Sunrise | Page 7

force, And still was at its prime."
But now--in these later days around us!--
"Now he is dead! Far hence He lies In the lorn Syrian town; And on his
grave, with shining eyes, The Syrian stars look down."
The great divine wave had spent itself. But were we to sit supinely
by--this was what he asked, though not precisely in these consecutive
words, for sometimes he walked to and fro in his eagerness, and
sometimes he ate a bit of bread, or sat down opposite his friend for the
purpose of better confronting him--to wait for that distant and
mysterious East to send us another revelation? Not so. Let the
proud-spirited and courageous West, that had learned the teachings of
Christianity but never yet applied them--let the powerful West establish
a faith of her own: a faith in the future of humanity itself--a faith in
future of recompense and atonement to the vast multitudes of mankind
who had toiled so long and so grievously--a faith demanding instant
action and endeavor and self-sacrifice from those who would be its first
apostles.
"The complaining millions of men Darken in labor and pain."
And why should not this Christianity, that had so long been used to gild
the thrones of kings and glorify the ceremonies of priests--that had so
long been monopolized by the rich and the great and the strong, whom
its Founder despised and denounced--why should it not at length come
to the help of those myriads of the poor and the weak and the suffering
whose cry for help had been for so many centuries disregarded? Here
was work for the idle, hope for the hopeless, a faith for them who were
perishing for want of a faith.
"You say all this is vague--a vision--a sentiment?" he said, talking in
the same eager way. "Then that is my fault. I cannot explain it all to
you in a few words. But do not run away with the notion that it is mere
words--a St. Simonian dream of perfectibility, or anything like that. It
is practical; it exists; it is within reach of you. It is a definite and

immense organization; it may be young as yet, but it has courage and
splendid aims; and now, with a great work before it, it is eager for aid.
You yourself, when you see a child run over, or a woman starving of
hunger, or a blind man wanting to cross a street, are you not ready with
your help--the help of your hands or of your purse? Multiply these by
millions, and think of the cry for help that comes from all parts of the
world. If you but knew, you could not resist. I as yet know little--I only
hear the echo of the cry; but my veins are burning; I shall have the
gladness of answering 'Yes,' however little I can do. And after all, is not
that something? For a man to live only for himself is death."
"But you know, Evelyn," said his friend, though he did not quite know
what to answer to all this outburst, "you must be more cautious. Those
benevolent schemes are very noble and very captivating; but sometimes
they are in the hands of rather queer people. And besides, do you quite
know the limits of this big society? I thought you said something about
vindicating the oppressed. Does it include politics?"
"I do not question; I am content to obey," said Lord Evelyn.
"That is not English; unreasoning and blind obedience is mere folly."
"Perhaps so," said the other, somewhat absently; "but I suppose a man
accepts whatever satisfies the craving of his own heart. And--and I
should not like to go alone on this new thing, Brand. Will you not come
some little way with me? If you think I am mistaken, you may turn
back; as for me--well, if it were only a dream, I think I would rather go
with the pilgrims on their hopeless quest than stay with the people who
come out to wonder at them as they go by. You remember--
"'Who is your lady of love, oh ye that pass Singing? And is it for
sorrow of that which was That ye sing sadly, or dream of what shall be?
For gladly at once and sadly it seems ye sing. --Our lady of love by you
is unbeholden; For hands she hath none, nor eyes, nor lips, nor golden
Treasure of hair, nor face nor form; but we That love, we know her
more fair than anything.'"
Yes; he had certainly a pathetic thrill in his voice; but now there was

something else--something strange--in the slow and monotonous
cadence that caught the acute ear of his friend. And again he went on,
but absently, almost as