*The Eldest Daughter of the King*
Saint John of Alexandria—blessed name,
Recalling ever holy thought and deed!
O heart forever warm with heavenly flame!
O hand forever full for others' need!
Blessed and blessing thousands! Since his day,
Twelve hundred years, and more, have come and gone,
Their beauty dead, their glory passed away:
But in our loving thought he still lives on.
Of all who ever walked on earthly sod,
(Though many loved and saintly names there be,)
I know not if another ever trod
More closely in his Master's steps than he!
To comfort all who suffer,—this alone
His soul desired; for this he prayed and strove
With heart unchanging; and for him were none
Too high for pity, nor too low for love.
And often was he rich, and often poor;
For God upon him had great wealth bestowed,
Which endless store of blessing did procure
To souls that fainted with their weary load.
Nor could he e'er from sorrow turn away,
Nor from a brother's need his hand withhold;
But when his all was spent, men used to say,
The good Lord gave him back a hundredfold.
Enough there was, and ever more to spare,
Though help abundant came at every call.
When prudent friends had prayed him to forbear,
He only said, "God has enough for all."
Till, for their souls' content, he told the truth,—
He being now a grey-haired aged man,—
The holy vision that had blessed his youth,
And changed, of all his life, the course and plan.
"A boy I was, and in my father's home
I slept; 't was night, and I was all alone,
When to my side I felt a presence come;
A hand awakened me that touched my own.
"I saw the chamber all ablaze with light,
And there, before me, stood a lady fair,
With olive crowned, and clad in raiment bright,
Such as, I think, the saints in Heaven may wear.
"Hers was no earthly beauty, but a grace
Most sweet and solemn that no words can reach;
I looked awhile in her celestial face,
And then addressed her, but with timid speech:
"'Who art thou, O my lady, that dost bring
Such glory in the night?' Then answered she:
'I am the eldest daughter of the King,
And more than all my sisters, he loves me.
"'For me He left His glory: it was I
Who led Him on along the thorny road,
To suffer, and for others' sin to die;
For me He shared thy sorrow, bore thy load.
"'Take me for thy companion: I will be
Thy friend as I was His, and by the hand
Will lead thee where at evening thou shalt see
The emperor's face, and in his presence stand.
"While yet the voice was sounding in my ear
The vision ceased; I saw the light no more:
The moon was shining through the window near,
And all the house was silent as before.
"And, waiting till I saw the dawn ascend,
I lay and mused upon this wondrous thing;
And tried, with my child's mind, to comprehend
Who was the eldest daughter of the King,
"I prayed, I pondered long in vain; until
A light from Heaven was on my spirit shed:
And not by wisdom, nor by earthly skill,
I knew the meaning of the words she said.
"When Christ our blessed Lord to earth came down,
And gave His life for lost and thankless men,
And changed His glory for a thorny crown,
'T was Mercy led and did constrain Him then.
"Ah, woe to us, if Mercy had not been
His eldest daughter, and His guide that day!
Then had we died, and perished in our sin,
Unpitied, unforgiven, cast away."
Such was the Patriarch's story, and we know
That Mercy in his heart her dwelling made,
As in no other; and his life below
Was Mercy, in a thousand forms displayed.
And when the summons came that comes to all,
As on a journey distant far he went;
While he, rejoicing, heard the heavenly call,
This token to the stricken church was sent.
A humble convent had his bounty shared,
From Alexandria some few miles away:
And there, where he for rest had oft repaired,
An aged brother sick and dying lay.
For years infirm and helpless had he lain,
But strong in faith, and happy in God's will,
Through all the weary days and nights of pain,
His only work to suffer and lie still.
They two were friends, the Patriarch and he,
For oft the busy saint had loved to turn
From care and work, that peaceful face to see,
And from those patient lips some lesson learn.
And now as he lay dying, glad to go,
Yet thinking, maybe, of his absent friend,
To him was granted in a dream to know,
Of that most holy life, the blessed end.
For, sleeping, he beheld in vision clear
That sombre palace by the poor beloved,
Where the good Patriarch, year after year,
Had all their burdens lightened or removed.
And down the stairway moved a long array
Of priests and others; slowly did they tread,
A grave procession, as on festal day,
And he, the Patriarch, was at their head.
The loved companions of his toil were there,
Who helped him long to labour and endure,
Who knelt beside him in the church at prayer,
Or bore his secret bounty to the poor.
They passed the door where none had knocked in vain,
They crossed the courtyard with its well of stone;
But at the outer gate did all remain
With saddened look, while he went forth alone.
And now the vision changed, he walked no more
The city street that knew his step so well,
But trod a pleasant path, unknown before,
Through a fair land, where peace did ever dwell.
There rose the emperor's palace on a hill,
O'erlooking all the country, where it lay
Spread out beneath it, beautiful and still,
In all the sweetness of an April day.
Grand was that mansion, stately to behold;
To tell its beauty words can ne'er begin,—
The thousand columns, and the domes of gold,
And shining all as from a light within.
He neared the palace—of their own accord
The lofty gates before him open swing,
And in the glory, as it outward poured,
Came forth the eldest daughter of the King,
Came as he saw her on that far-off night
Which star-like through his life's long journey shone,
Wearing her olive crown, her robe of light,
And came to meet him, where he walked alone,
He bowed and knelt before her, for he knew
That presence which had blessed him long before;
While from her folded mantle forth she drew
A crown of olive, like the one she wore,
And placed it on the saintly silvered head;
Then took his hand. He rose; nor did they wait:
The dreamer watched them as they onward sped,
Till, hand in hand, they entered through the gate.
And then, as light concealed them, he awoke,
And to the brethren, gathered in his cell,
In tearful silence listening while he spoke,
He did the story of his vision tell,
And bade them note what hour the dream was sent,
Which some with anxious hearts made haste to do;
Then waited, fearing what the vision meant;
Till time had shown them all they feared was true.
For when the dreaded tidings came at last,
They knew that on that very hour and day
Their much-loved father from this life had passed,
In his own isle of Cyprus, far away.