An American Tragedy Theodore Dreiser (whitelam books .TXT) 📖

“Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.”

“Make me to hear joy and gladness; that the bones which Thou hast broken may rejoice.”

“Hide Thy face from my sins, and blot out all mine iniquities.”

“Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.”

“Cast me not away from Thy presence; and take not Thy holy spirit away from me.”

“Restore unto me the joy of Thy salvation, and uphold me with Thy free spirit.”

“Then will I teach transgressors Thy ways; and sinners will be converted unto Thee.”

“Deliver me from blood guiltiness, O God, thou God of my salvation, and my tongue shall sing aloud of Thy righteousness.”

“O Lord, open Thou my lips; and my mouth shall show forth Thy praise.”

“For Thou desirest not sacrifice; else would I give it; Thou delightest not in burnt offering.”

“The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart, O God, Thou wilt not despise.”

He paused⁠—but only after he had intoned, and in a most sonorous and really beautiful voice the entire 51st Psalm. And then looking up, because Clyde, much astonished, had first sat up and then risen⁠—and curiously enticed by the clean and youthful and vigorous if pale figure had approached nearer the cell door, he now added:

“I bring you, Clyde, the mercy and the salvation of your God. He has called on me and I have come. He has sent me that I may say unto you though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white⁠—like snow. Though they be red, like crimson, they shall be as wool. Come now, let us reason together with the Lord.”

He paused and stared at Clyde tenderly. A warm, youthful, half smile, half romantic, played about his lips. He liked the youth and refinement of Clyde, who, on his part was plainly taken by this exceptional figure. Another religionist, of course. But the Protestant chaplain who was here was nothing like this man⁠—neither so arresting nor attractive.

“Duncan McMillan is my name,” he said, “and I come from the work of the Lord in Syracuse. He has sent me⁠—just as he sent your mother to me. She has told me all that she believes. I have read all that you have said. And I know why you are here. But it is to bring you spiritual joy and gladness that I am here.”

And he suddenly quoted from Psalms 13:2, “ ‘How shall I take counsel in my soul, having sorrow in my heart, daily.’ That is from Psalms 13:2. And here is another thing that now comes to me as something that I should say to you. It is from the Bible, too⁠—the Tenth Psalm: ‘He hath said in his heart, I shall not be moved, for I shall never be in adversity.’ But you are in adversity, you see. We all are, who live in sin. And here is another thing that comes to me, just now to say. It is from Psalm 10:11: ‘He hath said in his heart, God hath forgotten. He hideth His face.’ And I am told to say to you that He does not hide His face. Rather I am told to quote this to you from the Eighteenth Psalm: ‘They prevented me in the day of my calamity, but the Lord was my stay. He sent from above, He took me, He drew me out of many waters.’

“ ‘He delivered me from my strong enemy.

“ ‘And from them which hated me, for they were too many for me.

“ ‘He brought me forth also unto a large place.

“ ‘He delivered me because He delighted in me.’

“Clyde, those are all words addressed to you. They come to me here to say to you just as though they were being whispered to me. I am but the mouthpiece for these words spoken direct to you. Take counsel with your own heart. Turn from the shadow to the light. Let us break these bonds of misery and gloom; chase these shadows and this darkness. You have sinned. The Lord can and will forgive. Repent. Join with Him who has shaped the world and keeps it. He will not spurn your faith; He will not neglect your prayers. Turn⁠—in yourself⁠—in the confines of this cell⁠—and say: ‘Lord, help me. Lord, hear Thou my prayer. Lord, lighten mine eyes!’

“Do you think there is no God⁠—and that He will not answer you? Pray. In your trouble turn to Him⁠—not me⁠—or any other. But to Him. Pray. Speak to Him. Call to Him. Tell Him the truth and ask for help. As surely as you are here before me⁠—and if in your heart you truly repent of any evil you have done⁠—truly, truly, you will hear and feel Him. He will take your hand. He will enter this cell and your soul. You will know Him by the peace and the light that will fill your mind and heart. Pray. And if you need me again to help you in any way⁠—to pray with you⁠—or to do you any service of any kind⁠—to cheer you in your loneliness⁠—you have only to send for me; drop me a card. I have promised your mother and I will do what I can. The warden has my address.” He paused, serious and conclusive in his tone⁠—because up to this time, Clyde had looked more curious and astonished than anything else.

At the same time because of Clyde’s extreme youthfulness and a certain air of lonely dependence which marked him ever since his mother and Nicholson had gone: “I’ll always be in easy reach. I have a lot of religious work over in Syracuse but I’ll be glad to drop it at any time that I can really do anything more for you.” And here he turned as if to go.

But Clyde, now taken by him⁠—his vital, confident and kindly manner⁠—so different to the tense, fearful and yet lonely life here, called after