For the black thing it was, a plague opposed Always against the loveliness of Israel, And when his father Saul was anointed king By Samuel in Ramah, then Jonathan knew How all the lessons of his youth had been To fit him for the striking of the men Who profaned beauty and let the soul be blind. And he was diligent in bronze and arms, And kept his body supple, and his eye Keen, and the coming of his hooves was thunder, Wherever battle fell. He bore a flame, Zealous and pure, in the heavens of his mind, To serve and to instruct. Aye, to instruct-- There was the biting blemish, as we shall see.

.....

Philistia was foul, and Jonathan knew, And the voice of God within him was plain and constant To strike and strike unwearying to the end. And then the poor, precise, infirmity That loads good minds with ever seeming virtue, Until they cast their treasure to the dust, Crept on him, wound about the gleaming truth That was his one foundation. Day by day He was resolved, and then the grain of doubt Would come to hurt the riding of his thought, And break the level balance that it had. Was then the Philistine mere black? That day Jonathan's arm half paused upon the blow, And evil went a little scatheless off. Surely the worst even of adversaries Had somewhere beams that pointed to salvation, And hasty judgment might not be the will Of an all-seeing Lord? Then would the vengeance Falter, and stay, and Jonathan's battle failed. And always then was bitterness and reproach In the night watches when upon his couch He looked on the stars studding his little window Before sleep came. Then he would speak again The word that single was his valiance, His only truth, his warrant as a man, And once again Philistia was doomed. Then for a season clean the stroke and sure That Jonathan drove, and black was known for black, Till slowly as before would mount and mount Scruple on scruple, as was not he himself A little black sometimes, or plainly wicked? And should the wicked man not be redeemed? Merely destruction surely was no answer, Since yet the wickedness must wander somewhere? How should he say, I, Jonathan of Israel Am good, and you the Philistine are cursed, Since in that face was something that had been Learnt from the buds and corn and frozen hills That he himself had known for seals of God? And would not his power on Israel increase, Take on a loftier authority, If to his famous arms he could add a tale Of counsel working in the hearts of men, Moving them to a finer charity, A little pity for offence? And so Instruction like a worm was at his roots, And pride of virtue made Jonathan forget. Then sometimes as he knew himself betrayed He would cry upon his spirit in the night--

I, Jonathan, who know The processes of God Moving within me, Turn aside to my idols of desire. He has taught me the ways Of Philistine cruelty. He Shows me the bad man toiling to the ruin Of beauty and the free spirit on earth, And has equipped me for the establishment Of His will in this battle, and I fail. I am a leaf spinning about the wind, Who have been shown the ways of stedfastness. O Israel, I have heard My dedication made To your sweet service by the voice of Him, And I betray That wisdom, that great simpleness of wisdom, Inventing in my brain Fantastic argument As though God's mind Had missed the brighter pools That I alone could visit and gaze into. He tells me, and I hear Voices not His. Knowing, I question. And I am ashamed.

So Jonathan saw walking at his side Always a shadow that was his own denial.

.....

And now was April mirrored in the plumes Of ravens and the green of the young wheat, And dusky ewes with white lambs in the sun Lay in the valley plain between the hosts Of Israel and Philistia. And on this day Jonathan learnt utter reproach, and love. There on the plain Goliath stood alone,