Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BROTHERLY LOVE; OR, THE SITE OF KING SOLOMON'S TEMPLE, by GEORGE MURRAY (1830-1910)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BROTHERLY LOVE; OR, THE SITE OF KING SOLOMON'S TEMPLE, by                    
First Line: There is a sweet traditionary tale
Last Line: Each with the golden sheaves within his arms.
Subject(s): Brothers; Churches; Family Life; Harvest; Love - Nature Of; Half-brothers; Cathedrals; Relatives


There is a sweet traditionary tale,
(Dear to each brother of the Mystic Tie)
Which, though recording but a simple deed,
A simple deed—and yet how full of love—
I would that men might hear and take to heart.

That tale's clear echo, like some lute that thrills
'Mid lordlier instruments, hath floated down
Borne, like a perfume, on the breath of Time,
From the dim age of Solomon the King.
And even now its music is not dead,
Nor can it die, so long as human hearts
Feel the quick pulse of brotherhood leap high.

The harvest moon was shining on the grain
That waved all golden in the fields around
The stately city of Jerusalem.
There—a few acres all the wealth they owned—
Two brothers dwelt together, most unlike
In outward form and aspect, but the same
In deep unfailing tenderness of soul.
Stalwart and strong, one brother drove the plough
Or plied the sickle with untiring arm,
The while his fragile comrade seemed to droop
Beneath the heat and burden of the day
As one not fitted for the toils of life.

Well knowing this, the elder brother rose
At dead of night and woke his sleeping wife
And said: "Dear heart, my brother is not strong:
Ill hath he borne the burden of the day,
Reaped the full grain, and bound the yellow sheaves.
I will arise and while my brother sleeps
Will of my shocks take here and there a sheaf
At random—that he may not note the loss—
And add the grain, thus pilfered, to his store;
And God well knoweth that we shall not miss
The sheaves devoted to a brother's need."

So, the man rose up in the dead of night
And, as his great heart prompted, so he did.

Now, while the younger pondered on his bed,
Unwitting of his brother's gracious deed,
Kind thoughts, like Angels, visited his soul
And thus he spake, communing with himself,
"Scant is my harvest—but I am alone,
And thus it haps my harvest is not scant,
Nor have I need to lay up store on earth,
For death treads closely on the heels of life!
Seeing that these things are so, let me do
What good I may, before I travel hence
And be no more. My brother has a wife
And babes to work for—and he is not rich—
From sunrise unto sunset though he toils.
I will arise and while my brother sleeps,
Will of my shocks take here and there a sheaf,
And add the grain, thus pilfered, to his store;
For 'tis not fitting that my share should be
Equal to his, who hath more need than I."

So he, too, rose up in the dead of night.
And, as his great heart prompted, so he did.

But all the time he wrought that loving deed,
He trod the field with feather-footed care,
And paused at times, and listened—while the sheaves
Shook in his arms and every grain that dropped
Left his face pallid as the moon's white ray.
So, like a man with guilt upon his soul,
Full of vain fears he wrought his task, and then
Stole, like a shadow, to his lonely bed,
And slept the sleep that cometh to the good.
And thus these two, moved by the self-same love,
Each on the other nightly did bestow
The kindly boon, much wondering that his shocks
Did show no loss, though robbed of many sheaves.

At length one night—while tenderly the Moon
Looked down from Heav'n on their unselfish love—
The brothers met; the arms of both were filled
With golden sheaves and then they understood
The riddle that they could not read before.

The simple tale (for, to the neighbours round
Each brother fondly told his brother's deed),
Soon through the garrulous streets was noised abroad
Until 'twas whispered in the Royal Court
And reached the ears of Solomon the King.
Its pathos stole, like music, to his heart
And stirred the fountain of delicious tears
And thus he spake: "The ground whereon that deed
Was wrought, henceforth is consecrated earth;
For, surely, it is sanctified by love,
The love that loveth to do good by stealth.
I, therefore, leagued with Hiram, King of Tyre,
Who hews me cedar-trees on Lebanon
And aided also by the Widow's Son,
Cunning to work in silver and in gold,
Will on that field erect the House of God
Exceedingly magnifical and high—
Because I ween that nowhere in the world
A site more holy shall I ever find."

So it was done according to his word:
And God's own House was builded on the spot
Where those two brothers in the moonlight met,.
Each with the golden sheaves within his arms.





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