THE ACTS OF THOMAS

BY TORSTEN SCHWANKE

CANTO I

In holy Salem met the chosen band,

The Twelve assigned to preach in every land.

There Peter stood, and Andrew by his side,

With Zebedee’s two sons, the Church’s pride.

Bartholomew and Philip joined the train,

With Matthew, who had quit the quest for gain.

Then Thomas, James, and Simon, Zealot named,

With Jude, who also kinship with James claimed.

The world they portioned out by sacred lot,

That each might seek his own appointed spot.

To Thomas then was distant India shown,

A land to Hebrew footsteps yet unknown.

But Didymus drew back in trembling dread,

And to the Lord in supplication said:

"How can I, weak in flesh, a Hebrew man,

Preach truth to Indians in their distant span?"

The Savior came by night with words of cheer:

"Go forth to India, Tom, and banish fear;

For where thou tread’st, my grace shall go with thee."

But still he cried, "Send any man but me!"

While thus he strove, a merchant came to view,

Named Abbanes, whom King Gundaphorus knew.

From India sent, he sought with royal gold

To find a carpenter of skillful mold.

At noon, the Lord within the market-place

Beheld the merchant with a steady face:

"Wouldst buy a craftsman?" "Yea," the man replied.

"I have a slave," the Lord then testified,

"A carpenter I wish this day to sell."

He pointed where the Saint did brooding dwell.

For silver pieces—three unminted weight—

He sealed the deed and settled Thomas’ fate.

"I, Joseph's son, do hereby sell to thee

My servant Jude," wrote He of Galilee.

The Savior led the Saint to Abbanes’ side;

"Is this thy master?" then the merchant cried.

The Saint replied, "He is my Lord and King."

"I’ve bought thee from him!"—Thomas said no thing.

But when the morning sun began to glow,

The Apostle prayed, "Lord, whither Thou wilt, I go."

No gold he took, nor scrip for daily meat,

Save only for the price of his deceit;

For Christ had said, "Take thou thy silver’s worth,

And let my grace attend thee through the earth."

He found the merchant on the vessel’s side,

And helped to stow the gear against the tide.

Then Abbanes inquired, "What is thy skill?"

The Saint replied with ready, humble will:

"In wood I fashion yokes and sturdy ploughs,

And masts for ships, and oars for cedar bows;

In stone I rear the temple’s lofty wall,

The royal court and pillar’d justice-hall."

"Such men we need!" the merchant joyed to find,

And home they sailed before a favored wind.

They reached Andrapolis, a city grand,

Where flute and trumpet echoed through the land.

"What means this stir?" the Saint of them inquired.

"The gods," they said, "have brought what you desired.

The King’s sole daughter weds her groom this day,

And all must join the festival’s array.

From rich to poor, the stranger and the thrall,

The King’s stern heralds summon one and all."

Said Abbanes, "Lest we the King offend,

Let us as guests these nuptial rites attend."

Within the inn they rested for a space,

Then sought the hall, the wedding’s royal place.

Amidst the guests the Saint reclined to dine,

A foreign figure in the festive line.

The merchant master sat in distant state,

While Thomas pondered on his coming fate.

He tasted neither meat nor vintage red,

Till those around him marveled and they said:

"Why sittest thou, and neither drink’st nor eat?"

He said, "I seek a more than earthly meat;

I come to do the King’s supreme command,

Lest I should fall beneath his judging hand."

When unguents came to scent the wedding-throng,

And garlands rose amidst the dance and song,

The guests their beards and limbs did all anoint;

But Thomas chose a different, holy point:

He touched his nostrils, ears, and teeth with care,

And placed the oil where’er his heart did beat in prayer.

A myrtle wreath upon his brow he set,

And held a reed, as if for scepter met.

Then came a girl who played the mournful flute,

And passed the guests who sat no longer mute.

But when she reached the Saint, she stayed her pace,

And played long measures o’er his foreign face;

For she, a Hebrew, in that pagan hall,

Beheld a brother in the stranger’s thrall.

The Saint sat low, his eyes upon the floor,

While revelry increased with every pour.

A haughty cup-bearer, with pride possessed,

Dealt Thomas then a blow before the guest.

The Apostle raised his gaze and calmly spoke:

"In life to come, may God remove this yoke;

But in this world, His wonders shall be shown,

And for this deed, thy blood shall soon atone.

The hand that smote me, I shall surely see

By scavenging and snarling dogs dragged free."

Then to the throng, he sang a mystic strain,

A song of light, of spirit, and of gain:

The Song of the Daughter of Light

"The Maid is Light’s own child, a radiant bride,

In whom the majesty of kings doth bide;

Her beauty blooms like flowers in the spring,

And from her robes the sweetest odors wing.

The King is on her crown, His throne secure,

Who feeds with nectar all the just and pure.

Truth is her head, and Joy her dancing feet,

Her mouth is opened, making praises sweet;

The twice-six-twenty singers hymn her name,

While like a curtain moves her tongue’s bright flame.

Her neck is like the steps a Master wrought,

Her hands the dance of happy ages taught.

Her chamber breathes of balsam, myrrh, and spice,

A starlit room, a scented paradise.

Seven groomsmen guard her, chosen by her hand,

And seven bridesmaids lead the dancing band.

Twelve servants wait to see the Groom appear,

That they may shine when His bright light is near.

In that eternal joy they shall remain,

And feast with princes in a holy reign;

Clad in bright robes, they’ll drink the spirit’s wine,

And in the Father’s light forever shine."

The crowd stood hushed, but none could understand,

The Hebrew tongue he brought from Judah’s land.

The flute-girl only, of that self-same race,

Perceived the truth and watched his comely face;

She ceased her tune and sat beside his feet,

To gaze on him, her countryman so sweet.

But he looked down, and neither spoke nor stirred,

As if the festive din remained unheard.

The cup-bearer, to draw the water, went

Down to the well—but there his life was spent.

A lion leaped and tore his limbs apart;

The dogs then seized the hand and stony heart.

Into the hall a sable hound did stray,

And at the feast, the smiting hand did lay.

The guests, amazed, in terror looked around,

Until the missing servant’s fate was found.

The flute-girl broke her reeds and cried aloud:

"A god or prophet sits within this crowd!

For in our tongue I heard him prophesy

This very hand beneath the dogs should lie."

Some gave her faith, while others stood in doubt;

But soon the King himself did seek him out.

"Rise up," he cried, "and for my daughter pray,

Who weds her groom upon this sacred day."

Though Thomas lingered, for the Lord stayed hid,

The King constrained him, doing as he bid.

Beside the bridal bed the Apostle stood,

And prayed the Source of everything that’s good:

"O Physician of the sick, the captive’s friend,

Who knowest all things to the very end;

O Jesus Christ, who harrowed deep the gloom,

And led the ancient souls from out the tomb,

Look on this pair, and grant them from above,

What most shall profit them in holy love."

He laid his hands upon the youthful twain,

Then left the room and walked the streets again.

The doors were barred; the groomsmen all withdrew;

The husband turned his blooming bride to view.

He raised the veil—but stood in stark surprise,

For there the Saint appeared before his eyes.

"Didst thou not leave?" the bridegroom asked in fear,

"How is it, Master, thou art standing here?"

The Lord replied, in Thomas’ form and tone:

"I am his Brother, whom the heavens own."

He sat them down, the Savior on the bed,

And to the pair, these holy words He said:

"Reflect, my children," thus the Savior spoke,

"Upon the words my brother's voice awoke.

If from this union's stain ye shall refrain,

Pure temples of the Lord ye shall remain.

No heavy cares of life shall weigh you down,

Nor children's griefs your earthly comforts drown;

For those who seek a numerous, worldly race,

Oft strip the widow in their greedy chase.

The fruit of such a bond may bring but woe—

Possessed by demons as they older grow;

The blind, the halt, the foolish, or the vain,

To rack the parents with a lifelong pain.

But if ye keep your souls in chaste accord,

And walk in purity before the Lord,

Living and blemishless your heirs shall be,

From every care and earthly sorrow free.

Then shall ye enter, in a light sublime,

The marriage-chamber far beyond all time."

The youthful pair believed the words He said,

And turned from lust to seek the Lord instead.

The Savior vanished with a parting grace,

And silence settled in that holy place.

When morning dawned, the King prepared the board,

To feast the pair and praise the festive Lord.

He found them sitting, calm and full of cheer;

The bride's unveiled and happy face was near.

Her mother cried: "Why sittest thou, my child,

Without a blush, with features reconciled?

Hast thou no shame before thy father’s eye,

As if a wife of years were standing by?"

The King then asked: "Is it thy husband’s love

That bids thee lift thy modest veil above?"

The bride replied: "O Father, love is great,

But I have found a more than mortal state.

This night a holy Husband I have known,

Whose love and truth are in my spirit sown.

I cast the veil of earthly shame aside,

For in my soul no shadows can abide;

The deed of confusion is fled away,

And joy hath ushered in a brighter day.

I set at naught this bond that fades from sight,

To join a marriage of eternal light."

The Bridegroom then his grateful voice addressed:

"I thank Thee, Lord, the stranger’s holy guest!

Thou hast removed the sickness from my soul,

And by Thy presence made a leper whole.

Thou hast redeemed me from the depth of fall,

To hear Thy Spirit’s high and holy call.

Though I was lost and knew not who I was,

Thou soughtest me to plead my spirit’s cause;

Thy love now burns within me like a flame,

Too vast for any mortal tongue to name."

The King, in fury, rent his royal dress,

To hear his daughter such a faith confess.

"Find me that sorcerer!" he cried in rage,

"The man who brought this blight upon our age!

I led him here to bless her bridal bed,

But he hath cursed my only child instead!"

They searched the city, but they searched in vain,

For Thomas now was on the surging main.

They sought the inn, and found the flute-girl there,

Whose silent weeping filled the morning air;

But when she heard the news of what was done,

Her grief was ended and her joy begun.

"Now I have also found my rest!" she cried,

And sought the Bridegroom and the holy Bride.

Long time she stayed to teach the King his part,

Until the Truth had reached his royal heart.

And many brethren gathered at the word,

To seek the Saint of whom the world had heard.

CANTO II

To Indian realms the Saint and merchant came;

Abbanes then extolled the Carpenter's name.

Before King Gundaphorus he made report,

And Thomas was commanded to the court.

"What is thy craft?" the King in inquiry spoke;

"I build in wood and stone," the Apostle broke.

"Of wood: the oar, the mast, the yoke, the plow;

In stone: the palace, tomb, and temple's brow."

The King replied: "A palace shalt thou rear?"

"Yea," said the Saint, "for that I journeyed here."

Beyond the gates the King then led the way,

To mark the ground whereon the structure lay.

Though lush with wood and watered by the stream,

The Apostle chose it for the royal scheme.

"Begin," the Monarch cried; the Saint replied:

"In winter's frost my labors must abide.

In Dius I shall start, in Xanthicus end."

The King did marvel: "How canst thou contend

With winter’s cold to build a house of state?"

"Thus must it be," the Saint did contemplate.

He took a reed and drew upon the sand

A plan of light and air at his command:

The doors to eastward for the rising sun,

The western vents where cooling breezes run;

The King, well-pleased, bestowed a golden store,

And left the Saint to seek his court once more.

The King sent gold and grain at every tide,

But Thomas turned the royal wealth aside;

Through every town and hamlet he would go,

To heal the sick and soothe the pauper’s woe.

"The King," he said, "shall royal pay receive,

But now the poor have hunger to relieve."

An envoy came: "What work hast thou to show?"

"The roof alone is left," he answered low.

More gold was sent; the Apostle praised the Lord:

"I thank Thee, Christ, for every grace outpoured;

Thou soldest me that I might set men free."

He gave the grain and gold in charity,

The widow’s steward and the orphan’s stay,

The comfort of the wretched on their way.

The King returned and sought his palace fair,

But friends declared: "No stone is standing there!

He builds no halls, but wanders through the street,

And lays your gold at every beggar's feet.

A new and unknown God he dares to preach;

The sick are healed by his mysterious speech.

A sorcerer he seems—yet, mark his life:

He knows no greed, no passion, and no strife.

On bread and salt he fasts in humble dress;

One simple cloak defies the winter’s stress."

The King in silence rubbed his weary face,

And brooded long upon this strange disgrace.

He called the Saint: "Where is my palace, man?"

"’Tis built," said Thomas, "by the promised plan."

"When shall we see it?" cried the King in heat.

"When thou hast passed beyond the mercy-seat;

When life is spent, its towers shall appear."

The King, enraged, with many a bitter sneer,

Cast both the Saint and merchant in the chain,

Till he might learn who reaped his golden gain.

The Saint rejoiced: "Believe, and fear no ill;

From earthly bonds the Lord shall set us free."

But Gad, the royal brother, fell to death,

And cursed the Saint with his expiring breath:

"Avenge my soul, O King, upon this knave,

Before my weary head is in the grave!"

The King replied: "With fire and flaying knife,

This very night they both shall yield their life."

While yet they spoke, Gad’s spirit took its flight;

The King in sorrow mourned the vanished light.

In royal robes he bade the corpse be dressed,

To lay his brother in a kingly rest.

But angels bore the soul through realms on high,

To view the mansions of the vaulted sky.

They asked: "In which of these wouldst thou reside?"

Then Thomas’ palace Gad with wonder spied.

"O let me dwell," he cried, "within these walls!"

But they replied: "Thou canst not claim these halls;

This is the house the Christian’s hand did rear,

To be thy brother’s royal dwelling here."

"Then let me go," said Gad, "to earth again;

My brother knows not of this fair domain.

He'll sell to me what he does not prize."

The angels loosed him from the starry skies.

As mourners wrapped him in his funeral shroud,

The soul returned; he rose before the crowd.

"Call forth the King!" he cried with gasping breath;

"One boon I crave, returned from shades of death."

The King in haste and trembling wonder came;

Gad spoke: "By every oath and sacred name,

If half thy kingdom I had sought to buy,

Thou wouldst have granted it without a sigh.

Now swear to me, by all that thou dost hold,

To sell one thing for silver and for gold."

The King gave oath; then Gad made his plea:

"That heavenly palace, sell it now to me!

The house that Hebrew built, whom thou didst chain,

Whose supposed fraud did cause my mortal pain."

Then Gundaphorus saw with inward sight

The lasting glory of that crown of light.

"I cannot sell," he said, "that house of grace,

For I must seek therein a dwelling place.

But lo! the man still lives; he shall provide

For thee a better house, and be thy guide."

Forthwith he brought the Saint from prison's gloom,

And knelt before him in the royal room.

"Forgive my pride," the King in anguish cried,

"For now I know the Lord is on thy side.

I seek to serve the God whom thou dost teach,

And reach the glory which thy wonders preach."

And Gad fell down: "O Minister of Grace,

Grant me within that fold a humble place."

The Saint, o’erjoyed, addressed the Lord of All:

"I praise Thee, Christ, Who hears the sinner’s call.

Thou art the Truth, the Shepherd of the sheep,

Who wakes the soul from its unholy sleep.

Though men forget, Thou dost not turn away,

But leads the wanderer to the light of day.

Receive these twain, and wash them in Thy tide,

And let them in Thy verdant fields abide.

Grant them the fountain that shall ne'er run dry,

And strengthen them beneath a hostile sky;

That they may bear the mock, the scourge, the rod,

And stand at last perfected in their God."

The King and Gad then followed in his train,

And gave their wealth to ease the poor man's pain.

With eager hearts they sought the holy sign:

"O Seal us now with mysteries divine!

For Thou hast said the Shepherd knows His own

By that bright Seal which comes from God alone."

The Apostle smiled: "Receive the Bread and Wine,

And let the Oil of Grace upon you shine."

The lamps were lit against the gloom of night,

To bathe the converts in a sacred light;

Within the bath the hallowed rite was run,

And thus the King and Christ were made as one.

The Saint arose to seal them with the rite;

A Voice from heaven filled the halls of light.

"Peace be to you," the Savior’s accents fell,

Though yet His form remained invisible;

For till the final seal of grace is won,

The eye beholds not the Eternal Son.

Then Thomas took the oil of ancient fame,

And called upon the Christ’s exalted name:

"Come, Power of the Highest, from above;

Come, Mother of compassion and of love;

Reveal the hidden mysteries of old,

The seven houses and the eighth of gold.

Come, Holy Spirit, purge the heart from sin,

And let the triple Seal now enter in."

A youth appeared with torch of burning fire,

Whose brilliance quenched the lamps of earth’s desire;

He passed away; the Saint in trembling spoke:

"Thy light, O Lord, is more than mortal yoke!"

At dawn they broke the bread and drank the wine,

Partaking of the Eucharist divine;

And many more, beholding what was done,

To Christ the Savior’s holy refuge run.

The Saint addressed the young, the old, the free:

"Abstain from lust and from cupidity!

Serve not the belly, for from these three springs

All iniquity and its bitter stings.

For lust doth blind the soul and dim the sight,

And turns the body’s vigor into night.

And greed doth fill the heart with shame and dread,

To seize the goods on which the poor are fed.

The belly’s service breeds a world of care,

In fear of want and heavy with despair.

Be free of grief! The Lord hath said it plain:

To fret for morrow is a labor vain.

Behold the ravens: neither sow nor reap,

Yet God their lives in constant bounty keep.

Trust in His Name; the Judge of all draws near,

Before Whose face all secrets shall appear.

His heralds cry to every distant shore;

Repent and live, and die in sin no more!

Cast off the dark and take the yoke so light;

Receive the sign and walk within the light."

The crowds then spoke: "The debt is surely due."

"The Lord," he said, "asks more of us and you;

But let us give what justice doth demand."

He blessed the salt and herbs with holy hand.

Then as the Sabbath dawned, he sought his rest;

The Lord appeared and thus the Saint addressed:

"Rise, Thomas, go! Two miles toward the East,

My glory waits for laborer and priest;

There many souls shall find their home in Me,

And thou shalt strip the Mask of Enmity."

The Apostle woke and called his brethren near:

"The Lord hath work; let us not faint in fear.

May He fulfill His will through us this day,

And lead our footsteps in His holy way."

He gave the Bread of Life and softly prayed:

"Let not this Gift for judgment be arrayed,

But grant us mercy by this sacred food."

"Amen!" they cried, in holy brotherhood.

CANTO III

The Saint went forth where'er his Lord decreed,

To walk the path and sow the holy seed;

But near the second stone, he turned aside,

And there a youth of comely form espied.

Cold in the dust the silent body lay,

While Thomas paused to wonder and to pray:

"Lord, was it for this sight I hither came,

To meet this trial in Thy holy name?

Yet let Thy will in everything be done,

O Father, Master, and Eternal Son."

Then to the heavens he raised his voice on high:

"O Judge of all, who hear'st the quick man’s cry,

Who rulest o'er the dead who silent sleep,

And guardest souls within the body’s keep;

Come in this hour, Thy glory now reveal,

And by Thy power this stricken body heal."

To those who followed, then he turned and spoke:

"No random chance hath dealt this heavy stroke;

The ancient Foe hath wrought this cruel deed,

Using his subject for his wicked greed."

Then from a hole, a serpent, dark and vast,

Crept o'er the earth while all stood back aghast;

He beat his head and lashed his heavy tail,

And spoke a challenge that would make men quail:

"I come to tell the cause for which he died,

Since thou art here to check my ancient pride."

"Speak on," the Saint replied with steady breath;

The serpent told the history of death:

"Across the way, a lovely woman dwells,

Whose beauty bound me in its silent spells.

I saw this youth with her in secret meet,

To taste of pleasures, stolen and unmeet;

I would have slain him then, but held my bite

Lest she should tremble at the awful sight.

But when the Sabbath evening shadows fell,

I struck him down and sent him unto hell;

For well I know thou art the Savior's twin,

Who comes to end our nature and our sin."

"What is thy race?" the holy man inquired;

The beast replied, by hellish malice fired:

"I am the son of him who struck the four,

The noxious heir of ancient, evil lore.

My sire is he who sits on earthly thrones,

Who claims the debt and gathers back his loans;

He girds the sphere and circles all the deep,

While in his mouth his own Great Tail he’ll keep.

I am the one who passed the Eden wall,

And spoke to Eve to work the human fall;

I kindled Cain to shed a brother’s blood,

Till thorns and thistles choked the earthly mud.

I led the angels down to human lust,

To bring forth giants from the common dust;

I hardened Pharaoh's heart with cruel pride,

And led the Jews to leave their Godly guide.

I tempted Herod, fired the High Priest’s tongue,

Until the Christ was on the gallows hung;

I bribed the traitor for the silver’s glow,

And rule the dark and deep abyss below.

But now the Son hath robbed me of my own,

And claimed the souls I thought were mine alone."

The Apostle cried: "Thou shameless one, be still!

No more recount the triumphs of thy will.

Thy end is come; thy boastful tongue must cease;

Now leave this soul and let him depart in peace.

In Jesus' name, who fights for every man,

Suck back the venom as you only can!"

"The time is short," the hissing beast replied,

"But not yet finished is our ancient pride.

Why must I die before my hour is due?

For when my sire takes back what he once threw,

His end shall come, and all our race shall fade."

"Then show thy nature," Thomas sternly said.

The serpent moved and pressed his venom-mouth

Against the wound, to draw the poison out;

He sucked the gall; the youth’s dark, purple hue

Turned white and fresh as morning’s early dew.

The youth leaped up and stood upon the sand,

And fell to kiss the great Apostle’s hand.

But now the beast, with swelling poison filled,

Burst wide apart; his bitter blood was spilled.

The earth gaped open where the venom spread,

And swallowed up the serpent to the dead.

Then spoke the Saint: "Build houses on this ground,

That for the stranger, shelter may be found."

With many tears the youth began to cry:

"Wherein, O Saint, did I thy grace defy?

For thou art one who walks in double form,

Unchecked by distance or the rising storm.

I saw the One who stood beside thee there,

With wondrous works and rewards beyond compare;

He bade thee wake me from the enemy’s night,

To live as children of eternal light.

I now am free from toil and dark despair,

Released from him who snared me in his snare;

The kinsman of the night I leave behind,

And in the Light my truer kin I find.

The blinder of the soul is fled away,

Whose works are shame and vanish with the day;

I seek the Truth, whose concord heals the soul,

Who scatters mist and makes the broken whole.

O man of God, I pray, let me behold

That hidden Face more precious than all gold;

His voice I long to hear, though mortal tongue

Cannot express the songs that He hath sung."

The Saint replied: "If thou shalt constant stay,

And walk the path that thou hast learned today;

If thou shalt seek the One who set thee free,

Then evermore His presence thou shalt see.

In His deep joy thy soul shall find its rest,

Among the holy ones and ever blest.

But if thou fail, and turn to former sin,

Losing the light that now is bright within,

Thou shalt be reft of life that is to come,

And in the darkness find thy final home;

The Foe thou lost shall claim thee for his own,

And thou shalt wander, friendless and alone."

Then hand in hand, they walked the city street,

While Thomas taught with words both grave and sweet:

"These wonders, child, are but a fleeting sign

Of greater glories in the realm divine.

While bound in flesh, no mortal tongue can tell

The secret joys that in His kingdom dwell.

If we speak light, we mean not this of old,

Nor of the wealth that turns to dross and gold;

For narrow is the gate the rich must find,

And heavy are the chains that worldlings bind.

We speak not here of raiment soft and fine,

Which in the houses of the monarchs shine;

Nor of the feast where drunkenness and care

O'erwhelm the soul and lay a heavy snare.

The Lord hath said: 'Take thought for nothing here,

For food or drink or what you mean to wear;

The soul is more than meat, the frame than dress,'

Our God provides in all our deep distress."

"But of the world above we bring the word,

Of holy Watchers and of God the Lord;

Of food immortal and the living Vine,

And robes of light that never shall decline.

No eye hath seen, nor ear hath ever known,

The things God prepares for His very own.

Believe in Him and thou shalt never die;

He asks no gift that earthly hands can buy.

No blood of bulls or sacrifice He needs,

But only that the heart His bidding heeds.

Turn unto Him; He will not let thee go,

Nor leave thee in the shadows here below.

His beauty shall thy every longing move,

To dwell forever in His perfect love."

The Apostle saw the crowds about him press,

To see his face and hear his voice and bless;

On walls and heights the eager people stood,

To view the man who preached of every good.

He cried aloud: "Ye who would Christ behold,

And enter in the Master's holy fold,

Observe that if ye be not raised on high,

Ye cannot see me with a mortal eye.

I am but small, a man like unto you,

Yet I am hidden from the common view.

If, then, to see a man ye must arise

And lift your bodies toward the open skies,

How shall ye see the One in heights above,

Who dwells in depth and is the Lord of Love?

Ye must arise from every former deed,

And from the life that serves a worldly greed.

Leave now the wealth that stays within the dust,

The fading robe, the treasures that shall rust;

Forsake the beauty that must soon decay,

And all the lusts that vanish with the day;

Yea, rise above the flesh that turns to clay,

And seek the Path that leads to endless day."

"Believe on Jesus, whom I now proclaim,

And find your hope within His holy name.

He is the Friend who walks the land of night,

The steady Port when waves of trouble fright.

He is the Spring within the thirsty waste,

The Bread of Life that hungry souls may taste;

A Rest for every spirit bowed in care,

A Great Physician for the pains ye bear."

The weeping crowd then raised a mournful cry:

"How can we dare to lift our eyes so high?

The God thou preachest we can hardly name,

For all our works are full of sin and shame.

But if His mercy will our souls release,

And give the heart a long-forgotten peace,

If He will cast our former sins away,

We’ll serve Him truly to our final day."

Then Thomas spoke: "The Lord will not demand

A strict account of works from error’s hand;

He overlooks the paths in darkness trod,

And welcomes every child of man to God."

CANTO IV

Beside the road the holy Thomas stood,

To preach the Word and teach the multitude;

When lo! a colt, a creature small and young,

Approach'd the Saint and spoke with human tongue.

For Judah cried, "By grace of God on high,

This beast shall speak while all these crowds are nigh;

Open thy mouth, thou foal of humble breed,

And witness here the truth of what we plead."

The colt obey'd, its jaws were open'd wide,

And to the Saint in solemn tones it cried:

"O Christ's own twin, who keeps the hidden word,

The secret servant of the sovereign Lord!

Thou, though born free, a bondman hast become,

To lead the captives to their heav'nly home;

Sold for a price, thou bringest liberty,

And India finds a spark of life in thee.

Come, mount my back and take thy rest of me,

Until the city’s gates at last we see."

The Saint replied, with wonder in his soul,

"O Christ, who canst the savage beast control!

O Sweet Repose, who works in hidden ways,

In alien forms we find Thy name to praise.

Thou art the spring that never shall run dry,

The Captain who ensures our victory;

The Shepherd Good, who for the flock was slain,

Who drove the wolf from off the verdant plain.

To Thee and to the Father, praise we bring,

And to the Spirit, and Mother of every thing."

The crowds stood hushed to hear the man's reply,

While Thomas gaz'd into the vaulted sky.

"From whence art thou?" he asked the beast in awe,

"Whose mouth declares the mysteries of law?"

The colt respond'd: "I come of Balaam's line,

Kin to the beast that bore thy Lord divine;

I come to serve, that faith may be increas'd,

Then lose this gift when once my task has ceas'd."

The Saint demurr'd, but at the beast's appeal,

He mounted up to seal the spirit's zeal.

Through thronging crowds they reached the city wall,

Where Thomas from his seat did gently fall.

"Depart in peace," he said, "to where thou dwelt,"

But as he spoke, the colt in silence knelt;

It sank to earth before the Apostle's feet,

And breath'd its last, its earthly work complete.

The people griev'd to see the creature lie,

And begg'd the Saint to stay its destiny.

"I could," said he, "restore this vital breath,

In Jesus' name command the end of death;

But He who gave it speech to serve the Way,

Has willed that it should perish here today.

I raise him not, though well I have the power,

For death is best for him in this last hour."

They dug a trench as Thomas gave command,

And laid the colt within the silent sand.

CANTO V

The Apostle walked within the city gate,

While trailing crowds upon his footsteps wait.

To find the parents’ house he took his way,

Whose son he raised to meet the light of day.

But as he went, a woman’s cry arose,

To plead for succor from a thousand woes:

"O Servant of the God newly proclaimed,

Whose holy power through India is famed!

Thou art the source of life to those who turn,

Whose touch makes bodies whole and spirits burn.

Command that I before thy face may stand,

To tell the grief that holds me in its hand;

Five years of torment have I known of late,

Bound by a foe in some dark, cursed state.

In days of old, I dwelt in quiet peace,

And from all worldly care I found release.

But coming from the bath, a man I met,

Whose voice was dim, like suns about to set.

He spoke of love and sought a husband’s part,

But I refused the passion of his heart;

'I shunned my own betrothed,' I told him then,

'And shall I yield to lust of wandering men?'

I told my maid of his bold, youthful face,

But she saw only age and gray-haired pace.

That night in sleep, he came with foul intent,

And five long years in shadow have I spent.

I know the devils tremble at thy word,

And by thy God my crying shall be heard;

Pray now for me, that I may find my rest,

And join the kindred spirits of the blest."

The Apostle spoke: "O restless, envious foe!

O hideous one, who lays the comely low!

Of many forms, yet constant in thy spite,

A bitter tree that shuns the holy light.

O serpent-wickedness that creeps in gloom,

Preparing for the souls of men a tomb!"

Then stood the demon, visible to none

Save to the woman and the Holy One.

With a loud voice, the spirit cried in fear:

"Apostle of the High, why art thou here?

O Jesus’ servant, why our power destroy,

Before the time has ended for our joy?

Thou hast thine own; we have our subjects too;

Why take by force what is our ancient due?

Thou art like him, that Son who did us wrong,

Whose humble form we thought was never strong.

In poverty and flesh he masked his might,

And hid his glory from our darkened sight.

He granted us a season in this place,

But thou wouldst rob us of our dwelling-space!"

Then wept the fiend, and cried in deep despair,

"I leave thee now, my consort, bright and fair!

My sister sure, in whom I found my rest,

I flee the heart that I so long possessed.

Where shall I go? To whom shall I complain?

What distant land shall hide me from this pain?

I seek a place where ne'er his name is heard,

To find another, captured by my word.

Abide in peace, for now a Greater Might

Has shielded thee and put my hopes to flight.

But when he goes, and thou art left alone,

I shall return to claim what was mine own!"

He vanished then; a cloud of smoke arose,

And sudden fire marked out the demon's close.

The Apostle spoke: "This fire is but his part,

The very nature of his hollow heart.

He shall be scattered like the drifting haze,

Consumed forever in the judgment’s blaze."

Then Thomas prayed: "O Jesus, Mystery,

The hidden Truth that thou hast let us see!

Thou spakest words that set my soul aflame,

Too deep for tongues of mortals to proclaim.

O Man once slain, and buried in the deep,

O God of God, who wakes the dead from sleep!

Who hungered here, yet fed the hungry crowd,

And walked the waves while winds were wailing loud.

High Voice of Mercy, Right Hand of the Light,

Who binds the foe and ends the ancient night!

First-born of many, Judge in prison cast,

Who breaks the bonds and makes the captive last.

Look on these souls who for thy blessing wait,

And bring thy peace within this earthly state;

Strip off the old, the garment stained by sin,

And let the new and holy life begin."

He blessed the throng; they answered him, "Amen."

The woman cried: "O save me once again!

Give me the Seal, lest that dark foe return

To haunt the spirit that for grace doth yearn."

Beside the stream the holy rite was sped;

He sealed her soul, and then he broke the bread.

Upon a stool a linen cloth was spread,

As Thomas stood and bowed his weary head:

"Come, Perfect Mercy, Silence that reveals,

Whose sacred touch the hidden spirit heals!

Come, Holy Dove, the Mother veiled in grace,

And grant us joy within this quiet place.

Commune with us, and let this feast be blessed,

To bring the weary to their final rest."

He marked the Cross; the bread he then divide,

To heal the soul and turn the dark aside:

"Take this," he said, "for sins to be forgiven,

The pledge of life and entry into Heaven."

CANTO VI

A youth approached the bread of holy rite,

With hidden sin and soul as black as night.

He reached to take the Host within his mouth,

But felt a sudden, strange, and stony drouth:

His hands grew stiff and withered in the air,

Leaving the cup and sacred portion there.

The crowd beheld the judgment of the Lord,

And told the Saint, who bore the Spirit’s sword.

The Apostle called him: "Child, be not afraid,

But tell what debt of sin thy soul hath paid.

The Lord’s own feast hath proven thee untrue,

What was the deed that God’s own hand withdrew?"

With trembling knees the youth fell to the ground,

While in his heart a heavy truth was found.

"I loved a maid," he cried, "at yonder inn,

And sought to keep her from the paths of sin.

When I believed the living God through thee,

I sought to live in chaste virginity.

I begged that she might be my holy bride,

To cast all base and carnal lust aside;

But when she spurned the purity I sought,

I took a blade and let my rage be wrought.

I slew her there, for I could not endure

To see her sink in unions not so pure."

The Saint replied, "O lust’s destructive fire!

How ruins man the heat of mad desire?

O serpent’s work, that turns against its own!"

Then water in a basin was made known.

He blessed the stream with prayers of holy light,

To grant the water sanctifying might.

"Go wash," he said, and as the youth obeyed,

His flesh was healed, his withered hands were stayed.

"Now lead us to the place where she was slain,"

The Saint commanded, "to the house of pain."

They reached the inn and found the maiden dead,

The bloom of youth and comely beauty fled.

They bore her to the court upon a bed,

While Thomas bowed his venerable head.

He prayed to Him who is the Way and Life,

To end the sorrow and the bitter strife:

"O Lord, who seest with the spirit's eye,

Whose works are manifest beneath the sky,

We ask not gold, nor any earthly prize,

But bid this daughter of the earth arise!"

Then to the youth: "By faith and by the Cross,

Go mend the life that suffered such a loss.

Take thou her hand, and let thy voice declare

The healing power of Christ through earnest prayer."

The youth cried out, "Lord, grant me now this sign!"

And touched her hand with hope and strength divine.

As if from sleep, she rose and sat upright,

Beholding there the company and light.

She kissed the Saint and asked with bated breath,

"Where is that Other, who in realms of death,

Delivered me from out that cruel place,

To find again the comfort of thy face?"

"Where hast thou been?" the Saint of God inquired.

She spoke of regions where the soul is tired:

"A man of gloom, in raiment foul and black,

Led me through pits along a lightless track.

I saw the wheels of fire, the souls in pain,

Who sought for mercy, but who sought in vain.

There they are bound who turned from nature's law,

Midst stench and cries and sights of grisly awe.

And infants lay in heaps upon the floor,

To witness 'gainst the lives their parents wore."

Thus did she tell the terrors of the deep,

Ere Christ's command awoke her from her sleep.

"Another pit I saw," the maiden said,

"Where worms and mire upon the souls are fed;

Where wives who left their husbands' lawful bed

In endless, gnashing misery are led.

And higher up, some hung by locks of hair—

The shameless ones who laid their tresses bare.

The slanderers by the tongue were swinging high,

Who lived to mock, to flatter, and to lie;

The thieves were hanged by hands that reached for gold,

While those who walked in paths of vice, behold,

Were bound by feet, suspended head to ground,

For in the sick man's room they were not found."

"A cave I saw, more dark than deepest night,

Where stinking breath replaced the holy light;

There prisoners peered through bars to catch the air,

But keepers thrust them back in black despair.

They sought to claim me for that dismal den,

To keep me hidden from the light of men;

But he who led me—who was like to thee—

Refused to yield me to such misery.

He brought me back to this, the upper day,

A wand’ring sheep that long had gone astray.

O Saint, I pray, by all the pains I've seen,

Let not my soul return to sights so mean!"

The Saint addressed the throng that stood around:

"Ye hear the terrors that beneath are found!

If ye turn not from works of lust and pride,

Such bitter torments shall your souls abide.

Believe in Christ; put off the man of old,

As snakes discard their skins within the fold.

Let him who stole now labor with his hand,

And chaste and holy let the lover stand;

For God abhors the dark adulterous act,

And keeps with holy souls a sacred pact.

Forsake your drink, your slanders, and your greed,

And walk in hope, according to our creed."

The people heard and turned their hearts to God,

No longer in the paths of darkness trod.

They brought their gold to serve the widows' need,

And proved their faith by every holy deed.

The Saint preached on, from prophets old and wise,

How Christ was born and did from death arise.

The fame of healing spread through every street;

They laid the sick before the Apostle's feet.

The blind, the lame, the spirits' weary prize,

Were healed beneath the mercy of the skies.

Then Thomas cried, "All glory be to Thee,

Who sets the captive and the sinner free!

The Father's Heir, who never knows a sleep,

Who guards the fold and finds the straying sheep!

O Jesus Christ, our refuge and our rest,

In whom the weary and the poor are blest;

We thank Thee for the gifts Thy mercy gave,

The power to heal, the sovereign will to save!"

"Complete in us, O Lord, this work of grace,

That we with boldness may behold Thy face.

Look down on us, for we, at Thy command,

Have left our kin and fled our native land;

We wandered far, as strangers on the earth,

To seek a country of a higher birth.

Our gold and worldly goods we cast aside,

To gain a treasure that shall e’er abide.

We left the bonds of blood and earthly race,

To find a kinship in Thy holy place;

Our fathers and our mothers we forsook,

That on Thy heavenly Father we might look,

And from His hand receive the bread of life,

Far from the hunger of this mortal strife.

We broke the ties of carnal love and fruit,

To plant in Thee a deeper, firmer root.

No more we seek the joys that fade and die,

But reach for fruits whose nature is on high—

A holy fellowship, a true accord,

Which none can steal from us, O gracious Lord.

With Thee we dwell, and Thou in us shalt stay,

Through all the shadows of the world's decay;

Keep us Thine own, until our journey's end,

Our God, our Life, our Everlasting Friend."

CANTI VII

While Thomas preached throughout the Indian land,

A captain of the king did near him stand.

"I hear," he said, "thou seekest no reward,

But givest all thou hast with one accord.

Hadst thou sought gold, I would have sent a sum,

And not in person to thy presence come;

For I am rich, a man of high degree,

The king himself doth nothing without me.

Yet though I lived in justice and in pride,

A bitter fate has turned the tide.

One wife I have, to whom I have been true,

One daughter dear, as nature bids me do.

"It chanced a wedding called us to the feast,

Where friends I loved invited us as guests.

Though she was loath, I sent my wife away,

With our young child, in beautiful array.

When evening fell, I sent the torches' light

To guide them safely through the coming night;

I stood to watch the street, but heard a cry

Of lamentation rising to the sky.

My servants came with garments torn in grief,

And told a tale that surpassed all belief:

'A man and boy,' they said, 'did bar the way,

To make thy wife and child their sudden prey.

We drew our swords to strike the villains down,

But all our blades fell useless to the ground.

The women fell and gnashed their teeth in pain,

And beat their heads upon the dusty plain.'

I ran in madness where the market lies,

And found them cast beneath the evening skies.

"I asked my wife, 'What grief has struck thee so?'

She said, 'Thou causedst all this bitter woe;

I prayed to stay, for I was far from well,

But at the fountain, where the waters swell,

I saw a black man and a boy of soot,

With teeth like milk and many a hideous foot.

They followed us when sunset left the sky,

My daughter saw them first and gave a cry.

The servants fled, the demons struck us low,

And cast us down with a malicious blow.'

Even as she spoke, the devils came once more

To cast them down upon the chamber floor;

For three long years no table have they set,

But stripped and shamed, they live in torment yet.

I pray thee, man of God, if power be thine,

Save my poor daughter and this wife of mine."

The Apostle asked, "Dost thou in Christ believe?"

The captain cried, "His mercy I’d receive."

"Then trust in Him," the holy Thomas said,

"By whom the soul is succored and is fed."

"Show me this Lord," the captain did entreat,

"That I may cast my person at His feet."

"No eye of flesh," said Thomas, "sees His face,

But minds of faith perceive His inner grace."

The captain cried, "I trust Thy holy word;

Help Thou my little faith, O blessed Lord!"

Then Thomas called the brethren to his side,

With Deacon Xanthippus to be their guide.

"Abide in faith," he cried to all the throng,

"In Jesus' hope be steadfast and be strong.

He watches while you sleep in heavy rest,

He walks the waves when sailors are distressed.

I leave you now; my face no more you’ll see,

But let this Deacon in my stead now be.

For I am but a man of flesh and bone,

And seek no riches, which are lent alone.

The wealthy man is often led astray,

For gold is dust and soon shall pass away;

But he whose heart is lowly, kind, and pure,

Shall find a kingdom that shall long endure.

Wait on the Lord, let Him be your desire,

Whose love burns brighter than a temporal fire."

He knelt in prayer and raised his voice on high

To Him who rules the soul and stays the sky:

"O Father, Thou who settest captives free,

Protect this flock that finds its home in Thee.

Anoint them, Lord, and keep them from the fold

Of ravening wolves that wander in the cold."

He laid his hands upon them, grantmg peace,

That in their hearts the Lord might give increase.

CANTO VIII

The Apostle rose to go upon his way,

While all the brethren wept in deep dismay;

They clung to him with many a bitter tear,

And begged his prayers might reach the Father's ear.

He climbed the car; the Captain then awoke

The sleeping driver, and with reverence spoke:

"Let me, I pray, sit at the Master’s feet,

To drive him on this road as is most meet;

That on that higher path where few may tread,

I by his holy guidance may be led."

When they had traveled now two miles in state,

The Apostle saw the Captain's humble trait;

He raised him up to sit beside his side,

And let the driver in his place abide.

But soon beneath the sun’s consuming heat,

The weary beasts fell down with heavy feet.

The Captain, vexed and filled with anxious dread,

Thought on his own two legs to run ahead,

To seek new beasts; but Thomas said, "Be still,

Trust in that Christ whose wonders I fulfill.

Behold those asses wild upon the plain?

Go, call them forth to labor in our train.

Tell them the messenger of Christ the New

Demands four head to do what they must do."

The Captain went in fear, for they were many,

Yet of that herd there fled not away any;

They met him as he spoke the holy word,

And bowed their heads as if they knew the Lord.

Then Thomas prayed a prayer of ancient light,

To Him who brings the secret things to sight;

Who formed the world by His eternal will,

And governs every creature, wild or still.

"Thou art the Son, the Power, and the Thought,

By whom the Father's miracles are wrought;

Behold these beasts, subjected by Thy hand,

To prove Thy glory throughout all the land."

He yoked the four, the strongest of the breed,

Who pressed to serve the Apostle in his need;

The rest he sent back to their desert home,

No more in weary servitude to roam.

The wild beasts drew the car with gentle pace,

Lest they disturb the messenger of grace;

They reached the city and, by instinct led,

To the Captain's very door they made their bed.

The city gathered, marvelling at the sight

Of forest creatures tamed by holy might.

The Captain cried, "I cannot speak the whole,

Until the end is written in my soul!"

Then Thomas spoke to Christ, the Name unknown,

The Seed of Love in desert places sown:

"Thou who hast bought us with Thy precious blood,

And drawn us from the darkness to the flood;

What can we give to Thee, O Lord, in turn?

For even the prayers for which our spirits burn

Are gifts from Thee, that we might ask and live,

And find the mercy Thou alone canst give."

The crowd increased to see the man of God,

As Thomas stood upon the dusty sod.

"The hour is come," he cried, "the work is near,

Let Christ’s command now banish every fear."

For in that house, beneath a demon's chain,

The Captain's wife and child lay drownd in pain;

They knew no friend, nor tasted any meat,

But lay like corpses in their dark retreat.

The Apostle called the ass upon the right:

"Go, enter now and use thy borrowed might;

Command the devils in my Master's name

To leave their prey and flee in bitter shame.

Into the deep of darkness they must fly,

Until the end of all the world is nigh."

The wild ass entered through the city gate,

While silent crowds in expectation wait;

He spoke: "O enemies of Christ the Light,

Who shut your eyes against the morning bright,

Ye sons of hell and heirs of swift decay,

Whose evil works renew from day to day!

No words of mine your ruin can rehearse,

For every deed deserves a heavier curse.

But unto thee, O fiend, and to thy son,

I bring the word: your race is almost run.

Before this host, let every tongue confess

Your ancient root and all your lawlessness."

Then from the house the two poor women came,

With hollow cheeks and faces masked in shame;

The Apostle wept to see the daughter's plight,

And spoke with power to the lords of night:

"No mercy shall be shown to those who kill,

Nor pity found for those who work but ill;

In Jesus’ name, I charge you now to stand

Beside the prey you held with heavy hand."

They fell like dead; then cried the demon loud:

"Art thou returned to mock us 'fore the crowd?

Thou seekest to erase our very name,

And drive us from the earth in grief and shame.

Yet though thou strivest, know the hour is brief,

And for our kingdom there is no relief."

The demon recognized the Saint of old,

And spoke with words both desperate and bold:

"Give me but leave to find another place,

And I will fear the ruler of my race.

As thou art sent to preach the word of grace,

I too was sent to ruin and deface;

If thou shouldst fail thy Lord, He’ll punish thee,

And so my father would deal out to me.

As Christ prepares His vessels for His spirit,

So I seek those who shall my gloom inherit;

As prayers and hymns provide thy soul its breath,

I feast on murder, wine, and ancient death.

Thou gatherest thine for life that shall endure;

I gather mine for torments deep and sure."

But Thomas spoke: "The Lord commands you both:

Depart from men, however ye be loath;

In human dwellings ye shall never stay,

But in the desert wastes consume away."

"A harsh decree!" the trembling devils cried,

"What of the gods where other men abide?

The images they serve with wine and meat,

And fall in worship at their idols' feet?"

"They too shall vanish," Thomas made reply,

"And all their works beneath the earth shall lie."

The spirits fled; the women lay as stone,

While through the crowd a hollow wind was blown.

The asses stood together, side by side,

Until the one whom God had speech supplied—

While all the people watched in silent fear—

Addressed the Apostle's unexpecting ear:

"Why standest thou in silence, Herald high?

Thy Master waits to hear His servant's cry.

He seeks to show His wonders by thy hand,

And spread His glory through this darkened land.

Fear not, for He who formed thy very soul

Will keep thee safe and make the broken whole.

Why marvel at these healings of the frame,

Which pass like shadows at the Savior's name?

Look past this life, this temporal, fleeting breath,

To that eternal light which conquers death."

The wild ass turned to face the gathered crowd,

And spoke in tones both resonant and proud:

"O ye who watch to see the fallen rise,

Believe this Saint, for he is truly wise.

Believe in Jesus, who as babe was born,

To bring the life to those who were forlorn;

Who went to school, though Master of the Truth,

To hallow wisdom from His very youth.

He made the temple offerings pure and sweet,

To make the sanctification more complete.

But watch for wolves who come in sheep’s array,

Who preach of light but walk a darkened way;

Who speak of virtue while they practice vice,

And sell their hollow souls for any price;

Who claim to love, yet many lives destroy,

And in their secret sins find wretched joy."

When thus the beast had brought his speech to end,

The Apostle's praise did to the heavens ascend:

"O Jesu, how shall I thy beauty tell?

Thou knowest every heart and inward cell.

Glory to Thee, the Word and Mercy's King,

Who to our weakness didst Thy greatness bring;

Who made Thy Godhead small for human eyes,

That through Thy death our fallen souls might rise.

Thou art the Light that makes the pathway plain,

The Judge of Israel, free from every stain;

Thou showedst us the height where Thou art gone,

To sit in splendor at the Father's dawn."

Then Thomas stood above the prostrate pair,

And offered up to Christ a final prayer:

"My Lord and God, in Whom I place my trust,

Who raisest up the children of the dust;

Breathe now Thy power and make these spirits whole,

And heal the wounds of every stricken soul."

The women stirred and sat within the light,

Their faces cleared of all the demon's night;

The Captain led them in to rest and eat,

While Thomas walked into the busy street.

The asses followed through the city wall,

Obedient to the holy Apostle's call.

"Depart in peace," he said, "to pastures green,"

And watched them till they were no longer seen;

Then with the folk, beneath the evening sun,

He sought the house, for now the work was done.

CANTO IX

Now lived a dame, Mygdonia was her name,

Who sought the Lord and his apostle’s fame;

Charisius was her lord, the king’s own kin,

And she would fly the heavy ways of sin.

Upon a litter by her servants borne,

She sought the word, though by the tumult torn;

The narrow path was choked by such a crowd,

With eager souls and voices crying loud.

She sent for more to force a passage near,

Who struck the folk with violence and fear;

But Thomas saw the strife and cried aloud:

"Why do you strike this God-desiring crowd?

You press to me, yet wander far astray,

With blinded eyes and ears that won't obey.

Come, heavy-laden, find your rest in me,

For Christ shall set the weary captive free."

Then to the slaves who bore her weight he turned:

"For you this blessing and this truth is learned.

You carry loads that no man ought to bear,

While masters treat you with a beast-like care;

They think themselves of some superior birth,

Though death shall judge all men of equal worth.

No heavy yoke has God upon us laid,

No stones to hew, no houses to be made;

But this one law He gave to guide the breast:

Do not to others what you would detest.

From foul adultery your hearts refrain,

And flee from theft, which was Iscariot’s stain.

Avoid the greed that blinds the inner sight,

And vainglory, which shuns the holy light;

For pride and lust bring nations to their fall,

And build a city where the soul is thrall.

But live in meekness, quietness, and grace,

For these find favor in the Father’s face.

Reach out your hand to help the poor in need,

And plant within your heart the holy seed;

For holiness is Christ’s own champion bold,

Who brings a peace that never shall grow old.

It is the temple where the Lord shall rest,

The mountain-top where holy souls are blest;

As Christ, who fasted forty nights and days,

Taught us in meekness to perfect our ways.

When Peter drew his sword to strike the foe,

The Master bid him let the weapon go;

For legions stood at His divine command,

Yet peace was chosen by His saving hand."

As Thomas spoke, the crowd began to sway,

And fair Mygdonia cast her chair away;

Before his feet she fell upon the ground,

For in his words her spirit’s life she found.

"O Saint," she cried, "to this our desert land

You bring the water with a healing hand.

We lived as beasts, but now we seek the light;

O pray for me, and guide my soul aright!

May I receive the seal, the holy sign,

And be a temple for the Lord divine."

The Saint replied: "For all I humbly pray,

Who hope in Christ and walk the narrow way.

May God's own Spirit in your hearts reside,

For in your souls the power must abide."

Then to the dame he spoke: "Arise from earth,

And weigh thy jewels at their proper worth;

The gold and silk that deck thy mortal frame,

The pride of rank, the glory of thy name,

Must all depart, and like a shadow fly,

For even wedded bonds are born to die.

Christ only stands when ages pass away;

In Him alone is no corrupt decay."

"O leave me not!" she cried in sudden fear,

"Lest Thou depart and leave me helpless here."

But Thomas said: "Though I should cross the sea,

The Lord Himself shall ever dwell with thee."

Charisius then, the kinsman of the king,

Returned from bath to hear the servants sing;

He sought his wife to join him at the board,

But found her silent, and her soul ignored.

"Why art thou sad?" he asked with anxious kiss,

"Why stay at home and forfeit all our bliss?

Thou went'st to hear a sorcerer's vain speech,

And learned the folly that his visions teach;

Arise and dine!" But she, with heavy heart,

Replied: "I cannot; let us dwell apart."

Though he entreated, still she turned away,

And in her chamber sought alone to stay;

He supped in grief, then sought his nightly rest,

But troubled visions labored in his breast.

At dawn he spoke: "Mygdonia, hear my dream:

Beside the King I sat, where riches gleam;

An eagle fell from out the vaulted blue,

And from our plate two nested partridges flew.

The King would shoot; his arrow pierced the air,

Yet left the bird unscathed and passing fair;

A dove and pigeon next the eagle bore,

And sought his nest to visit us no more.

I woke in dread, for when I sought to eat,

The bird I tasted vanished from the meat."

She answered him: "The dream is surely good;

The eagle seeks a new and holy food."

Then as he dressed, he drew with hurried hand

A left-side shoe onto his right to stand;

"What omen's this?" he cried with bated breath,

"The dream, the shoe—they speak of woe or death!"

"Not so," she said, "from errors of the past

A better change shall surely come at last."

He went to court; but she with eager pace

Sought out the Saint to see his holy face.

The Captain warned: "Her lord is fierce and grim,

And Misdaeus the King obeys his whim;

He loves his wife, and will not brook this change,

To him these holy words are dark and strange."

But Thomas said: "If she has kept the seed,

From mortal fear her spirit shall be freed;

No earthly lord can harm the soul within,

For Christ is greater than the power of sin."

"The seed is sown," Mygdonia cried with joy,

"No earthly force its harvest shall destroy."

The Saint gave thanks: "O Lord, the praise be Thine,

Whose spirit makes these mortal frames divine.

Thrice-blessed are the pure, whose hearts are one,

Who wear the crown before their race is run;

Blessed the meek, who shall the kingdom gain,

And see God’s face, released from every pain.

Blessed are they who hunger for His sake,

For they of heavenly rest shall soon partake."

Thus Thomas spoke; and as the people heard,

The dame was strengthened by the holy word.

But back at home, Charisius sought his bride,

And found her not, then kindled in his pride.

"Where is she gone?" he asked with angry heat;

A servant spoke: "She seeks the stranger’s seat."

When evening fell and she returned at last,

He asked: "Where were thy wandering footsteps cast?"

"I sought a great Physician," she replied,

"To heal the soul that else had surely died."

Charisius raged, yet feared her noble birth,

For she excelled him both in wealth and worth;

He called her to the board to dine and feast,

But she refused, and his suspicion increased.

"Has that deceiver," cried he, "taught thee lies?

To break the bonds that nature’s God supplies?

Be not led blind by sorcery and breath,

Though it is said he raises men from death.

He neither eats nor drinks, for he is poor;

One tattered cloak is all he can procure."

But silent as a stone Mygdonia stood,

And prayed for dawn to seek the only Good.

He left in gloom; she knelt upon the floor:

"O Lord, protect my spirit evermore!

Grant me the strength to keep my temple pure,

That in Thy holiness I may endure."

When deep in night he sought her as of old,

She cried: "A greater Lord has seized my soul!

In me He rests; for thee there is no room."

He laughed and mocked the sorcerer's coming doom:

"Thou playest well the part he taught to thee,

To shun the life of lawful company!"

He pressed her then; she cried in bitter grief,

"O Jesus, come and bring me swift relief!"

With desperate hands she fled the chamber's light,

And wrapped in curtains, vanished through the night;

To seek her nurse she ran with naked feet,

While in her heart the holy pulses beat.

Charisius wept and smote his grieving face,

Deprived of love and fallen from his place.

"My pride is gone," he wailed, "my glory fled,

My sister-wife has left our lawful bed.

The King would hear me, but I cannot go,

So deep the shame of this my sudden woe.

I grieve not for the loss of joy alone,

But that her noble soul is overthrown;

She wanders madly, searching through the street,

To find that man and worship at his feet."

"Woe to my life!" the grieving husband cried,

"And woe to thee, my once-beloved bride!

Too soon I lose the comfort of thy face,

The brightest jewel of our noble race.

No child have we to soothe this bitter day;

A single year has snatched my joy away.

Better if death had claimed thee as its prize,

Than thus to fall before a stranger’s eyes;

A runaway, a slave of mean degree,

Has brought this sorrow and this shame on me!

May I no more in royal favor stand

If I take not his head by King’s command;

And Siphor too, who gave the wretch a home,

Shall feel the wrath of Misdaeus' throne!"

The morning broke; Charisius dressed in haste,

In humble weeds and garments all debased;

With heavy heart and features clouded o’er,

He stood before the monarch’s palace door.

The King inquired: "Why art thou thus distressed?

Why come in rags, with such a mournful breast?"

"O King," he said, "a plague has reached our land;

A Hebrew sorcerer, with a magic hand,

Dwells now with Siphor; and his words of guile

The hearts of all our people do defile.

A new and strange religion he declares,

And for our ancient laws he nothing cares;

He says that none the life of God shall see

Unless they from their marriage-beds go free.

My own dear wife has heard his cursed breath

And chose this path of separation’s death;

She fled my house! O King, let justice fall,

Lest this dark madness should consume us all."

Then Misdaeus said: "Be calm and fear no more;

I shall thy wife and all thy peace restore;

This man shall pay for every word he spoke."

The King then rose and called the common folk;

He sat in judgment on the royal seat

And summoned Siphor from his safe retreat.

The guards found Siphor by the Apostle’s side,

Where fair Mygdonia did in peace abide;

They cried: "Why listen to these words of air,

While Misdaeus for thy ruin doth prepare?

Because of this deceiver in thy gates,

The King’s fierce anger for thy neck awaits!"

Then Siphor feared—not for his life or limb,

But for the Saint, whose safety rested in him;

Yet Thomas said: "Believe, and have no fear,

For Christ, our Shield and Advocate, is near."

The Apostle turned and asked the lady then:

"What stirred the anger of this first of men?"

She said: "I would not yield to his desire,

Nor feed the coals of his unholy fire;

The Lord I serve delivered me from shame,

And through the night I called upon His name.

I fled his presence while the darkness stayed;

What followed after, I am sore afraid."

The Saint replied: "These things can do no harm;

The Lord shall break the strength of every arm;

He is thy guide upon the fearful way,

The Light that leads to an eternal day."

Before the King, then Siphor took his stand;

"Who is this man," cried Misdaeus, "in thy land?

What does he teach beneath thy roof-tree’s shade?"

And Siphor answered, calm and undismayed:

"O King, thou knowest well my former grief,

When neither wealth nor power brought relief;

My wife and daughter, plagued by spirits grim,

Found perfect healing when I turned to him.

I saw his wonders as we walked the way;

He seeks no gold, nor any earthly pay.

He asks for faith, for holiness and love,

To serve the King who rules the stars above;

With bread and salt his simple life is led,

And by his prayers the hungry soul is fed;

He teaches us that Christ is life and light,

And calls all men to walk within the white."

When Misdaeus heard the words that Siphor spoke,

His royal wrath in sudden fury broke;

He sent his guards to Siphor’s quiet gate,

To seize the Saint and seal his bitter fate.

They found him teaching to a kneeling crowd,

With fair Mygdonia’s head in silence bowed;

But struck with awe before the holy throng,

The soldiers fled, for Christ in him was strong.

Charisius then, with madness in his eye,

Cried, "I shall seize the wretch and he shall die!

He stole the senses of my noble wife;

I’ll bring him bound and end this wretched strife."

He reached the house, but found the dame was fled,

By secret warning to her chambers led.

"Arise, thou rogue!" the angry kinsman cried,

"Who breaks the peace and humbles all my pride;

Thy magic arts shall fail to save thee now,

For I shall bring a sorrow to thy brow."

The Saint replied, "Thy threats are merely breath;

I fear no king, nor yet the face of death;

The Lord I serve is greater than thy host,

And in His name I make my only boast."

Charisius took a slave’s own turban-knot

And bound the Apostle on that very spot;

He haled him forth before the monarch’s throne,

Where Thomas stood, in silence and alone.

The King commanded hundred lashes’ pain,

Then cast him bound within a prison’s chain;

The rulers plotted how to take his life,

And hide their malice in a legal strife.

But in the dark, the Saint began to sing,

And made the stones with joyful praises ring:

"I thank thee, Lord, that I am worthy found

To be for Thee in heavy shackles bound;

They call me wizard, sorcerer, and foe,

Yet in Thy love I find my rest from woe."

The prisoners listened to the holy strain,

As Thomas sang to ease their spirit’s pain;

He told a tale of when he was a child,

In Eastern halls, by riches unbeguiled.

His parents sent him from his native shore,

With gold and pearls and silver in his store;

They took away his robe of gems and light,

The yellow coat that fit his stature right.

A covenant was written on his soul:

To reach the land where Egypt’s waters roll,

And from the serpent, in the ocean’s deep,

To steal the Pearl while yet the beast should sleep.

Then should he wear his shining robe again,

And with his brother in the kingdom reign.

Through fearful roads and Babylon’s high wall,

The traveler went, obedient to the call;

Into the West he journeyed, all alone,

Until he reached the dragon’s sandy throne.

Beside the hole he watched with patient eye,

To snatch the prize and seek the Eastern sky;

For in that Pearl was hidden every grace,

To lead him home before his Father’s face.

To shun their gaze, I donned a strange disguise,

Lest men of Egypt mark my foreign eyes;

Yet there I found a youth of noble grace,

A kinsman fair, born of my father’s race.

I made him partner of my lonely way,

And warned him of the snares that round us lay;

"Touch not their food," I whispered to my friend,

"Lest foul uncleanness bring a bitter end."

I wore their weeds to hide my royal birth,

And walked as one who knew no higher worth,

To lull the dragon in his watery cave,

And win the prize I journeyed far to save.

But by some craft the secret came to light:

They knew I was no child of Egypt’s night.

With subtle guile a bitter cup they brewed,

And fed my soul with their deceptive food;

I ate, and straightway lost my princely pride,

To serve their king, with all my memory dried.

I forgot the Pearl, the quest for which I came,

And sank in sleep, forgetful of my name;

The heavy bread of that unholy land

Bound me in slumber like a captive’s band.

But in the East, my parents knew my plight,

And called a council in the halls of light;

The kings of Parthia and the lords of state

Decreed I should not meet a bondman’s fate.

They wrote a letter, sealed by every hand,

To reach me in that dark and distant land:

"From thy Great Father, King of kings, and she

Who rules the East, and from thy brother—peace!

Awake, O son, and from thy sleep arise!

Thy soul is thralled beneath Egyptian skies.

Remember now the Pearl, the golden gown,

The name inscribed for an eternal crown;

Think on the robe that waits for thy return,

And let thy heart for ancient glories burn."

The letter, like an eagle, took to flight,

And soared toward me through the depth of night;

It lit beside me, and it spoke aloud,

To wake my spirit from its heavy shroud.

I kissed the seal, I broke the royal cord,

And read the message of my sovereign lord;

The words were those already in my breast,

And stirred my soul to end its shameful rest.

My royal blood began to surge and fire,

Restored to freedom and a new desire.

Against the serpent then I spoke the Name,

The Father's word that puts the beast to shame;

I lulled the dragon, snatched the Pearl away,

And turned my face toward the dawning day.

I stripped the filthy rags of Egypt’s pride,

And cast their tainted raiment far aside;

The letter, which had roused me from my bed,

Became a torch by which my feet were led.

With light it guided, and with voice it drew,

As through the gates of Babylon I flew;

I passed the sea-coast where the merchants dwell,

And left behind the land of shadow’s spell.

From treasurers’ hands, as I approached the gate,

I sought the robe I left in youthful state;

I had forgotten all its beauty bright,

For I was but a child when last in sight.

But as I looked, a wonder did appear:

The garment shone like glass, distinct and clear;

In that rich cloth my very self I scanned,

Prepared and woven by my Father's hand.

I saw myself within the garment’s weave,

A mirror-truth no fancy could conceive;

Though we were twain, one likeness did we bear,

A single soul in two-fold shape was there.

The treasurers who brought the gift to me

Were likewise one in royal majesty;

The sign of kings was set upon their face,

The stewards of my Father’s ancient grace.

The robe was rich with every varied hue,

Where gold and pearls and sparkling sapphires grew;

High on its breast, in needlework of light,

The King of kings was pictured to the sight.

I felt through all the cloth a wisdom flow,

As if the silk itself began to know;

It stirred with speech and murmured in my ear:

"I am his work, who conquers every fear;

For him I grew with God in halls above."

Then toward its touch I reached in yearning love.

I felt my stature grow as it drew nigh,

Until it met me from the Father's sky;

I cast its beauty round my weary frame,

And stood arrayed in more than mortal name.

Then lifted up, I sought the place of peace,

Where all my wand’rings found a sweet release.

I bowed my head before the Father’s throne,

Who gave the promise and reclaimed His own;

Within His gates, where ancient glories dwell,

I joined the songs that of His goodness tell.

He promised then that I should surely stand

With Pearl and gift before the King’s right hand;

Together we should face the Light of lights,

And dwell forever in the holy heights.

Meanwhile Charisius sought his home in pride,

To find Mygdonia as a willing bride;

He thought the word of Christ had passed away,

Like some dark dream that flies the light of day.

But lo! her hair was torn, her clothes were rent,

As one whose heart in bitter grief is spent.

"My lady," cried he, "what is this disease?

What madness robs thy spirit of its ease?

I am thy lord since first thy youth was green;

By law and gods, I rule as thou art queen.

Forget this sorcerer and his magic breath;

I’ll drive him hence, or give him up to death!"

She only groaned and lamented in her woe,

While he in anguish wandered to and fro.

"What sin," he cried, "has moved the gods to spite,

To cast my honor into such a night?

Mygdonia, cease! Thy piteous state I fear;

I am thy lord whom all the folk revere.

How can I lose the fragrance of thy face,

The sweet delight and beauty of thy grace?

They cut away my hand, they blind my sight,

And turn my noon-day to a dismal night.

No more I’ll serve the gods who let thee fall,

Nor on their names in idle worship call;

My glory’s gone, my power is set at nought,

Since thou art by a stranger’s magic caught."

He wept aloud, but silent she remained,

Her eyes upon the dusty floor constrained.

"Hear me!" he pleaded, "out of all the land,

I sought and won thy peerless, lovely hand;

I might have wed the fairest of the East,

Yet found in thee a never-ending feast.

O speak to me! Though thou shouldst only chide,

Break this dread silence, O my sullen bride!

Am I not comelier than that Hebrew slave?

Art thou not all the wealth and pride I have?

He steals my race, he takes my life away,

And leaves me dying in the light of day."

Mygdonia spoke at last, her spirit bold:

"The One I love is not of earthly mold.

Thy gold and lands return unto the dust,

Consumed by time, by vanity, and rust;

But He I love is of the heavenly height,

And leads me home to realms of endless light.

Thy beauty fades, thy robes shall wear away,

And thou shalt stand alone on judgment day.

Speak not to me of pleasures we have known,

For by His grace those seeds are overblown;

I pray the Lord that I might quite forget

The shameful snares in which my soul was set.

Though shadows pass, and mortal works shall flee,

Jesus alone remains eternally."

Charisius turned, with sorrow in his breast,

And sought in vain the comfort of his rest.

"Reflect," he said, "throughout this lonely night;

If thou wilt walk again within my sight,

And leave this man, I’ll open wide his cell,

And let him go in other lands to dwell.

I will not vex thee, for I know thy heart

Is set on him; but let this whim depart.

Thou art not first to follow such a snare;

Full many dames have breathed this fevered air,

Then woke to sense and to their lords returned—

Let not my love and counsel be so spurned."

He sank to sleep; but when the house was still,

She rose to work her own determined will;

Ten pieces of the silver coin she took,

And left her home with a distracted look.

She sought the prison, hoping there to buy

The keepers’ grace beneath the midnight sky;

But as she went, a figure met her sight,

Preceded by a great and holy light.

"Alas!" she cried, "my wretched soul is lost!

The rulers come to count the bitter cost;

No more shall I the great Apostle see,

Nor find the seal that sets the spirit free."

Into a narrow cleft she turned to fly,

And hid herself as he was passing by;

"Better," she thought, "to die by common hand,

Than face the mighty princes of the land."

CANTO X

While Mygdonia revolved her secret thought,

Lo, Judah came, by divine power brought.

She shook with dread to see him standing there,

And fell as dead, o'erwhelmed by sudden fear.

But he reached out and took her by the hand,

And bade her by the Lord’s great mercy stand:

"Fear not," he said, "for Christ is ever near;

The Lord you trust shall banish every fear.

His kindness fails not, nor His goodness' sake;

He will not now His faithful soul forsake.

Rise from the earth, for you are raised on high;

Behold the light, for God is ever nigh.

He walks with those who serve Him in the night,

A sure defender and a guiding light."

She rose and asked, "How did you leave the wall?

Who brought you forth from out the prison thrall?"

Said he, "My Lord is mightier than kings,

And o'er all earthly powers He spreads His wings."

Then Mygdonia cried, "Grant me the seal,

Before your life concludes for Zion's weal!"

Into the court she led him with all haste,

That not a moment of the gift be waste.

She woke her nurse: "O Narcia, hear my plea,

Who from my youth hast lived to care for me;

Thy former service gains a temporal prize,

But now, perform a task that never dies.

Grant me this favor, and you shall receive

The wealth of Him in whom the saints believe."

The nurse replied, "What would you have me do?

The stranger’s word has made a fool of you;

The honors promised me are swept away,

And I am made a mock throughout the day.

What new command is this?" Mygdonia said,

"Join me in life, by heavenly manna fed!

Bring bread and wine, and pity my distress,

That I may find the path of holiness."

The nurse brought loaves and wine within the room,

To lift her daughter from the worldly gloom.

Before the Saint she stood with head all bare;

He poured the oil and spoke a solemn prayer:

"O Holy Oil, for our purgation sent,

The cross’s mystery and our ornament;

Thou straightener of the limb that goes astray,

Thou softener of the heart that will not pray;

Revealer of the treasures long concealed,

Let now thy power to this maid be sealed."

The nurse then robed her in a linen shred,

And to the fountain-side the maid was led.

In Name of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,

He washed her clean amidst the heavenly host.

He broke the bread and blessed the sacred cup,

And bade her with the Son of Glory sup:

"Receive the seal and gain the life divine."

A voice from heaven answered, "It is Thine."

Then Narcia, filled with wonder at the sound,

Besought the seal and was in mercy bound.

The Saint returned and found the prison wide,

With guards asleep and doors all cast aside.

He praised the Lord: "Who is like Thee, O King?

Whose care protects each small and living thing?

O Life that conquered Death, and Rest from toil,

Who saved Thy creatures from the serpent's coil!

Glory to Him, the Father’s only Son,

The Heart of Mercy, till the world be done!"

The guards awoke to find the doors unbarred,

Yet found the prisoners still beneath their guard.

"Did we not bolt the gates?" they asked in fear,

"How are they open, yet the men still here?"

At dawn, Charisius sought his wife’s retreat,

And found them praying at the Savior’s feet:

"O hidden God, by this new stranger known,

Whose glory in this Indian land is shown;

Who sought us out when we were lost in sin,

And opened wide the gate to let us in;

Save us from him who rules with mad intent,

And turn the heart of one on evil bent."

Charisius heard and cried, "You call me mad?

'Tis my own mercy makes your spirit glad!

Had I not given thee thy liberty,

Thou wouldst not pray to God to punish me.

Believe me now, that sorcerer is vain;

His promises shall lead to naught but pain.

But I shall keep the vows that I have made,

If thou return to me, no more afraid."

Charisius then approached and humbly pleaded,

"If by my words your stubborn heart be heeded,

My grief would vanish. Think upon the day

When first we met; what does your spirit say?

Was I more fair when first I sought your side,

Or this man’s Jesus, whom you now provide?"

Mygdonia said, "That hour required its own,

But now a greater glory has been shown.

That was the start, but this shall be the end;

On temporal life did that first joy depend,

But this is life eternal, bright and vast,

A pleasure that shall never be o'ercast.

Your marriage fades like dew upon the grass;

This union stays while all the ages pass.

That was a bond of flesh and swift decay;

This is the light of an unceasing day.

Earth's groomsmen vanish, leaving naught behind;

These heavenly hosts are of a lasting kind.

Your bed was decked with cloths that rot and tear;

This one is strown with faith and holy prayer.

You are a groom who changes and must die;

But Christ is true, and reigns above the sky.

Your dowry was but gold and raiment old;

His words are life, more precious far than gold."

When these sharp words reached poor Charisius’ ear,

He sought the King and spoke his bitter fear.

The King commanded Judah to be brought,

That death might end the trouble he had wrought.

But said the husband, "Wait, O King, a while;

First try to move him, free from force or guile.

Perchance through fear he’ll make the woman see

That she must turn and live again with me."

So Misdaeus sent to bring the Saint of Christ;

The prisoners wept for him they highly priced,

For even in their chains he was their light,

Now taken from them in the heart of night.

The King then spoke: "Why teach you this new way,

Which gods and men alike must now gainsay?

What profit lies within this foreign creed?"

Said Judah, "Is it evil that I seed?"

"You teach," the King replied, "that none live well

Unless they cast aside the marriage spell."

"You speak the truth," the Apostle made reply,

"For even you, whose glory soon must die,

Would be enraged if soldiers did appear

In filthy rags before your presence here.

If you, a king of earth who turns to dust,

Demand that men be clean and merit trust,

How much more must the King of Heaven find

A pure and holy service in the mind?

They who serve Him must walk in virtue’s sight,

Free from the world and every dark delight—

From theft and wine, from lust and greed of gain,

And all the deeds that leave a scarlet stain."

"I let you go," Misdaeus said, "Go now,

And make the wife fulfill her marriage vow."

But Judah answered, "Haste to do your deed;

For if she holds the truth of holy seed,

No fire nor iron, nor any earthly thing,

Can pluck from out her soul the Heavenly King."

The King replied, "One poison cures another;

A serpent’s bite is healed by its own brother.

You are the doctor; heal this fractured home,

Lest from this life you be compelled to roam.

You are not sated yet with breath and sun;

Take heed, or else your earthly days are done."

Said Judah, "Life is but a lenten grace,

A changing shadow in a fleeting place;

But that which I proclaim is ever sure,

While youth and beauty fail to long endure."

As Judah left the King, the husband came,

With heavy heart and spirit all aflame:

"I never sinned against the gods or thee;

Why bring this ruin on my house and me?

What is your gain? Tell me the price you crave,

And I will give it, if my home you save.

Why drive me mad and seek your own demise?

For if she turns not back, then someone dies.

And if, as you declare, a judge sits high

To weigh our deeds after we come to die,

Then I will meet you there and plead my case;

For you have wronged me, standing face to face.

I never hurt you, yet you steal my wife;

Come home and mend the fabric of my life."

But Judah said, "My child, if men would prove

To love their God as they each other love,

There's naught they'd ask He would not freely give,

And none would suffer violence while they live."

They came to where Mygdonia sat in grief,

With Narcia near, who offered no relief;

The maiden leaned her cheek upon her hand,

And longed to leave the borders of the land:

"O Mother, let my days be cut away,

And all my hours become a single day,

That I may see that Beautiful and Blest,

The Giver of the soul's eternal rest.

There, light and darkness find no place to dwell,

Nor rich nor poor, as ancient stories tell;

No bond or free, no pride to cast us down,

But only He who wears the heavenly crown."

As thus she spoke, the Saint before her stood;

She rose in haste to greet the great and good.

Charisius cried, "Behold how she obeys!

She honors you and follows all your ways."

But Judah spoke to test her spirit’s flame:

"Obey your brother, in his rightful claim."

Mygdonia cried, "Will you the deed command,

Which once you said the soul must needs withstand?

Did you not say this life is void of gain,

Its comforts fleeting and its treasures vain?

That he who hates the light of day and night

Shall find a glory of a greater light?

Do you speak thus because you walk in fear,

Now that the kingly judgment-seat is near?

Who builds a tower to cast it to the ground?

Who fills the well where water has been found?

Who finds a treasure, yet refuses use?"

Charisius heard, and offered no excuse;

"I will not bind you yet," he said in ire,

"But I shall bar you from this wandering liar.

If you obey me, well; if you refuse,

I know the bitter path that I shall choose."

Then Judah left and went to Siphor’s gate,

To lodge within and for the Spirit wait.

Said Siphor, "I a chamber shall prepare,

Where you may teach and offer holy prayer.

My wife and daughter shall in virtue dwell,

To flee the world and break the fleshly spell.

Grant us the seal, that we may truly be

The lambs of God, from every sin set free."

The Saint replied, "I fear to speak my thought,

Of all the wonders that the Lord hath wrought."

Then of the washing he began to teach:

"This is the grace that all the world may reach;

The new birth of the man, the spirit's light,

That puts the ancient darkness into flight.

It joins the spirit with the mortal frame,

And grants us pardon in the Holy Name.

Glory to Thee, the Hidden Power and Might,

Who in the water brings the blind to light!"

He poured the oil upon each bended head,

While words of glory and of grace were said:

"Glory to Christ, the Name above all names,

Whose love the spirit of the world reclaims!"

Then in the vessel's stream he washed them clean,

In Name of Three, the Holy and Unseen.

When they were robed, he set the holy bread,

And by the Spirit were the people fed:

"O Bread of Life, the hungry soul's delight,

Who grants us virtue in the Father's sight;

We call upon the Name, the Secret Sign,

The Hidden Mystery of the Will Divine.

Let power descend upon this broken grain,

To wash the soul and cleanse the guilty stain."

He brake the bread, and gave the holy feast

To Siphor’s house, from worldly care released.

CANTO XI

The King Misdaeus, from the feast arose,

And to his spouse did all the tale disclose;

He told how poor Charisius lived in pain,

Since his own wife did from his bed abstain.

"My sister Tertia," thus the monarch cried,

"No greater joy can bless a husband's side

Than his own wife; yet see this kinsman's grief,

Whose wandering spouse now seeks a strange relief.

That Indian sorcerer, of whom thou hast heard,

Has bound her spirit with a magic word;

And though I sought to slay the wretch, 'tis true

Charisius stayed the hand that would pursue.

Go thou, and counsel her with sister's love,

That she from vain and foolish dreams remove."

Then Tertia rose and sought the mournful hall,

Where Mygdonia lay in bitter thrall;

On humble earth, in sackcloth and in dust,

She prayed the Lord in whom she placed her trust.

"What folly this?" the royal sister spoke,

"What strange disease does thus thy mind provoke?

Return to kin, to husband, and to grace,

Nor bring this shame upon a noble race."

But Mygdonia said: "Thou hast not heard the strain

Of life eternal, nor the end of pain;

Thou lovest robes that rot and fade away,

And pridest in a beauty of the clay.

Thy soul is bound, though servants round thee wait;

Thou knowest not the soul's celestial state."

Struck by these words, the Queen did then entreat:

"Lead me to find this stranger's holy seat."

To Siphor's house they sped, and there she found

The Apostle Judah on the common ground.

"What seekest thou?" the holy Thomas cried,

"A man of naught, with neither wealth nor pride?

Yet one great prize I hold, which none can steal:

The Savior Christ, who does the spirit heal."

Then Tertia's heart was kindled by the light;

She sought the King with eyes of new delight.

"I thank thee, Lord," she said, "that by thy deed

I found the path where life and truth proceed.

Obey this God, and let thy soul be pure,

For earthly kingdoms never shall endure."

Misdaeus groaned, and rent his royal weed,

And cursed the hour of such a bitter seed.

"Charisius! Friend! What hell is this?" he cried,

"Thy house was lost, and mine is lost beside!

Why stayed I then the hand that would have slain

This dark magician and his cursed train?"

With fury filled, they sought the Captain's door,

And found the Apostle teaching as before.

The King, in rage, the holy seat o'erthrew,

And with the wood the Savior's servant slew—

The blow fell hard, the blood began to flow;

"He shall," cried he, "our royal vengeance know!"

By soldiers haled, with violence and shame,

The Apostle went to bear the Master's name.

CANTO XII

The son of King Misdaeus, Iuzanes,

Came forth to meet the saint and seek his pleas.

"Grant me," he cried, "to speak with him a space,

Ere yet the King shall look upon his face."

The prince then spoke: "I wield a royal might;

My father's ear is mine by lawful right.

Tell me thy God, and what this art may be;

If magic's lore, then teach it unto me.

I shall prevail upon the King to spare,

And thou shalt breathe again the morning air."

But Judah answered: "Temporal is thy sire,

A king of moments, fading like a fire.

I serve the Christ, whose kingdom hath no end,

The Everlasting King, the soul’s true friend.

Thou seekest lives that wither in a day,

But I for souls and life eternal pray.

Thou boastest robes, and lust, and gold, and pride;

In poverty and prayer do I abide.

The Holy Ghost is my companion now,

While thou to men of mortal dust dost bow.

Today thou art, tomorrow thou art gone;

I trust the One who was before the dawn.

If thou wouldst serve, first seek the holy way;

In love and faith and pure simplicity stay."

The youth was moved; he sought to set him free,

But then the King approached in majesty.

With pinioned arms, the Apostle stood in light

Before the throne, to prove his Master’s might.

"Who art thou?" cried the King, with anger tossed,

"Ere in my wrath thy wretched life be lost!"

"I am a man," the Saint replied with grace,

"Who works through Christ before thy very face."

Then Misdaeus, in fury, gave command

To heat the plates of iron for the strand.

They stripped his feet; the Saint in prayer did cry:

"Thy wisdom, Lord, is better than the lie."

But as he stepped upon the glowing red,

A sudden flood from out the earth was shed;

The fire died, the waters rose in might,

And all the soldiers fled in sudden fright.

The King, in terror of the rising tide,

Cried out to Judah, "Cast thy fears aside!

Pray to thy God to stay this watery doom,

Lest we be swallowed in a liquid tomb."

Then Judah prayed: "O Thou who binds the deep,

Who bids the waves in ordered channels sleep,

Restrain this flood; let not the waters rise,

For some shall see Thy light with faithful eyes."

The earth then drank the stream; the ground grew dry,

As Judah’s prayer ascended to the sky.

Yet Misdaeus, with heart of heavy stone,

Sent him to prison, bound and all alone.

To that dark cell the prince and Siphor went,

With wives and daughters, on the Word intent.

There Judah sat and sang his soul’s release:

"The hour is come to enter into peace.

I leave the earth, its sorrows and its cares;

I leave the bondage and the hidden snares.

I put my raiment off, to put on light,

Beyond the reach of sleep or mortal night.

I die to live, and shall not taste of death,

To breathe forevermore a holy breath.

The crown is woven, and the flowers bloom;

I rise in joy from out this earthly gloom.

The peace has come; the rebels fall away;

I walk at last into the endless day."

As the Apostle spoke these words of light,

The listeners wept, for death was near in sight.

He cried: "Believe in Him whose touch can heal

The hidden wounds that silent spirits feel.

The King’s own Son, the High Physician came,

Though mocked by slaves and burdened with our shame.

From heights of glory, Son of Depth and Grace,

In Mary’s child we saw a human face.

The carpenter’s young son He seemed to be,

A veil of flesh o'er His divinity.

We felt His hands, we saw His mortal frame,

Yet on the mount, He shone a holy flame—

A light so fierce no human eye could bear,

The Lord of Life, the conqueror of despair.

He paid the tax, the Truth that cannot lie,

And made the powers of death and darkness fly.

Though rulers trembled, knowing not His birth,

He scorned the fleeting riches of the earth."

Then Judah rose and turned his gaze on high,

To breathe the prayer that echoes in the sky:

"Our Father, throned in Heav'n, Thy name be blest,

Thy kingdom come, Thy will be manifest.

As in the heights, so let it be below;

Our daily bread and constant grace bestow.

Forgive our debts as we forgive our peers,

And keep our hearts from tempter’s snares and fears.

Deliver us from evil’s dark design,

For all the power and glory, Lord, are Thine."

"My Hope and Teacher," thus the Saint continued,

"By Thy command my spirit is renewed.

From early youth Thou sowedst life in me,

To keep my soul from all impurity.

Thou ledst me to the poverty of men,

To find the wealth beyond all human ken.

I kept my temple pure for Thee alone,

No earthly bride has shared this heart, Thy throne.

My mouth is weak to praise Thy constant care,

Thy providence that met me everywhere.

I once sought gold, but in a vision’s gleam,

Thou showedst me that wealth is but a dream—

A loss to those who hold it in their hand,

A shifting shadow in a weary land.

So I stayed poor, till Thou, the Riches True,

Didst fill my soul with life and hope anew."

"I have obeyed; Thy will has been my guide,

With hunger, thirst, and toil on every side.

A stranger, naked, shackled, and set low,

I bore the cross that all the world might know.

Let not my labor perish in the dust,

Nor let the tares corrupt my spirit’s trust.

The seed I sowed within Thy holy field,

Let it to Thee a golden harvest yield.

The enemy shall find no dwelling there,

Within the house Thy mercy did prepare."

"Thy vine I planted in this earthly soil,

Which now takes root and blossoms for my toil;

Its branches spread to touch the vaulted height,

Its fruit gives joy to those who walk in light.

The silver talent Thou didst lend to me

I placed at use, to yield a debt for Thee;

Ten more I gained, as Thou didst once ordain,

And wait the usury of holy gain.

I left the field, the oxen, and the bride,

To feast with Thee and in Thy house abide;

My wedding garment is of purest white,

Lest I be cast into the outer night.

My lamp is trimmed; with oil I feed the flame,

To greet the Master, calling on His name.

By day and night I kept the watchman's post,

Lest thieves should break and all my wealth be lost.

With truth my loins are girt, my shoes are bound;

My steady plow has marked the furrowed ground.

I looked not back, but held the wooden beam,

Until the harvest turned to golden gleam.

My tattered rags of earth are cast away,

For rest that follows on a weary day.

I pulled my earthly barns and storehouse down,

To seek the pearl and wear the heavenly crown.

The inner man I strengthened for the fight,

And turned the outward darkness into light.

I stayed the captive that he might be free,

And found the fullness of my life in Thee.

Though earth has mocked me with its bitter breath,

Give me the prize that triumphs over death.

Let not the lords of air my soul perceive,

Nor greedy toll-men cause my heart to grieve;

Let not the weak or wicked bar my way,

As I ascend to Thy eternal day.

Thy power, O Jesus, circles like a crown,

To strike the spirits of the darkness down.

They cannot look upon Thy glorious face,

But hide in terror from Thy saving grace.

The slanderer shall find no debt to claim,

For in my heart is written but Thy name;

Muzzle his mouth and blind his envious eye,

As through the quiet heavens I shall fly.

Believe in Him," the Saint to those around,

"In whom the weary have their comfort found.

My soul is flourishing, my time is near,

To meet the Beauty that dispels all fear.

O Light of poverty, O Source of all,

Who answers every creature when they call:

Be with me now, until the journey’s o’er,

And I receive Thee, Lord, for evermore."

CANTO XIII

Then Iuzanes, the youth, did humbly pray,

"O Man of God, permit me now away.

The gaoler I’ll persuade to let thee come,

That I might find the Seal within my home.

Seven years have passed since I was made a bride,

Yet lived in chastity by Mnesara’s side;

My father deemed me useless, lacking heirs,

While now my wife is trapped in mortal snares.

If she were healed and heard thy holy word,

Great peace would on us both be then conferred."

The Saint replied: "If thou wilt but believe,

The marvels of the Lord thou shalt receive."

As thus they spoke, three women reached the gate:

Tertia, Mygdonia, and Narcia wait.

With silver coin they bribed the keeper’s hand

To join the prisoners and the holy band.

The Saint inquired: "Who led you to this place?

Who opened up the doors by secret grace?"

Then Tertia cried: "Didst thou not lead the way,

And bid us seek our brothers here to pray?

You vanished from our sight as we drew near,

Yet by your power we find ourselves now here."

Then Tertia told of King Misdaeus’ spite,

How he had locked her from the blessed light.

"The King declared: 'The sorcerer’s bread and oil

Have not yet claimed thy soul as wizard’s spoil.'

He shut me in a cell beneath the hall,

But thou didst come and break the prison wall.

O give the Seal! Grant us the holy sign,

That we may baffle Misdaeus' dark design."

The Saint gave glory to the Lord on high:

"O Jesu, who to wretched men art nigh,

Who takes our form to strengthen every heart,

And never from Thy servants dost depart!"

The lamps were quenched; the gaoler bade them sleep,

While over all a darkness settled deep.

But Judah prayed: "O Light of Nature, shine!

Dispel the gloom with radiance divine."

A sudden day did through the prison break;

The rest all slept, but those of faith did wake.

Then Judah spoke: "Go forth and lead the way."

"The doors are barred," the youth was heard to say.

"Believe," said Judah, "and the locks shall yield."

And so the path to freedom was revealed.

As Iuzanes toward his dwelling sped,

His wife, Mnesara, rose as from the dead.

"My brother, is it thou?" she softly cried.

"And art thou healed?" her husband then replied.

"A youth," she said, "did touch me with his hand

And led me forth to find the holy man.

See where he stands and guides me by the right?"

But no one stood within the husband's sight.

They reached the house, the holy band and she,

Where Mnesara bowed low on bended knee.

"Thou art the one," she cried, "who healed my pain,

Who sent the youth to break my fever's chain!"

She turned to find the lad, but he was gone;

In place of him, the Light of Heaven shone.

Then Judah spoke: "Let Jesus be thy guide."

And through the house the light did then reside;

Though deep the night, a glory filled the hall,

The Grace of God descending on them all.

Now Judah raised his voice in holy prayer,

To Him who keeps the weak in tender care;

"O Refuge of the poor, the weary’s rest,

Who dwellest as a Comforter addressed.

Thou art the Port for those who cross the deep,

The Voice that wakes the soul from heavy sleep;

The Great Physician, healing without fee,

Who died for many on the shameful tree.

Into the depths of Hell Thou didst descend,

To bring the reign of Princes to an end;

Thou gatheredst all who from the darkness fled,

And in Thy footsteps all the ransomed led.

O Son of Mercy, from the realms above,

Sent down to man in perfectness of love;

Who fasted in the waste and felt our need,

Yet with Thy riches dost the hungry feed.

Be with this company, Thy fold increase,

And lead them to the lands of lasting peace;

Within their hearts let Thy pure Spirit dwell,

And make them temples where all things are well."

Then to Mygdonia did the Saint command:

"Unclothe thy sisters with a gentle hand."

They stood prepared; then from a silver cup,

The hallowed oil the Apostle lifted up.

"O Fruit," he cried, "most beautiful and bright,

Who bringest to the blind a holy light!

Though rough to sight and bitter in the leaf,

Thy hidden sweetness offers sure relief.

Thou art the crown the victor’s brow displays,

The strength that keeps us through the weary days.

As in the wood Thy power was firmly set,

Let now that conquering Might be with us yet;

That gift which made the mocking foemen fall,

Now rest upon this oil and bless us all."

On Iuzanes he poured the sacred dew,

Then on the women, making them anew;

"In Jesu's name, let every sin depart,

And drive the Adversary from the heart."

Then in the stream, beneath the Spirit's wing,

He plunged them for the Father and the King.

When they emerged, he took the wine and bread,

And o'er the holy signs his blessing shed.

"Thy Body, broken on the cross, we eat;

Thy Blood we drink, our victory complete.

For all the gall Thou drankest in Thy woe,

Let now the Devil’s gall from us forgo;

And for the vinegar that parched Thy tongue,

Let all our weakness into strength be strung.

The spitting and the reed, the thorny crown,

Have brought the dew of Heaven's goodness down;

The linen shroud in which Thy form was laid,

Becomes the power that makes us unafraid.

The tomb is empty; as Thou didst arise,

So grant us life beneath Thy righteous eyes."

He broke the bread; to every soul he gave

The Feast of Life that triumphs o'er the grave.

"Amen," they cried, and through the quiet air,

A Voice gave answer to their solemn prayer:

"Amen! Let every heart from trembling cease;

Believe in Me, and find eternal peace."

Now Judah turned to face the prison wall,

And left the sisters, answering the call.

"My daughters, hear," the Saint began to say,

"For in this flesh I pass from you today.

I seek the Lord who bought me for His own,

To stand at last before His shining throne.

The time is ripe; the crown is now in sight;

I go to meet the Giver of the Light.

I am no Christ, but servant of His will,

Whose grace and mercy every heart may fill.

If I but willed, I could evade this hour,

But death is freedom by my Master’s power.

Let not the Tempter steal your thoughts away;

Keep watch for Him who brings the endless day."

He blessed the doors; the seals he firmly set,

While all the faithful wept with deep regret.

But at the gates, the keepers were in dread:

"The wizard’s magic opens doors!" they said.

They sought the King to tell of locks undone,

And how he charmed his consort and his son.

But when Misdaeus reached the iron gate,

He found the seals remained in perfect state.

"Ye lie!" he cried, "The wax is whole and fair;

How could my queen have entered in to prayer?"

The guards stood fast: "We speak the truth, O King!

The man is master of a ghostly thing."

Misdaeus sat upon the judgment seat,

And dragged the Saint from out his dark retreat.

"Art thou a slave?" the angry monarch cried.

"One Master owns me," Judah then replied.

"He sold me here that I might save the lost,

And pay for many a soul the final cost."

"What is His name?" the King in fury sought.

"A Name," said Thomas, "that can ne'er be taught

To such as thou; yet known by many men

As Jesus Christ, who dies to rise again.

My work shall live when I am gone from here,

And in this land shall flourish without fear."

The King, in dread of all the common throng,

Refrained from doing then the Apostle wrong;

For many nobles followed in his train,

And deemed the stranger's word a holy gain.

He led him forth beyond the city's bound,

With armed soldiers treading on the ground.

Four guardsmen took the Saint toward the height,

To pierce his breast and end his mortal light.

The people followed, hoping for a sign,

To save the servant of the Law Divine.

Upon the mount, the Apostle turned his head,

As to the four who guarded him he said:

"O hidden mysteries that now unfold!

O riches of the Grace that I behold!

From four elements my frame was spun,

And four now end what was by four begun.

My Lord was pierced by one alone for thee,

But four shall strike to set my spirit free."

Then to the crowd he gave his parting word:

"Let not your hearts be hardened to the Lord;

Walk in the light that sets the spirit free,

And live for God through all eternity."

To Iuzanes the Saint then turned his gaze:

"O son of kings, yet child of Heaven's praise,

Grant now these guards their silver and their fee,

That I may pray before they strike at me."

The youth prevailed; the soldiers stepped aside,

While Thomas knelt, his arms extended wide.

"My God and Hope," he cried to realms above,

"Thou Guide in every land of light and love,

Let not the serpent hiss nor demons stare,

As now I yield my soul into Thy care.

I was a bondman to Thy holy word;

Today I gain the freedom of the Lord."

The prayer was done. He called the soldiers near:

"Perform your task and do not shrink in fear."

With fourfold thrust the spears his body found;

The holy martyr fell upon the ground.

With bitter tears the faithful dressed his side,

In royal robes and linen fairly dyed;

Within the tomb of kings they laid his head,

And mourned the man who joined the blessed dead.

But as they watched beside the silent stone,

The Saint appeared, in radiant glory shown.

"Why sit ye here?" he asked the weeping pair,

"I am not here, but breathe celestial air.

Go down in peace; the time shall quickly come

When ye shall join me in my Father’s home."

Though King Misdaeus sought to break the will

Of those who loved the holy Gospel still,

The Lord gave strength; the women stood their ground,

Until in liberty their lives were found.

And Siphor served as priest by holy rite,

While Iuzanes as deacon bore the light.

Long years had passed when King Misdaeus’ son

By a fierce demon was almost undone.

The King, in grief, recalled the holy man:

"I’ll take a bone," his desperate thought began,

"And hang the relic on my suffering heir,

That he might find a cure and comfort there."

The Saint appeared: "Thou didst not trust the breath

Of living men; wilt thou believe in death?

Yet Christ is kind." The King then sought the cave,

But found no body in the narrow grave;

A brother’s hand had borne the Saint away,

To Mesopotamia where his spirit lay.

Yet from the floor, Misdaeus gathered dust

And in the Name of Jesus placed his trust;

He hung the earth about the stripling’s neck,

And saw the demon flee at Heaven's beck.

The King himself then bowed his haughty head,

By Siphor’s hand to living waters led;

The church rejoiced to see the tyrant pray

And cast his former cruelties away.

Thus India’s shores beheld the work complete,

And laid its crowns at the Redeemer’s feet;

To Father, Son, and Spirit glory be,

Through all the ages of eternity.