Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE GOLDEN LEGEND: THE PARABLE OF ST. CHRISTOPHER, by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE GOLDEN LEGEND: THE PARABLE OF ST. CHRISTOPHER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: To a king's court a giant came
Last Line: As to the heathen men.
Alternate Author Name(s): H. H.; Holm, Saxe; Jackson, Helen Hunt
Subject(s): Children; Christmas; Childhood; Nativity, The


To a king's court a Giant came, —
"O King, both far and near
I seek," he said, "the Greatest King;
And thou art he, I hear.

"If it please thee, I will abide;
To thee my knee shall bend;
Only unto the Greatest Kings
Can giants condescend."

Right glad the King the Giant took
Into his service then,
For since Goliath's mighty days
No man so big was seen.

Well pleased the Giant, too, to serve
The Greatest King on earth;
He served him well, in peace, in war,
In sorrow, and in mirth,

Till came a wandering minstrel by,
One day, who played and sang
Wild songs, through which the devil's name
Profanely, loudly rang.

Astonished then the Giant saw
The King look sore afraid;
At mention of the devil's name,
The cross's sign he made.

"How now, my master! Why dost thou
Make on thy breast this sign?"
He said. "It is a spell," replied
The King — "a spell divine,

"Which shall the devil circumvent,
And keep me safe and whole
From all the wicked arts he tries
To slay my precious soul."

"Oh, ho, my master! then he is
More powerful than thou!
They lied who called thee Greatest King;
I leave thy service now,

"And seek the devil; him will I
My master call henceforth,"
The Giant cried, and strode away
Contemptuous and wroth.

He found the devil soon. I ween
The devil waited near,
Well pleased to have this mighty man
Within his ranks appear.

They journeyed on full many a day,
And now the Giant deemed
At last he had a master found,
Who was the king he seemed.

But lo! one day they came apace
To where four road-ways met,
And at the meeting of the roads
A cross of stone was set.

The devil trembled and fell back,
And said: "We go around."
"Now tell me," fierce the Giant cried,
"Why fearest thou this ground?"

The devil would not answer. "Then
I leave thee, master mine,"
The Giant said. "Of something wrong
This mystery is sign."

Then answered him the fiend, ashamed:
"'T was there Christ Jesus died;
Wherever stands a cross like that,
I may not, dare not bide."

"Ho, ho!" the Giant cried again,
Surprised again, perplexed;
"Then Jesus is the Greatest King, —
I seek and serve him next."

The King named Jesus, far and near,
The weary Giant sought;
His name was everywhere proclaimed,
His image sold and bought,

His power vaunted, and his laws
Upheld by sword and fire;
But him the Giant sought in vain,
Until he cried in ire,

One winter eve, as late he came
Upon a hermit's cell:
"Now by my troth, tell me, good saint,
Where doth thy master dwell?

"For I have sought him far and wide,
By leagues of land and sea;
I seek to be his servant true,
In honest fealty.

"I have such strength as kings desire,
State to their state to lend;
But only to the Greatest King
Can giants condescend."

Then said the hermit, pale and wan:
"Oh, giant man! indeed
The King thou seekest doth all kings
In glorious power exceed;

"But they who see him face to face,
In full communion clear,
Crowned with his kingdom's splendor bright,
Must buy the vision dear.

"Dwell here, O brother, and thy lot
With ours contented cast,
And first, that flesh be well subdued,
For days and nights thou'lt fast!"

"I fast!" the Giant cried, amazed.
"Good saint, I'll no such thing.
My strength would fail; without that, I
Were fit to serve no king!"

"Then thou must pray," the hermit said;
"We kneel on yonder stone,
And tell these beads, and for each bead
A prayer, one by one."

The Giant flung the beads away,
Laughing in scornful pride.
"I will not wear my knees on stones;
I know no prayers," he cried.

Then said the hermit: "Giant, since
Thou canst not fast nor pray,
I know not if our Master will
Save thee some other way.

"But go down to yon river deep,
Where pilgrims daily sink,
And build for thee a little hut
Close on the river's brink,

"And carry travelers back and forth
Across the raging stream;
Perchance this service to our King
A worthy one will seem."

"Now that is good," the Giant cried;
"That work I understand;
A joyous task 't will be to bear
Poor souls from land to land,

"Who, but for me, would sink and drown.
Good saint, thou hast at length
Made mention of a work which is
Fit for a giant's strength."

For many a year, in lowly hut,
The Giant dwelt content
Upon the bank, and back and forth
Across the stream he went,

And on his giant shoulders bore
All travelers who came,
By night, by day, or rich or poor,
All in King Jesus' name.

But much he doubted if the King
His work would note or know,
And often with a weary heart
He waded to and fro.

One night, as wrapped in sleep he lay,
He sudden heard a call:
"Oh, Christopher, come carry me!"
He sprang, looked out, but all

Was dark and silent on the shore.
"It must be that I dreamed,"
He said, and laid him down again;
But instantly there seemed

Again the feeble, distant cry:
"Oh, come and carry me!"
Again he sprang, and looked; again
No living thing could see.

The third time came the plaintive voice,
Like infant's soft and weak;
With lantern strode the Giant forth,
More carefully to seek.

Down on the bank a little Child
He found, — a piteous sight, —
Who, weeping, earnestly implored
To cross that very night.

With gruff good-will, he picked him up,
And on his neck to ride,
He tossed him, as men play with babes,
And plunged into the tide.

But as the water closed around
His knees, the Infant's weight
Grew heavier and heavier,
Until it was so great

The Giant scarce could stand upright,
His staff shook in his hand,
His mighty knees bent under him,
He barely reached the land,

And, staggering, set the Infant down,
And turned to scan his face;
When, lo! he saw a halo bright
Which lit up all the place.

Then Christopher fell down afraid
At marvel of the thing,
And dreamed not that it was the face
Of Jesus Christ, his King,

Until the Infant spoke, and said:
"Oh, Christopher, behold!
I am the Lord whom thou hast served!
Rise up, be glad, and bold!

For I have seen and noted well
Thy works of charity;
And that thou art my servant good,
A token thou shalt see.

"Plant firmly here upon this bank
Thy stalwart staff of pine,
And it shall blossom and bear fruit,
This very hour, in sign."

Then, vanishing, the Infant smiled.
The Giant, left alone,
Saw on the bank, with luscious dates
His stout pine staff bent down.

For many a year, St. Christopher
Served God in many a land;
And master painters drew his face,
With loving heart and hand,

On altar fronts and church's walls;
And peasants used to say,
To look on good St. Christopher
Brought luck, for all the day.

I think the lesson is as good
To-day as it was then —
As good to us called Christians
As to the heathen men.





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