Rev. Percy Ferguson

    The Rev. Percy Ferguson, patrician
    Vicar of Christ, companion of the strong,
    And member of the inner shrine, where men
    Observe the rituals of the golden calf;
    A dilettante, and writer for the press
    Upon such themes as optimism, order,
    Obedience, beauty, law, while Elenor Murray's
    Life was being weighed by Merival
    Preached in disparagement of Merival
    Upon a fatal Sunday, as it chanced,
    Too near to doom's day for the clergyman.
    For, as the word had gone about that waste
    In lives preoccupied this Merival,
    And many talked of waste, and spoke a life
    Where waste had been in whole or part - the pulpit
    Should take a hand, thought Ferguson. And so
    The Reverend Percy Ferguson preached thus
    To a great audience and fashionable:
    "The hour's need is a firmer faith in Christ,
    A closer hold on God, belief again
    In sin's reality; the age's vice
    Is laughter over sin, the attitude
    That sin is not!" And then to prove that sin
    Is something real, he spoke of money sins
    That bring the money panics, of the beauty
    That lust corrupts, wound up with Athen's story,
    Which sin decayed. And touching on this waste,
    Which was the current talk, what is this waste
    Except a sin in life, the moral law
    Transgressed, God mocked, the order of man's life,
    And God's will disobeyed? Show me a life
    That lives through Christ and none shall find a waste.
    This clergyman some fifteen years before
    Went on a hunt for Alma Bell, who taught
    The art department of the school, and found
    Enough to scare the school directors that
    She burned with lawless love for Elenor Murray.

    And made it seem the teacher's reprimand
    In school of Elenor Murray for her ways
    Of strolling, riding with young men at night,
    Was moved by jealousy of Elenor Murray,
    Being herself in love with Elenor Murray.
    This clergyman laid what he found before
    The school directors, Alma Bell was sent
    Out of the school her way, and disappeared....
    But now, though fifteen years had passed, the story
    Of Alma Bell and Elenor Murray crept
    Like poisonous mist, scarce seen, around LeRoy.
    It had been so always. And all these years
    No one would touch or talk in open words
    The loathsome matter, since girls grown to women,
    And married in the town might have their names
    Relinked to Alma Bell's. And was it true
    That Elenor Murray strayed as a young girl
    In those far days of strolls and buggy rides?

    But after Percy Ferguson had thundered
    Against the inquest, Warren Henderson,
    A banker of the city, who had dealt
    In paper of the clergyman, and knew
    The clergyman had interests near Victoria,
    Was playing at the money game, and knew
    He tottered on the brink, and held to hands
    That feared to hold him longer - Henderson,
    A wise man, cynical, contemptuous
    Of frocks so sure of ways to avoid the waste,
    So unforgiving of the tangled moods
    And baffled eyes of men; contemptuous
    Of frocks so avid for the downy beds,
    Place, honors, money, admiration, praise,
    Much wished to see the clergyman come down
    And lay his life beside the other sinners.
    But more he knew, admired this Alma Bell,
    Did not believe she burned with guilty love
    For Elenor Murray, thought the moral hunt
    Or Alma Bell had made a waste of life,
    As ignorance might pluck a flower for thinking
    It was a weed; on Elenor Murray too
    Had brought a waste, by scenting up her life
    With something faint but ineradicable.
    And Warren Henderson would have revenge,
    And waited till old Jacob Bangs should fix
    His name to paper once again of Ferguson's
    To tell old Jacob Bangs he should be wary,
    Since banks and agencies were tremulous
    With hints of failure at Victoria.

    So meeting Jacob Bangs the banker told him
    What things were bruited, and warned the man
    To fix his name no more to Ferguson's paper.
    It was the very day the clergyman
    Sought Jacob Bangs to get his signature
    Upon a note for money at the bank.
    And Jacob Bangs was silent and evasive,
    Demurred a little and refused at last.
    Which sent the anxious clergyman adrift
    To look for other help. He looked and looked,
    And found no other help. Associates
    Depending more on men than God, fell down,
    And in a day the bubble burst. The Times
    Had columns of the story.

        In a week,
    At Sunday service Percy Ferguson
    Stood in the pulpit to confess his sin,
    The Murray jury sat and fed their joy
    For hearing Ferguson confess his sin.
    This is the way he did it:

    "First, my friends,
    I do not say I have betrayed the trust
    My friends have given me. Some years ago
    I thought to make provision for my wife,
    I wished to start some certain young men right.
    I had another plan I can't disclose,
    Not selfish, you'll believe me. So I took
    My savings made as lecturer and writer
    And put them in this venture. I'm ashamed
    To say how great those savings were, in view
    Of what the poor earn, those who work with hands!
    Ashamed too, when I think these savings grew
    Because I spoke the things the rich desired.
    And squared my words with what the strong would have -
    Therein Christ was betrayed. The end has come.
    I too have been betrayed, my confidence
    Wronged by my fellows in the enterprise.
    I hope to pay my debts. Hard poverty
    Has come to me to bring me back to Christ."

    "But listen now: These years I lived perturbed,
    Lest this life which I grew into would mould
    Young men and ministers, lead them astray
    To public life, sensation, lecture platforms,
    Prosperity, away from Christ-like service,
    Obscure and gentle. To those souls I owe
    My heart's confession: I have loved my books
    More than the poor, position more than service,
    Office and honor over love of men;
    Lived thus when all my strength belonged to thought,
    To work for schools, the sick, the poor, the friendless,
    To boys and girls with hungry minds. My friends,
    Here I abase my soul before God's throne,
    And ask forgiveness for the pious zeal
    With which I smote the soul of Alma Bell,
    And smudged the robe of Elenor Murray. God,
    Thou, who has taken Elenor Murray home,
    After great service in the war, O grant
    Thy servant yet to kneel before the soul
    Of Elenor Murray. For who am I to judge?
    What was I then to judge? who coveted honors,
    When solitude, where I might dwell apart,
    And listen to the voice of God was mine,
    By calling and for seeking. I have broken
    The oath I took to take no purse or scrip.
    I have loved money, even while I knew
    No servant of Christ can work for Christ and strive
    For money. And if anywhere there be
    A noble boy who would become a minister,
    Who has heard me, or read my books, and grown
    Thereby to cherish secular ideas
    Of Christ's work in the world, to him I say:
    Repent the thought, reject me; there are men
    And women missionaries, here, abroad,
    And nameless workers in poor settlements
    Whose latchets to stoop down and to unloose
    I am unworthy."

    "Gift of life too short!
    O, beautiful gift of God, too brief at best,
    For all a man can do, how have I wasted
    This precious gift! How wasted it in pride,
    In seeking out the powerful, the great,
    The hands with honors, gold to give - when nothing
    Is profitable to a servant of the Christ
    Except to shepherd Christ's poor. O, young men,
    Interpret not your ministry in terms
    Of intellect alone, forefront the heart,
    That at the end of life you may look up
    And say to God: Behind these are the sheep
    Thou gavest me, and not a one is lost."

    "As to my enemies, for enemies
    A clergyman must have whose fault is mine,
    Plato would have us harden hearts to sorrow.
    And Zeno roofs of slate for souls to slide
    The storm of evil - Christ in sorrow did
    For evil good. For me, my prayer is this,
    My faith as well, that I may be perfected
    Through suffering."

        That ended the confession.
    Then "Love Divine, All Love Excelling" sounded.
    The congregation rose, and some went up
    To take the pastor's hand, but others left
    To think the matter over.

        For some said:
    "He married fortunate." And others said:
    "We know through Jacob Bangs he has investments
    In wheat lands, what's the truth? In any case
    What avarice is this that made him anxious
    About the comfort of his wife and family?
    The thing won't work. He's only middle way
    In solving his soul's problem. This confession
    Is just a poor beginning." Others said:
    "He drove out Alma Bell, let's drive him out."
    And others said: "you note we never heard
    About this speculation till it failed,
    And he was brought to grief. If it had prospered
    The man had never told, what do you think?"
    But in a year as health failed, Ferguson
    Took leave of absence, and the silence of life
    Which closes over men, however noisy
    With sermons, lectures, covered him. His riffle
    Died out in distant waters.

    There was a Doctor Burke lived at LeRoy,
    Neurologist and student. On a night
    When Merival had the jury at his house,
    Llewellyn George was telling of his travels
    In China and Japan, had mutual friends
    With Franklin Hollister, the cousin of Elenor,
    And son of dead Corinne, who hid her letters
    Under the eaves. The talk went wide and far.
    For David Borrow, sunny pessimist,
    Thrust logic words at Maiworm, the juryman;
    And said our life was bad, and must be so,
    While Maiworm trusted God, said life was good.
    And Winthrop Marion let play his wit,
    The riches of his reading over all.
    Thus as they talked this Doctor Burke came in.
    "You'll pardon this intrusion, I'll go on
    If this is secret business. Let me say
    This inquest holds my interest and I've come
    To tell of Elenor's ancestry." Thus he spoke.
    "There'll be another time if I must go."
    And Merival spoke up and said: "why stay
    And tell us what you know, or think," and so
    The coroner and jury sat and heard: -