Great Lion of God Read Online Free Page A

little walls in which blue and gold and crimson flowers, and even ferns, grew with colorful abandon. Sometimes the slaves waded here on hot evenings, to the combined indignation of the usually quarreling inhabitants, catching iridescent fish in their young hands and then releasing them with laughter. The former owner, who had visited the Orient, had erected a very complex and ornate little arched bridge over the narrowest part of the pond—which had the shape of a pear and it gave an exotic touch to an otherwise too formal setting. Dragon shapes and serpents and vines twined together in the teak of the bridge, and the animal shapes had eyes of silver or lapis lazuli, and the minute fruit of the vines were delicately fashioned of jade or yellow stone. The younger slaves would often lie on the arch of the bridge to examine with wonder and delight, freshly discovering new intricacies of the artist’s work, and marveling over inlays of carved ivory.
    There were small awninged retreats under the thick trees for refreshment, striped in blue or red or green, and Hillel came here to meditate after a twinge of conscience following his admiration of beauty. Deborah could also retire here with her friends from the city and from nearby estates, decorously to sip spiced or perfumed wine and partake of fine little cakes and fruit. When Hillel would hear their high and tripping voices he would flee, though Deborah would later speak of discourtesy and the duties of a host. Hillel had a wise way of avoiding women.
    The estate had cost Deborah’s father a considerable fortune, which he was not averse to discussing with Hillel, and he had furnished it with slaves and other servants and had sent one of his best cooks to serve his daughter. “One must remember that my child, my sweetest only daughter, is accustomed to refinement and comfort, and could not tolerate privation.” This was accompanied by a meaning hard glance over the affectionate smile, and the father-in-law would consider that he had instilled meek acceptance in Hillel. But Hillel, the tolerant compromiser, would smile inwardly.
    So Hillel, this early evening, stood in his flowering, green and pleasant gardens, folded his hands and murmured aloud, “Hear, O Israel! the Lord our God, the Lord is One! O, King of the Universe, Lord of lords, we praise You, we bow before You, we glorify You, for there is none else.”
    He pondered on that with his usual awe. “There is none else.” The endless universes were pervaded with God’s grandeur. The uttermost star was charged with His glory. The worlds—endless like the sands of the sea—sang His praises. The smallest golden wild flower, clinging to the rocky side of the pool, dumbly, through its color and life and vitality announced His power over the smallest and the humblest, as well as the most majestic, and His invincible life, His omnipresence, His circumambient pervasion. Each blade of grass reflected His occupancy. His altars were not only in the Temple and the synagogue, but in every morsel of earth, in the silver bark of trees, in the clattering fronds of palms, and in the rainbowed darting light of the wings of birds and insects. His voice was in the thunder, the spark of His wrathful eye in the lightning, the movement of His garments in the winds. His breath stirred trees and bent grasses. His footsteps revealed stone and mountains. His was the cool shade, the clusterings of shadows, the cry of innocent beings, the rising evening mist, the sudden exhalations of cooling flowers, the scent of freshness of ground and water. “There is none else.” Nothing existed but God.
    Hillel’s heart swelled with passionate exaltation. All exulted in God and acknowledged Him—except man. All obeyed His slightest command implicitly—except man. All lived in beauty—except man. All bowed before Him, existing only in Him—except man. Man was the outlaw, the rebel, the distorted shape that scarred the earth, the voice that silenced