Bitter-Sweet | Page 4

as most men know, I
think,
Beyond the knowledge of their trustful wives.

Mary.
[Rising, and walking hurriedly to the window.]
'Tis a wild night without.
Ruth.
And getting wild
Within. Now, Grace, I--all of us--protest
Against
a scene to-night. Look! You have driven
One to the window blushing,
and your lord,
With lowering brow, is making stern essay
To stare
the fire-dogs out of countenance.
These honest brothers, with their
honest wives,
Grow glum and solemn, too, as if they feared
At the
next gust to see the windows burst,
Or a riven poplar crashing
through the roof.
And think of me!--a simple-hearted maid
Who
learned from Cowper only yesterday
(Or a schoolmaster, with a
handsome face,
And a strange passion for the text), the fact,
That
wedded bliss alone survives the fall.
I'm shocked; I'm frightened; and
I'll never wed
Unless I--change my mind!
Israel.
And I consent.
David.
And the schoolmaster with the handsome face
Propose.
Ruth.
Your pardon, father, for the jest!
But I have never patience with the
ills
That make intrusion on my happy hours.
I know the world is
full of evil things,
And shudder with the consciousness. I know

That care has iron crowns for many brows;
That Calvaries are
everywhere, whereon
Virtue is crucified, and nails and spears
Draw
guiltless blood; that sorrow sits and drinks
At sweetest hearts, till all

their life is dry;
That gentle spirits on the rack of pain
Grow faint or
fierce, and pray and curse by turns;
That Hell's temptations, clad in
Heavenly guise
And armed with might, lie evermore in wait
Along
life's path, giving assault to all--
Fatal to most; that Death stalks
through the earth,
Choosing his victims, sparing none at last;
That
in each shadow of a pleasant tree
A grief sits sadly sobbing to its
leaves;
And that beside each fearful soul there walks
The dim,
gaunt phantom of uncertainty,
Bidding it look before, where none
may see,
And all must go; but I forget it all--
I thrust it from me
always when I may;
Else I should faint with fear, or drown myself

In pity. God forgive me! but I've thought
A thousand times that if I
had His power.
Or He my love, we'd have a different world
From
this we live in.
Israel.
Those are sinful thoughts,
My daughter, and too surely indicate
A
willful soul, unreconciled to God.
Ruth.
So you have told me often. You have said
That God is just, and I
have looked around
To seek the proof in human lot, in vain.
The
rain falls kindly on the just man's fields,
But on the unjust man's more
kindly still;
And I have never known the winter's blast,
Or the quick
lightning, or the pestilence,
Make nice discriminations when let slip

From God's right hand.
Israel.
'Tis a great mystery;
Yet God is just, and,--blessed be His name!--

Is loving too. I know that I am weak,
And that the pathway of His
Providence
Is on the hills where I may never climb.
Therefore my
reason yields her hand to Faith,
And follows meekly where the angel
leads.
I see the rich man have his portion here,

And Lazarus, in

glorified repose,
Sleep like a jewel on the breast of Faith
In
Heaven's broad light. I see that whom God loves
He chastens sorely,
but I ask not why.
I only know that God is just and good:
All else is
mystery. Why evil lives
Within His universe, I may not know.
I
know it lives, and taints the vital air;
And that in ways inscrutable to
me--
Yet compromising not His soundless love
And boundless
power--it lives against His will.
Ruth.
I am not satisfied. If evil live
Against God's will, evil is king of all,

And they do well who worship Lucifer.
I am not satisfied. My reason
spurns
Such prostitution to absurdities.
I know that you are happy;
but I shrink
From your blind faith with loathing and with fear.
And
feel that I must win it, if I win,
With the surrender, not of will alone,

But of the noblest faculty that God
Has crowned me with.
Israel.
O blind and stubborn child!
My light, my joy, my burden and my
grief!
How would I lead you to the wells of peace,
And see you dip
your fevered palms and drink!
Gladly to purchase this would I lay
down
The precious remnant of my life, and sleep,
Wrapped in the
faith you spurn, till the archangel
Sounds the last trump. But God's
good will be done!
I leave you with Him.
Ruth.
Father, talk not thus!
Oh, do not blame me! I would do it all,
If but
to bless you with a single joy;
But I am helpless.
Israel.
God will help you, Ruth.
Ruth.

To quench my reason? Can I ask the boon?
My lips would blister
with the blasphemy.
I cannot take your faith; and that is why
I
would forget that I am in a world
Where evil lives, and why I guard
my joys
With such a jealous care.
David.
There, Ruth, sit down!
'Tis the old question, with the old reply.
You
fly along the path, with bleeding feet,
Where many feet have flown
and bled before;
And he who seeks to guide you to the goal
Has (let
me say it, father) stopped far short,
And taken refuge at a wayside