1. Blinded by the Philistines, Samson began to recover inward sight. Slowly, no doubt, but surely, the old vow renewed itself in his soul. It had been almost his first consciousness; it should be his last. He would never again “see the sights that dazzle”; but there was still opportunity to see the face of God, whose fiery pillar of truth is given to our night-time. The day of Samson's disgrace was nevertheless his day of grace also, and God lengthened it out; disgrace of man, grace of God. His fall had meant the humiliation of his people; if he could recover their freedom how gladly would he die, and, dying, save Israel and expiate his sin. He was a patriot once again, with a patriotism purged of the dross of ambition and self-interest. The Philistines saw him bent, and old, and blind as he ground at the prison mill; but they never suspected, nor would they have believed, that his soul was growing young again.
2. At last came the day of his revenge and of his death together. His hair had grown again, and one day he was brought out by his tormentors to make sport before them at a great festival in honour of Dagon, and there he found his opportunity. The poor blinded hero went into the temple, stumbling, and laughed at as he stumbled; he was jeered and mocked; he was dazed and broken-hearted. But suddenly his ear caught that mocking song of praise to Dagon, which exalted Dagon as the conqueror of Jehovah and of Samson. And the inspiration came to him: still his name is associated with that of Jehovah; and they are mocking, not him, but Jehovah! Like an echo from the past there came to him that strange movement in his soul, a sense of the Divine afflatus, an inspiration, a dim consciousness that his strength had returned to him; and then the swift resolve. If only he could do one deed that would undo the injury that he had done to Jehovah and Jehovah's people. No place so fit for the confession of his new faith and his recovered youth as the heathen temple, no occasion so opportune as the idol feast. “O Lord God of Israel, remember me.” The strength of the Nazirite is upon him; the old convictions surge through him, till his whole being is flooded with the tide of sacred passion. One sees him erect at last in the dignity of his new-won manhood, his face fronting the mocking faces that he could not see-Samson Agonistes! with the power of the Lord upon him gathering soul and sinew for his final testimony against the idol-house and all the accursed influences of the place. Imagination sees it still-the tragic, stately form bowing itself against the central pillar, the shuddering building, the gaping roof, the appalling avalanche of wood and stone. So Samson's vow was kept.
There was splendid promise in Samson's opening manhood. He had the perfection of youthful beauty and strength. But he fell very low and dragged his honour in the mire. And yet he has still upon his bare head the shock of untouched hair which is the sign of the Nazirite vow, the pledge that he is upheld by God and endowed with power above his own, and consecrated to the Divine service from his mother's womb. And this gives him an inward strength to go through his dread probation, deprived of strength and eyesight, in the lowest deeps of darkness and wretchedness, till his hair begins to grow again, and he feels some mysterious stir of returning power, and is nerved to the supreme effort, the tremendous self-immolation, in which he avenges his own hapless fate, and delivers his country. Through faith he obtains in the end that gleam of hope, from beyond death, which rests upon his grave.1 [Note: H. Macmillan, The Life-Work of G. F. Watts, 161.]
To Israel
Honour hath left, and freedom, let but them
Find courage to lay hold on this occasion;
To himself and father's house eternal fame;
And which is best and happiest yet, all this
With God not parted from him, as was fear'd,
But favouring and assisting to the end.
Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail
Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt,
Dispraise, or blame, nothing but well and fair,
And what may quiet us in a death so noble.2 [Note: Milton, Samson Agonistes. line 1714 ff.]
3. How beautifully the quiet close of the story follows the stormy scene of the riotous assembly and the sudden destruction. The Philistines, crushed by this last blow, let the dead hero's kindred search for his body amid the chaos, and bear it reverently up from the plains to the quiet grave among the hills of Dan, where Manoah his father slept. There they laid that mighty frame to rest. It will be troubled no more by fierce passions or degrading chains. Nothing in his life became him like the leaving of it. The penitent heroism of its end makes us lenient to the flaws in its course; and we leave the last of the judges to sleep in his grave, recognizing in him, with all his faults and grossness, a true soldier of God, though in strange garb.
What is the secret of strength? It is the glory of life and the source of high success. How is it obtained? It is open to all. It is not a matter of temperament or training, but of faith. Follow the career of the great Apostle. Was ever a man stronger? He says: “I can do all things,” but adds, “through Christ which strengtheneth me.” Paul's humble trust was the secret of his marvellous power. It is faith in God that makes men strong. Moral strength is the characteristic of a positively religious life. God's strength flows into human life as the tide. There is no noise, it is scarcely perceptible, but it is sovereign. It is the gift of God, and it comes in answer to faith.1 [Note: J. I. Vance, Royal Manhood, 36.]
