The Rainbow

So she rode in her pride. And sometimes, she dashed into

flames to rescue a forgotten child; or she dived into the canal

locks and supported a boy who was seized with cramp; or she

swept up a toddling infant from the feet of a runaway horse:

always imaginatively, of course.

But in the end there returned the poignant yearning from the

Sunday world. As she went down in the morning from Cossethay and

saw Ilkeston smoking blue and tender upon its hill, then her

heart surged with far-off words: "Oh, Jerusalem, Jerusalem--how often would I have

gathered thy children together as a hen gathereth her chickens

under her wings, and ye would not--"

The passion rose in her for Christ, for the gathering under

the wings of security and warmth. But how did it apply to the

weekday world? What could it mean, but that Christ should clasp

her to his breast, as a mother clasps her child? And oh, for

Christ, for him who could hold her to his breast and lose her

there. Oh, for the breast of man, where she should have refuge

and bliss for ever! All her senses quivered with passionate

yearning.

Vaguely she knew that Christ meant something else: that in

the vision-world He spoke of Jerusalem, something that did not

exist in the everyday world. It was not houses and factories He

would hold in His bosom: nor householders nor factory-workers

nor poor people: but something that had no part in the weekday

world, nor seen nor touched with weekday hands and eyes.

Yet she must have it in weekday terms--she must.

For all her life was a weekday life, now, this was the whole. So

he must gather her body to his breast, that was strong with a

broad bone, and which sounded with the beating of the heart, and

which was warm with the life of which she partook, the life of

the running blood.

So she craved for the breast of the Son of Man, to lie there.

And she was ashamed in her soul, ashamed. For whereas Christ

spoke for the Vision to answer, she answered from the weekday

fact. It was a betrayal, a transference of meaning, from the

vision world, to the matter-of-fact world. So she was ashamed of

her religious ecstasy, and dreaded lest any one should see

it.

Early in the year, when the lambs came, and shelters were

built of straw, and on her uncle's farm the men sat at night

with a lantern and a dog, then again there swept over her this

passionate confusion between the vision world and the weekday

world. Again she felt Jesus in the countryside. Ah, he would

lift up the lambs in his arms! Ah, and she was the lamb. Again,

in the morning, going down the lane, she heard the ewe call, and

the lambs came running, shaking and twinkling with new-born

bliss. And she saw them stooping, nuzzling, groping to the

udder, to find the teats, whilst the mother turned her head

gravely and sniffed her own. And they were sucking, vibrating

with bliss on their little, long legs, their throats stretched

up, their new bodies quivering to the stream of blood-warm,

loving milk.