Manasseh

Manasseh, lord of Judah, and the son     Of him who, favoured of Jehovah, saw     At midnight, when the skies were flushed with fire,     The splendid mystery of the shining air,     That flamed above the black Assyrian camps,     And breathed upon the evil hosts at rest,     And shed swift violent sleep into their eyes;     Manasseh, lord of Judah, when he came     To fortify himself upon his throne,     And saw great strength was gathered unto him,     Let slip satanic passions he had nursed     For years and years; and lo! the land that He     Who thundered on the Oriental Mount     Girt round with awful light, had set apart     For Jacobs seed the land that Moses strained     On Nebos topmost cone to see, grew black     Beneath the shadow of despotic Sin     That stalked on foot-ways dashed with human blood,     And mocked high Heaven by audacious fires;     And as when Storm, that voice of God, is loud     Within the mountained Syrian wilderness,     There flits a wailing through the wilted pines,     So in the city of the wicked king     A voice, like Abels crying from the ground,     Made sorrow of the broken evening winds,     And darkness of the fair young morning lights,     And silence in the homes of hunted men.     But in a time when grey-winged Autumn fogs     Shut off the sun from Carmels seaward side,     And fitful gusts did speak within the trees     Of rain beyond the waters, while the priests     In Hinnoms echoing valley offered up     Unhallowed sacrifices unto gods     Of brass and stone, there came a trumpets voice     Along the bald, bleak northern flats; and then     A harnessed horseman, riding furiously,     Dashed down the ridge with an exceeding cry     Of Esarhaddon, Esarhaddon! haste     Away, ye elders, lo, the swarthy foe     Six leagues from hence hath made the land a fire,     And all the dwellers of the hollowed hills     Are flying hitherwards before a flame     Of fifty thousand swords! At this the men     Of Baal turned about, set face, and fled     Towards the thickets, where the impious king,     Ringed round by grey, gaunt wizards with the brand     Of Belial on their features, cowered low,     And hid himself amongst the tangled thorns     And shivered in a bitter seaborn wind,     And caught the whiteness of a deathly fear.     There where the ash-pale forest-leaves were touched     By Mornings shining fingers, and the inland depths     Sent out rain-plenished voices west and south,     The steel-clad scouts of Esarhaddon came     And searched, and found Manasseh whom they bound     And dragged before the swart Assyrian king;     And Esarhaddon, scourge of Heaven, sent     To strange Evil at its chiefest fanes,     And so fulfil a dread divine decree,     Took Judahs despot, fettered hand and foot,     And cast him bleeding on a dungeon floor     Hard by where swift Euphrates chafes his brink     And gleams from cataract to cataract,     And gives the gale a deep midwinter tone.     So fared Manasseh for the sins which brought     Pale-featured Desolation to the tents     Of alienated Judah; but one night,     When ninety moons of wild unrest had passed,     The humbled son of Hezekiah turned     Himself towards the wall, and prayed and wept;     And in an awful darkness face to face     With God, he said I know, O Lord of Hosts,     That Thou art wise and just and kind, and I     Am shapen in iniquity; but by     The years of black captivity, whose days     And nights have marked my spirit passing through     Fierce furnaces of suffering, and seen     It groping in blind shadows with a hope     To reach Thy Hand by these, O Father, these     That brought the swift, sad silver to my head     Which should have come with Age which came with Pain,     I pray Thee hear these supplications now,     And stoop and lift me from my low estate,     And lend me this once my dominionship,     So I may strive to live the bad Past down,     And lead henceforth a white and wholesome life,     And be thy contrite servant, Lord, indeed!     The prayer was not in vain: for while the storm     Sang high above the dim Chaldean domes     While, in the pines, the spirit of the rain     Sobbed fitfully, Jehovahs angel came     And made a splendour of the dungeon walls,     And smote the bars, and led Manasseh forth     And caught him up, nor set him down again     Until the turrets of Jerusalem     Sprang white before the flying travellers     Against the congregated morning hills.     And he, the broken man made whole again,     Was faithful to his promise. Every day     Thereafter passing, bore upon its wings     Some shining record of his faultless life,     Some brightness of a high resolve fulfilled;     And in good time, when all the land had rest,     He found that he had lived the bad Past down,     And gave God praise, and with his fathers slept.     Thus ends the story of Manasseh. If     This verse should catch the eyes of one whose sin     Lies heavy on his soul; who finds himself     A shame-faced alien when he walks abroad,     A moping shadow when he sits at home;     Who has no human friends; who, day by day,     Is smitten down by icy level looks     From that cold Virtue which is merciless     Because it knoweth not what wrestling with     A fierce temptation means; if such a one     Should read my tale of Hezekiahs son,     Let him take heart, and gather up his strength,     And step above mens scorn, and find his way     By paths of fire, as brave Manasseh did,     Up to the white heights of a blameless life;     And it will come to pass that in the face     Of grey old enmities, whose partial eyes     Are blind to reformation, he will taste     A sweetness in his thoughts, and live his time     Arrayed with the efficient armour of     That noble power which grows of self-respect,     And makes a man a pillar in the world.