177. The Dream of Gerontius

§ 1. Gerontius

Assistants

Gerontius

Assistants

Gerontius

Assistants

Gerontius

The Priest

§ 2. Soul of Gerontius

Because I have nought else to feed upon.—
Am I alive or dead? I am not dead, But in the body still; for I possess A sort of confidence which clings to me, That each particular organ holds its place As heretofore, combining with the rest Into one symmetry, that wraps me round, And makes me man; and surely I could move, Did I but will it, every part of me. And yet I cannot to my sense bring home By very trial, that I have the power. 'Tis strange; I cannot stir a hand or foot, I cannot make my fingers or my lips By mutual pressure witness each to each, Nor by the eyelid's instantaneous stroke Assure myself I have a body still. Nor do I know my very attitude,

Nor if I stand, or lie, or sit, or kneel.
So much I know, not knowing how I know, That the vast universe, where I have dwelt, Is quitting me, or I am quitting it. Or I or it is rushing on the wings Of light or lightning on an onward course, And we e'en now are million miles apart. Yet ... is this peremptory severance Wrought out in lengthening measurements of space Which grow and multiply by speed and time? Or am I traversing infinity By endless subdivision, hurrying back From finite towards infinitesimal,

Thus dying out of the expansive world?
Another marvel: some one has me fast Within his ample palm; 'tis not a grasp Such as they use on earth, but all around Over the surface of my subtle being, As though I were a sphere, and capable To be accosted thus, a uniform And gentle pressure tells me I am not Self-moving, but borne forward on my way. And hark! I hear a singing; yet in sooth I cannot of that music rightly say Whether I hear, or touch, or taste the tones.

Oh, what a heart-subduing melody!
Angel — My work is done, — My task is o'er, — And so I come, — Taking it home, — For the crown is won, — Alleluia, — For evermore.
My Father gave — In charge to me — This child of earth — E'en from its birth, — To serve and save, — Alleluia, — And saved is he.
This child of clay — To me was given, — To rear and train — By sorrow and pain — In the narrow way, — Alleluia,

From earth to heaven.
Soul It is a member of that family Of wondrous beings, who, ere the worlds were — made, Millions of ages back, have stood around The throne of God:—he never has known sin But through those cycles all but infinite, Has had a strong and pure celestial life, And bore to gaze on the unveil'd face of God, And drank from the everlasting Fount of truth, And served Him with a keen ecstatic love. Hark! he begins again.
Angel O Lord, how wonderful in depth and height, — But most in man, how wonderful Thou art! With what a love, what soft persuasive might — Victorious o'er the stubborn fleshly heart, Thy tale complete of saints Thou dost provide, To fill the thrones which angels lost through pride!
He lay a grovelling babe upon the ground, — Polluted in the blood of his first sire, With his whole essence shatter'd and unsound, — And coil'd around his heart a demon dire, Which was not of his nature, but had skill To bind and form his op'ning mind to ill.
Then was I sent from heaven to set right — The balance in his soul of truth and sin, And I have waged a long relentless fight, — Resolved that death-environ'd spirit to win, Which from its fallen state, when all was lost, Had been repurchased at so dread a cost.
Oh, what a shifting parti-colour'd scene — Of hope and fear, of triumph and dismay, Of recklessness and penitence, has been — The history of that dreary, life-long fray! And oh, the grace to nerve him and to lead, How patient, prompt, and lavish at his need!
O man, strange composite of heaven and earth! — Majesty dwarf'd to baseness! fragrant flower Running to poisonous seed! and seeming worth — Cloking corruption! weakness mastering power! Who never art so near to crime and shame, As when thou hast achieved some deed of name;—
How should ethereal natures comprehend — A thing made up of spirit and of clay, Were we not task'd to nurse it and to tend, — Link'd one to one throughout its mortal day? More than the Seraph in his height of place, The Angel-guardian knows and loves the ran-

som'd race.
Soul Now know I surely that I am at length Out of the body; had I part with earth, I never could have drunk those accents in, And not have worshipp'd as a god the voice That was so musical; but now I am So whole of heart, so calm, so self-possess'd, With such a full content, and with a sense So apprehensive and discriminant, As no temptation can intoxicate. Nor have I even terror at the thought That I am clasp'd by such a saintliness.
Angel All praise to Him, at whose sublime decree — The last are first, the first become the last; By whom the suppliant prisoner is set free, — By whom proud first-borns from their thrones — are cast; Who raises Mary to be Queen of heaven, While Lucifer is left, condemn'd and unforgiven.
§ 3. Soul I will address him. Mighty one, my Lord, My Guardian Spirit, all hail!
Angel — All hail, my child! My child and brother, hail! what wouldest thou? —
Soul I would have nothing but to speak with thee For speaking's sake. I wish to hold with thee Conscious communion; though I fain would know A maze of things, were it but meet to ask, And not a curiousness.
Angel — You cannot now Cherish a wish which ought not to be wish'd.
Soul Then I will speak. I ever had believed That on the moment when the struggling soul Quitted its mortal case, forthwith it fell Under the awful Presence of its God, There to be judged and sent to its own place. What lets me now from going to my Lord?
Angel Thou art not let; but with extremest speed Art hurrying to the Just and Holy Judge: For scarcely art thou disembodied yet. Divide a moment, as men measure time, Into its million-million-millionth part, Yet even less than that the interval Since thou didst leave the body; and the priest Cried "Subvenite," and they fell to prayer;