the story of an african farm-第26节

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those　know　who　have　felt　it。



And　we；　on　that　moonlight　night；　put　down　our　head　on　the　window；　〃Oh；　God！

we　are　happy；　happy；　thy　child　forever。　　Oh；　thank　you；　God！〃　and　we　drop

asleep。



Next　morning　the　Bible　we　kiss。　　We　are　God's　forever。　　We　go　out　to　work；

and　it　goes　happily　all　day；　happily　all　night；　but　hardly　so　happily；　not

happily　at　all；　the　next　day；　and　the　next　night　the　devil　asks　us；　〃where

is　your　Holy　Spirit？〃



We　cannot　tell。



So　month　by　month；　summer　and　winter；　the　old　life　goes　onreading；

praying；　weeping；　praying。　　They　tell　us　we　become　utterly　stupid。　　We　know

it。　　Even　the　multiplication　table　we　learnt　with　so　much　care　we　forgot。　

The　physical　world　recedes　further　and　further　from　us。　　Truly　we　love　not

the　world；　neither　the　things　that　are　in　it。　　Across　the　bounds　of　sleep

our　grief　follows　us。　　When　we　wake　in　the　night　we　are　sitting　up　in　bed

weeping　bitterly；　or　find　ourself　outside　in　the　moonlight；　dressed；　and

walking　up　and　down；　and　wringing　our　hands；　and　we　cannot　tell　how　we　came

there。　　So　pass　two　years；　as　men　reckon　them。



V。



Then　a　new　time。



Before　us　there　were　three　courses　possibleto　go　mad；　to　die；　to　sleep。



We　take　the　latter　course；　or　nature　takes　it　for　us。



All　things　take　rest　in　sleep；　the　beasts；　birds；　the　very　flowers　close

their　eyes；　and　the　streams　are　still　in　winter；　all　things　take　rest；　then

why　not　the　human　reason　also？　　So　the　questioning　devil　in　us　drops

asleep；　and　in　that　sleep　a　beautiful　dream　rises　for　us。　　Though　you　hear

all　the　dreams　of　men；　you　will　hardly　find　a　prettier　one　than　ours。　　It

ran　so：



In　the　centre　of　all　things　is　a　mighty　Heart；　which；　having　begotten　all

things；　loves　them；　and；　having　born　them　into　life；　beats　with　great

throbs　of　love　towards　them。　　No　death　for　His　dear　insects；　no　hell　for

His　dear　men；　no　burning　up　for　His　dear　worldHis　own；　own　world　that　he

has　made。　　In　the　end　all　will　be　beautiful。　　Do　not　ask　us　how　we　make　our

dream　tally　with　facts；　the　glory　of　a　dream　is　thisthat　it　despises

facts；　and　makes　its　own。　　Our　dream　saves　us　from　going　mad；　that　is

enough。



Its　peculiar　point　of　sweetness　lay　here。　　When　the　Mighty　Heart's　yearning

of　love　became　too　great　for　other　expression；　it　shaped　itself　into　the

sweet　Rose　of　heaven；　the　beloved　Man…god。



Jesus！　you　Jesus　of　our　dream！　how　we　loved　you；　no　Bible　tells　of　you　as

we　knew　you。　　Your　sweet　hands　held　ours　fast；　your　sweet　voice　said

always；　〃I　am　here；　my　loved　one；　not　far　off；　put　your　arms　about　me；　and

hold　fast。〃



We　find　Him　in　everything　in　those　days。　　When　the　little　weary　lamb　we

drive　home　drags　its　feet；　we　seize　on　it；　and　carry　it　with　its　head

against　our　face。　　His　little　lamb！　　We　feel　we　have　got　Him。



When　the　drunken　Kaffer　lies　by　the　road　in　the　sun　we　draw　his　blanket

over　his　head；　and　put　green　branches　of　milk…bush　on　it。　　His　Kaffer；　why

should　the　sun　hurt　him？



In　the　evening；　when　the　clouds　lift　themselves　like　gates；　and　the　red

lights　shine　through　them；　we　cry；　for　in　such　glory　He　will　come；　and　the

hands　that　ache　to　touch　Him　will　hold　him；　and　we　shall　see　the　beautiful

hair　and　eyes　of　our　God。　　〃Lift　up　your　heads；　O；　ye　gates；　and　be　ye

lifted　up；　ye　everlasting　doors；　and　our　King　of　glory　shall　come　in！〃



The　purple　flowers；　the　little　purple　flowers；　are　His　eyes；　looking　at　us。

We　kiss　them；　and　kneel　alone　on　the　flat；　rejoicing　over　them。　　And　the

wilderness　and　the　solitary　place　shall　be　glad　for　Him；　and　the　desert

shall　rejoice　and　blossom　as　a　rose。



If　ever；　in　our　tearful；　joyful　ecstasy；　the　poor；　sleepy；　half…dead　devil

should　raise　his　head；　we　laugh　at　him。　　It　is　not　his　hour　now。



〃If　there　should　be　a　hell；　after　all！〃　he　mutters。　　〃If　your　God　should　be

cruel！　　If　there　should　be　no　God！　　If　you　should　find　out　it　is　all

imagination！　　If〃



We　laugh　at　him。　　When　a　man　sits　in　the　warm　sunshine；　do　you　ask　him　for

proof　of　it？　　He　feelsthat　is　all。　　And　we　feelthat　is　all。　　We　want　no

proof　of　our　God。　　We　feel；　we　feel！



We　do　not　believe　in　our　God　because　the　Bible　tells　us　of　Him。　　We　believe

in　the　Bible　because　He　tells　us　of　it。　　We　feel　Him；　we　feel　Him；　we　feel…

…that　is　all！　　And　the　poor；　half…swamped　devil　mutters：



〃But　if　the　day　should　come　when　you　do　not　feel？〃



And　we　laugh　and　cry　him　down。



〃It　will　never　comenever；〃　and　the　poor　devil　slinks　to　sleep　again；　with

his　tail　between　his　legs。　　Fierce　assertion　many　times　repeated　is　hard　to

stand　against；　only　time　separates　the　truth　from　the　lie。　　So　we　dream　on。



One　day　we　go　with　our　father　to　town；　to　church。　　The　townspeople　rustle

in　their　silks；　and　the　men　in　their　sleek　cloth；　and　settle　themselves　in

their　pews；　and　the　light　shines　in　through　the　windows　on　the　artificial

flowers　in　the　women's　bonnets。　　We　have　the　same　miserable　feeling　that　we

have　in　a　shop　where　all　the　clerks　are　very　smart。　　We　wish　our　father

hadn't　brought　us　to　town；　and　we　were　out　on　the　karoo。　　Then　the　man　in

the　pulpit　begins　to　preach。　　His　text　is　〃He　that　believeth　not　shall　be

damned。〃



The　day　before　the　magistrate's　clerk；　who　was　an　atheist；　has　died　in　the

street　struck　by　lightning。



The　man　in　the　pulpit　mentions　no　name；　but　he　talks　of　〃The　hand　of　God

made　visible　amongst　us。〃　　He　tells　us　how；　when　the　white　stroke　fell；

quivering　and　naked；　the　soul　fled；　robbed　of　his　earthly　filament；　and　lay

at　the　footstool　of　God；　how　over　its　head　has　been　poured　out　the　wrath　of

the　Mighty　One；　whose　existence　it　has　denied；　and；　quivering　and

terrified；　it　has　fled　to　the　everlasting　shade。



We；　as　we　listen；　half　start　up；　every　drop　of　blood　in　our　body　has　rushed

to　our　head。　　He　lies！　he　lies！　he　lies！　　That　man　in　the　pulpit　lies！　

Will　no　one　stop　him？　　Have　none　of　them　hearddo　none　of　them　know；　that

when　the　poor；　dark　soul　shut　its　eyes　on　earth　it　opened　them　in　the　still

light　of　heaven？　that　there　is　no　wrath　where　God's　face　is？　that　if　one

could　once　creep　to　the　footstool　of　God；　there　is　everlasting　peace　there；

like　the　fresh　stillness　of　the　early　morning？　　While　the　atheist　lay

wondering　and　afraid；　God　bent　down　and　said：　　〃My　child；　here　I　amI；

whom　you　have　not　known；　I；　whom　you　have　not　believed　in；　I　am　here。　　I

sent　My　messenger；　the　white　sheet…lightning；　to　call　you　home。　　I　am

here。〃



Then　the　poor　soul　turned　to　the　lightits　weakness　and　pain　were　gone

forever。



Have　they　not　known；　have　they　not　heard；　who　it　is　rules？



〃For　a　little　moment　have　I　hidden　my　face　from　thee；　but　with　everlasting

kindness　will　I　have　mercy　upon　thee；　saith　the　Lord　thy　Redeemer。〃



We　mutter　on　to　ourselves；　till　some　one　pulls　us　violently　by　the　arm　to

remind　us　we　are　in　church。　　We　see　nothing　but　our　own　ideas。



Presently　every　one　turns　to　pray。　　There　are　six　hundred　souls　lifting

themselves　to　the　Everlasting　light。



Behind　us　sit　two　pretty　ladies；　one　hands　her　scent…bottle　softly　to　the

other；　and　a　mother　pulls　down　her　little　girl's　frock。　　One　lady　drops　her

handkerchief；　a　gentleman　picks　it　up；　she　blushes。　　The　women　in　the　choir

turn　softly　the　leaves　of　their　tune…books；　to　be　ready　when　the　praying　is

done。　　It　is　as　though　they　thought　more　of　the　singing　than　the

Everlasting　Father。　　Oh；　would　it　not　be　more　worship　of　Him　to　sit　alone

in　the　karoo　and　kiss　one　little　purple　flower　that　he　had　made？　　Is　it　not

mockery？　　Then　the　thought　comes；　〃What　doest　thou　here；　Elijah？〃　　We　who

judge；　what　are　we　better　than　they？rather　worse。　　Is　it　any　excuse　to

say；　〃I　am　but　a　child　and　must　come？〃　　Does　God　allow　any　soul　to　step　in

between　the　spirit　he　made　and　himself？　　What　do　we　there　in　that　place；

where　all　the　words　are　lies　against　the　All　Father？　　Filled　with　horror；

we　turn　and　flee　out　of　the　place。　　On　the　pavement　we　smite　our　foot；　and

swear　in　our　child's　soul　never　again　to　enter　those　places　where　men　come

to　sing　and　pray。　　We　are　questioned　afterward。　　Why　was　it　we　went　out　of

the　church。



How　can　we　explain？we　stand　silent。　　Then　we　are　pressed　further；　and　we

try　to　tell。　　Then　a　head　is　shaken　solemnly　at　us。　　No　one　can　think　it

wrong　to　go　to　the　house　of　the　Lord；　it　is　the　idle　excuse　of　a　wicked

boy。　　When　will　we　think　seriously　of　our　souls；　and　love　going　to　church？

We　are　wicked；　very　wicked。　　And　wewe　slink　away　and　go　alone　to　cry。　

Will　it　be　always　so？　　Whether　we　hate　and　doubt；　or　whether　we　believe　and

love；　to　our　dearest；　are　we　to　seem　always　wicked？



We　do　not　yet　know　that　in　the　soul's　search　for　truth　the　bitterness　lies

here；　the　striving　cannot　always　hide　itself　among　the　thoughts；　sooner　or

later　it　will　clothe　itself　in　outward　action；　then　it　steps　in　and　divides

between　the　soul　and　what　it　loves。　　All　things　on　earth　have　their　price；