The Glory of English Prose | Page 3

the same sentence from The Bible in Modern Speech.
I will just put two quotations side by side:--
"Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do
they spin: and yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory
was not arrayed like one of these."
"Learn a lesson from the wild lilies. Watch their growth. They neither
toil nor spin, and yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his
magnificence could array himself like one of these."

Here you can feel the perfect harmony and balance of the old version
and the miserable commonplaceness of the effort of these misguided
modern men.
Again:--
"Repent ye: for the kingdom of heaven is at hand."
This is mauled into:--
"Repent, he said, for the kingdom of the heavens is now close at hand."
These examples are perfectly suited to illustrate the immense difference
that separates what is noble and fine in style and what is poor and third
rate.
If you recite the old version aloud you cannot escape the harmony and
balance of the sentences, and nothing dignified or distinguished can be
made of the wretched paraphrases of the two desecrators of the
splendid old text.
And, Antony, I would have you know that I, who have spent a long life
in precious libraries, loving fine literature with all my heart, have long
ago reverenced the old version of the Bible as the granite corner-stone
upon which has been built all the noblest English in the world. No
narrative in literature has yet surpassed in majesty, simplicity, and
passion the story of Joseph and his brethren, beginning at the
thirty-seventh and ending with the forty-fifth chapter of Genesis. There
is surely nothing more moving and lovely in all the books in the British
Museum than the picture of Joseph when he sees his little brother
among his brethren:--
"And he lifted up his eyes, and saw his brother Benjamin, his mother's
son, and said, Is this your younger brother, of whom ye spake to me?
And he said, God be gracious unto thee, my son.
"And Joseph made haste; for his bowels did yearn upon his brother: and
he sought where to weep; and he entered into his chamber, and wept

there."
The whole of the forty-fifth chapter is touching and beautiful beyond
all criticism, transcending all art. To read it is to believe every word of
it to be true, and to recognise the sublimity of such a relation.
No narrative of the great Greek writers reaches the heart so directly and
poignantly as does this astonishing story. It moves swiftly and surely
along from incident to incident till Joseph's loving soul can contain
itself no more:--
"Then Joseph could not refrain himself before all of them that stood by
him; and he cried, Cause every man to go out from me.
"And there stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known
unto his brethren.
"And he wept aloud: and the Egyptians and the house of Pharaoh heard.
"And Joseph said unto his brethren, I am Joseph; doth my father yet
live? And he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck, and wept; and
Benjamin wept upon his neck. Moreover he kissed all his brethren and
wept upon them.
"And after that his brethren talked with him."
And this wonderful chapter ends thus:--
"And they went up out of Egypt, and came unto the land of Canaan
unto Jacob their father, and told him, saying, Joseph is yet alive, and is
governor over all the land of Egypt.
"And Jacob's heart fainted, for he believed them not.
"And they told him all the words of Joseph, which he had said unto
them: and when he saw the wagons which Joseph had sent to carry him,
the spirit of Jacob their father revived:
"And Israel said, It is enough; Joseph my son is yet alive: I will go and

see him before I die."
If you read the story of Joseph through from start to finish, you will see
that it is a perfect narrative of the life of a man without fault, who
suffered much but without resentment, was great of heart in evil days,
and, when Fortune placed him in a position of glory and greatness,
showed a stainless magnanimity and a brotherly love that nothing could
abate. It is the first and most perfect story in literature of the nobility of
man's soul, and as such it must remain a treasured and priceless
possession to the world's end.
In the short Book of Ruth there lies embalmed in the finest English a
very tender love story, set in all the sweet surroundings of the ripening
corn, the gathered harvest, and the humble gleaners. Nothing can be
more delightful