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| IT was a green spot in the wilderness, | |
| Touched by the river Jordan. The dark pine | |
| Never had dropped its tassels on the moss | |
| Tufting the leaning bank; nor on the grass | |
| Of the broad circle stretching evenly | 5 |
| To the straight larches, had a heavier foot | |
| Than the wild heron’s trodden. Softly in | |
| Through a long aisle of willows, dim and cool, | |
| Stole the clear waters with their muffled feet, | |
| And, hushing as they spread into the light, | 10 |
| Circled the edges of the pebbled tank | |
| Slowly, then rippled through the woods away. | |
| Hither had come the Apostle of the wild, | |
| Winding the river’s course. ’T was near the flush | |
| Of eve, and, with a multitude around, | 15 |
| Who from the cities had come out to hear, | |
| He stood breast-high amid the running stream, | |
| Baptizing as the Spirit gave him power. | |
| His simple raiment was of camel’s hair, | |
| A leathern girdle close about his loins, | 20 |
| His beard unshorn, and for his daily meat | |
| The locust and wild honey of the wood,— | |
| But like the face of Moses on the mount | |
| Shone his rapt countenance, and in his eye | |
| Burned the mild fire of love,—and as he spoke | 25 |
| The ear leaned to him, and persuasion swift | |
| To the chained spirit of the listener stole. | |
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| Silent upon the green and sloping bank | |
| The people sat, and while the leaves were shook | |
| With the birds dropping early to their nests, | 30 |
| And the gray eve came on, within their hearts | |
| They mused if he were Christ. The rippling stream | |
| Still turned its silver courses from his breast | |
| As he divined their thought. “I but baptize,” | |
| He said, “with water; but there cometh One, | 35 |
| The latchet of whose shoes I may not dare | |
| E’en to unloose. He will baptize with fire | |
| And with the Holy Ghost.” And lo! while yet | |
| The words were on his lips, he raised his eyes, | |
| And on the bank stood Jesus. He had laid | 40 |
| His raiment off, and with his loins alone | |
| Girt with a mantle, and his perfect limbs, | |
| In their angelic slightness, meek and bare, | |
| He waited to go in. But John forbade, | |
| And hurried to his feet and stayed him there, | 45 |
| And said, “Nay, Master! I have need of thine, | |
| Not thou of mine!” And Jesus, with a smile | |
| Of heavenly sadness, met his earnest looks, | |
| And answered, “Suffer it to be so now; | |
| For thus it doth become me to fulfil | 50 |
| All righteousness.” And, leaning to the stream, | |
| He took around him the Apostle’s arm, | |
| And drew him gently to the midst. The wood | |
| Was thick with the dim twilight as they came | |
| Up from the water. With his clasped hands | 55 |
| Laid on his breast, the Apostle silently | |
| Followed his master’s steps,—when lo! a light, | |
| Bright as the tenfold glory of the sun, | |
| Yet lambent as the softly burning stars, | |
| Enveloped them, and from the heavens away | 60 |
| Parted the dim blue ether like a veil; | |
| And as a voice, fearful exceedingly, | |
| Broke from the midst, “This is my much loved Son | |
| In whom I am well pleased,” a snow-white dove, | |
| Floating upon its wings, descended through; | 65 |
| And shedding a swift music from its plumes, | |
| Circled, and fluttered to the Saviour’s breast. | |
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