremendously fulfill'd! And now afresh They clamor for the cross; when thus the judge— Would you that I should crucify your king?— We have no king but Caesar, they rejoin, Nor art thou Caesar's friend to spare this man.— 'Twas past; to that dread name the Roman bow'd Obedient, and from his sad heart sigh'd forth Th' extorted doom—Death to the LORD OF LIFE!