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They are parted, she, woman-like, dies, and he, man-like, sings an elegy. Even more to Immanuel's credit is his praise of his own wife. She has every womanly grace of body and soul. If this be the true man revealed, then his light verses of love addressed to other women must be, as I have hinted, a mere pose.
Each several minister must do all that in him lies, from the day of his ordination to the day of his death, to be all to his people that those four shepherds were to Immanuel's sheep.
And what has sustained the spirits, animated the hopes, and filled with exulting joy, the confessors, witnesses and martyrs of Jesus, but faith's realizing views of the King in his beauty, and the glories of Immanuel's land? For this peculiarity the disciples of Christ have been as speckled birds, men wondered at, in all generations.
Sir, I cannot help thinking that if the said minister would devote himself to the Water of Life 'that gentle fount Progressing from Immanuel's mount, it would be much more harmonious with his function as a follower of him who knew nothing save Christ crucified.
Tamar excites the love of the angels, Beriah's face makes even the devil fly. This disagreeable pose of Immanuel was not confined to his age; it has spoilt some of the best work of W.S. Gilbert. The following is Dr. Chotzner's rendering of one of Immanuel's lyrics. He entitles it Immanuel, it is only just to point out, occasionally draws a worthier character.
They said it was Immanuel's Land; and it is as common, said they, as this Hill is, to and for all the Pilgrims. And when thou comest there, from thence, said they, thou maist see to the gate of the Coelestial City, as the Shepheards that live there will make appear. Now he bethought himself of setting forward, and they were willing he should: but first, said they, let us go again into the Armory.
In their spiritual visions, the desert blossomed at their feet, gardens flourished around them, harvests ripened for their sickle; summer drove back the dreary winter; they verily dwelt in Immanuel's land. The Covenanters loved the Bible more than their lives. In it they found eternal life, and counted all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ.
How often did I go thither weary and faint with the roughness of the way, and leave feeling that I had heard the voices and inhaled the odors of paradise! A little talk, a psalm, and then a prayer, during which the room seemed to be filled with angel-presences; after which the thin, pale face was radiant with the light reflected from our Immanuel's face.
There was being good which was not to commit murder or be an atheist like Milo Barrus and spell God with a little g; and there was Coming to the Feet not so simple as it sounded, he could very well tell them; and there was the matter of Blood. There were hymns, for example, that left him confused. The "fountain filled with blood drawn from Immanuel's veins" sounded interesting.
John describes it, hating the light that puts to shame its own self-chosen darkness, and putting it out if it can, where the Pilgrim's fellow, Faithful, seals his testimony with his death, and the Pilgrim himself barely escapes; the "delicate plain" called Ease, and the little hill, Lucre, where Demas stood "gentlemanlike," to invite the passersby to come and dig in his silver mine; Byepath Meadow, into which the Pilgrim and his newly-found companion stray, and are made prisoners by Giant Despair and shut up in the dungeons of Doubting Castle, and break out of prison by the help of the Key of Promise; the Delectable Mountains in Immanuel's Land, with their friendly shepherds and the cheering prospect of the far-off heavenly city; the Enchanted Land, with its temptations to spiritual drowsiness at the very end of the journey; the Land of Beulah, the ante-chamber of the city to which they were bound; and, last stage of all, the deep dark river, without a bridge, which had to be crossed before the city was entered; the entrance into its heavenly gates, the pilgrim's joyous reception with all the bells in the city ringing again for joy; the Dreamer's glimpse of its glories through the opened portals is not every stage of the journey, every scene of the pilgrimage, indelibly printed on our memories, for our warning, our instruction, our encouragement in the race we, as much as they, have each one to run?
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