The sun of Syrian afternoon, declined
Half-way betwixt the zenith and the west,
Burned blinding in the cloudless blue of heaven
And fired a conflagration in the copes
Of beaten gold hung over the august
House of Jehovah, whither Stephen now
Tended unconsciously with wonted feet.
That spectacle of splendor he, agaze
With holden unbeholding eyes, saw not,
Or, as but with his heart beholding, saw
Only as goal of his obedience due.
Down the abrupt declivity with speed,
The westward-slanting slope of Olivet,
Descending by a path stony and steep—
The same whereon full often to and fro
Had fared the Blessed Feet, between the dust
And din and fever of Jerusalem,
And the sweet purity and peace, the cool,
The quiet, of that home in Bethany,
His refuge!—so descending, Stephen passed
On his right hand Gethsemane, that moved
Muse of the Master's agony for men,
Crossed Kedron, and thence upward pressing gained
Gate Susan, whence the temple nigh in view.
'Perhaps,' thought he, 'perhaps, once more, against
My expectation, I am thither brought
To preach as when I answered Saul that day.
The Lord will show me, in full time, alike
What I must speak, and when, and where.'
So wrapt
In welcome of the will unknown of God,
And full of faith and of the Holy Ghost,
Stephen with no amazement was afraid
When, suddenly and rudely, in the street,
A band in service of the Sanhedrim
Set on him, and, by their authority,
Seized him and brought him prisoner accused
Of blasphemy before their council, there
To be examined for his words and deeds.
Captive in body, he in soul was free,
Exulting in that glorious liberty,
The sense of sonship to Almighty God.
False witnesses, by Shimei suborned,
And well their lesson taught by Shimei,
Stood forth, who, to the teeth of Stephen, swore:
"This person never ceases speaking words
Against this holy place and Moses' law;
We heard him say that Jesus Nazarene
Is going to destroy this place, and change
The customs Moses handed down to us."
All the assessors in the Sanhedrim,
Fastening their eyes on Stephen, saw his face,
As it had been an angel's, kindling shine.
Saul marked it, and remembered how that day
The lightning of that face had blinded him!
The high priest now, accosting Stephen, asked,
"Are these things so?" and Stephen thus replied:
"Brethren and fathers, hearken to my words.
With ears that tingle to the echoes yet,
Perchance, of that high passionate harangue
Which late from Saul ye heard concerning wounds
Intended to this Jewish commonwealth,
Ye now have heard forsooth again from these—
How temple, law, and well-belovéd ways
Bequeathed us by our fathers from of old
Are threatened in the message that I preach.
"But, brethren, he mistakes who deems that God
Is to one place, one race, one time, one clime,
One mode of showing forth Himself, shut up.
Consider through what phases manifold
Has passed already heretofore God's way
With men; thence learn how lightly reckons God
Of place or method.
"Unto Abraham first
Before he came to Charan, while he yet
Dwelt in the land between the rivers, God
Appeared. Nor in a place thus holy made,
And glorious, by theophany, was he,
Our father, suffered to abide. 'Arise,'
Jehovah said, 'and get thee hence and come
Into the land which I will show thee.' Then
To Charan that obedient pilgrim passed.
Nor there found he a settled rest. Again
He journeyed and in Canaan, this fair land
Wherein ye dwell, a sojourner became;
For here God gave him no inheritance,
Promising only that in after times
That childless father's children here should dwell.
"Meanwhile another change, and now what seems
A long postponement of the purposed grace.
Four hundred years should Abraham's seed sojourn
As strangers in an alien land where they
Should suffer bondage and an evil lot:
Delivered thence with judgment on their foes,
They then should hither come and here serve God.
"Yet when the ripeness of the time was full,
And Moses offered to deliver them,
Our fathers doubted and refused his hand:
But Moses notwithstanding led them out.
And that same Moses prophesied of One
To follow him as Prophet Whom must all
Obey. Yet Moses, mouth of God to men,
Obeyed our fathers not, but, in their hearts
Gone back to Egypt, spurned him far aloof
From them. Then followed that apostasy
To idols, by Jehovah God chastised,
On those offending, with captivity
Which beyond Babylon carried them away.
"Albeit Jehovah gave to Moses such
Honor as never yet to man was given,
Still much that Moses wrought was cast aside.
That tabernacle, made by him express
As God Himself had shown him in the mount,
And so inwove with Hebrew history,
God suffered this to pass, and in its place
Preferred the temple built by Solomon.
"Yet not in houses built with human hands
Dwells the Most High; as, by His prophet, God
Says, 'On the heaven sit I as on a throne,
And the earth make a footstool for My feet.'
'What house will ye build Me,' the Lord inquires,
'Or what shall be the place of Mine abode?'"
So far a loth penurious decent heed
The council had grudged out to Stephen; here
The scowl of curious incredulity,
Wherewith they listened while as yet in doubt
Whither might tend his drift of argument,
Changed to a frown of deadly hate, as they
Conclusion from his use of Scripture drew
That Stephen glanced at overthrow indeed
Meant for the temple. Instantly, alert
To seize occasion, Shimei the sig
Gave to prepared conspirators, who now
Obediently framed a menace grim
Of gesture to denounce the speaker's aim;
And all the council, as one man, astir
With insurrection, frowned a vehement
Refusal to receive the word of God.
Stephen beheld their aspect, and his soul,
Dilating to a seraph's measure, filled
With sudden prophet's zeal aflame for God.
He forged his indignation into words
Which, like bolts kindling, now he launched at them.
He said:
"Stiff-necked ye, and uncircumcised
In heart and ears! Always do ye resist
The Holy Ghost; as did your fathers, so
Do ye. Which of the prophets did they not,
Your fathers, persecute? Who showed before
The coming of the Just One, those they slew;
And of Him now have ye betrayers been
And murderers. Ye who the law, received
At angels' disposition, have not kept!"
Cut to the heart at this, those councillors
Gnashed with their teeth on Stephen.
But that sight
Stephen, his eyes rapt elsewhere, did not see.
Full of the Holy Ghost, his face he raised,
Gazing with sense undazzled into heaven,
And saw the glory of God, and Jesus there,
Not sitting, as at ease, but, as in act
To help, standing, on the right hand of God.
He testified that vision thus to men:
"Opened see I the heavens and standing there
The Son of Man on the right hand of God."
Thereat a loud acclaim of hatred forth
Burst in one voice from all the Sanhedrim.
Full come was Shimei's opportunity.
As started Mattathias to his feet
In honest wrath instinctive, Shimei too
Rose, counterfeiting wrath, sign understood
By his complotters, who now likewise rose
In simultaneous second and support,
Setting the council in a wild turmoil.
They stopped their ears, and all together ran
On Stephen with tumultuary rage
To thrust him forth without the city walls.
The rush of such commotion through the streets,
A torrent madness raging on its way,
Raging and roaring, every moment more,
Roused a wide wind of rumor and surmise
Troubling the air of all Jerusalem.
Tremor of this reached Rachel's jealous sense,
On edge—she knowing that the Sanhedrim
Would that day summon Stephen to its bar—
To fear the worst for Stephen and for Saul.
But Ruth, her home more distant, she at home
Urged by importunate cares which for her wrought
Some present respite from the strain and pain
Of that farewell with Stephen—vexing thought!
Too certain to return insistently,
In waking and in sleeping vision, soon,
At night upon her bed, unbidden guest,
And haunt her bosom with sad memories,
And vague, unhappy, beckoning shapes of fears!—
Ruth, so precluded, nothing knew of all.
Rachel, with other women of the Way
Like-minded with herself, pathetic group!
Drew timorous nigh the ragged rushing rim
Of that confusion pouring toward the gate
Which northward opened on Damascus road.
The self-same path it was whereby had walked
A little while before, bearing His cross,
The Saviour of mankind toward Calvary.
Stephen remembered, and, remembering, went
Both meekly more, and more triumphantly,
To suffer like his Lord without the gate.
He said within himself, 'I follow Him;
I feel His footprints underneath my feet.'
Those women watched the martyr every step,
And with hands waved signalled him sympathy.
Such helpless help was help the more to him—
Who had no need, but gave them back again
Their sympathy in looks of strength and cheer
Which bade them too be faithful unto death,
As they saw him that day. The peace of God,
Lodged in his heart—a trust from Christ, Whose word
Was, "Peace I leave with you, My peace to you
I give; not as the world gives give I you:
Let not your heart be troubled, neither let
It be afraid"—that peace steadfast he bore
Amid the tumult round him, the one thing
Not shaken in a shaken universe,
Like the earth's axle sleeping and the earth
Whirling from centre to circumference!
Not yet the rout had reached the city gate,
When, lo! a sudden halt, a sudden hush,
Arrested and becalmed the multitude.
A file of Roman soldiers from the fort,
With swift, straight, sure lock-step, steel-clad, that clanged,
Flowed like a rill of flowing mercury,
Heavy yet nimble, through a street that crossed
The course of that mad progress, and, athwart
Its head abutting, stayed; the clang of pause
Rang sharper than the clang of the advance.
The leader, a centurion, sternly spoke:
"What means this uproar? Seek ye to provoke
Your rulers? Love ye, then, your yoke so well
Ye fain would feel it heavier on your necks?
Sedition into insurrection grows
Full easily, and this sedition seems.
Speak, who can tell, and say, What would ye?"
Prompt,
Then, Shimei, of the foremost, stepping forth
Said;
"This is no sedition as might seem;
A crushing of sedition rather. We,
The Sanhedrim"—wherewith a smirk and bow
From Shimei, with wave of hand swept round
Upon his colleagues in their sorry plight
Dishevelled, seemed, in sneering cynic sort,
To introduce them with mock dignity—
"We Sanhedrim this fellow caught employed
In stirring up sedition, and our zeal
For peace and order under Roman rule
Inflamed us, following our forefathers' way,
To visit death on him without the gate.
We beg you will allow us to proceed
And put to proof of act our loyalty"—
Hot breath, half hiss, from Mattathias here—
"This script perhaps will help determine you."
And Shimei handed up a tablet writ.
The Roman read:
"Let this disorder pass;
It may be useful. Watch it well."
The seal
Once more with care examined, parley had
With Shimei, whose crafty answers meet
Each wary scruple of the officer,
And sign is given to let the rout proceed.
Meantime a different scene has quietly
Been passing unperceived. That company
Of ministering women Rachel found,
Salomé, and the Marys, blessed name!
With others who had followed and bewailed
When Jesus suffered—these, joined now by those
From Bethany, with Lazarus, prevailed
To edge their way ungrudged through the close ranks
Of idle gazers round not undisposed
Themselves to sympathize, until they stood
Nigh Stephen, and in undertones could speak
With him, and hear his words.
"Weep not for me,"
He said, "ye blesséd! I am well content.
I think how short the way is, not how sharp,
To Jesus where just now I saw Him. There
He stood in heaven on the right hand of God.
He seemed to lean toward me with arms outstretched
As if at once to take me to Himself!
I spring toward Him with joy unutterable.
I shall not feel the pain, which will but speed
Me thither. He hath overcome the world.
Be of good cheer, belovéd, ye who wait
A little longer to behold His face.
For you too He hath overcome the world.
Be strong, be faithful, be obedient,
A little while—and we shall meet again
Safe, happy, in the New Jerusalem,
Forever and forever with the Lord.
"But Ruth, my wife, yet unbelieving—care
For her and for my children! God will give
All to our prayers. And Husband He will be
To her, and Father to the fatherless."
Rachel to Lazarus whispered:
"Tell him I,
Rachel, Saul's sister, would do something. Ask
What I may do for Ruth, to testify
A sister's sorrow for a brother's fault.
And let him not think hardly, not too hardly,
Of Saul who wrongs him so!"
And Lazarus
Told Stephen, who, with look benign addressed
To Rachel, said:
"Thou, Rachel, thou thyself,
No other, shalt to Ruth my wife convey
Her husband's very last farewell; good-night
Call it, and bid her meet me there to say
Good-morning. Comfort her with words. To Saul
Say—when the time comes he will hear, not now—
That all is well, is wholly well. I go—
And that is well—perhaps in part through him,
Which seems not well, but is, by grace of Christ,
Who thus, in part through me—and surely that
Likewise is well—erelong will make of Saul,
In Stephen's room, a more than Stephen both
To preach and suffer for His name. This hope
Be thine, Rachel, and God be with thee, child!"
Martha, her hand as ready as her heart,
Had other cheer provided than of words.
'The willing spirit, if the flesh be weak,
May faint,' she thought, 'and angels strengthening Him
Brought Jesus succor in Gethsemane.
May I not be his angel, Stephen's, now,
And his flesh brace to bear his agony?'
She said to Stephen:
"I have brought thee here
A cake of barley and a honeycomb.
I pray thee eat and cheer therewith thy heart."
"God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!"
Said Stephen; and he took the food from her
And ate it, giving thanks before them all.
And all with him gave thanks, for nothing else
Could so have cheered them in their sad estate
As thus to see their friend at such an hour
Cheering himself with food, his appetite
Not troubled by least trouble of the mind,
And he approved superior to his lot,
Not by a strain of high heroic pride,
Not by access of transient ecstasy,
But simply by the sober confidence,
Well-grounded, of the soul enduring all
As seeing Him Who is invisible.
Besides, had any deemed that Martha erred,
Inopportunely ministering to the flesh,
When spirit unsupported by the flesh
As well had conquered, and more gloriously,
Haply, too, letting this their thought escape,
Unmeant, in look or gesture, to her pain—
Such might, in Stephen's gracious act, have heard
As if a silent echo of those words—
Ineffably persuasive sweet reproof
At once and soft assuagement of unease—
"Why trouble ye the woman? She hath wrought
A good work for Me."
But the Sanhedrim,
Permitted by the Roman to resume
Their way with Stephen, now to him once more
Their notice turned. Within their heart enraged,
First, to have met with such a check, and then,
Scarce less, so to have had the check removed—
Both this and that their sense of bondage chafed—
Ill brooked it they to see what now they saw,
Their prisoner in calm converse with his friends.
"Begone!" to these they cried. "For shame to show
Untimely softness thus to whom ye see
Your rulers judge worthy of death. Begone!"
One churl among those councillors was found,
When Stephen gently bade his friends give way,
Even for his own sake, who could least endure
To see them suffer roughness, most unmeet
For such as they—one graceless churl was found
To raise his hand at Stephen speaking so
And smite him on the mouth. A wail at this
Broke from those women, and their hair they tore
In passion of compassion and of wrath
Holy as love. But Stephen was most meek,
And only in a shadowed look expressed
Pain at such painful sympathy with pain.
This seen by those, they soon responsively
Resumed composure like his own, and walked,
Following, molested not, at small remove
From the belovéd martyr, cheering him,
And cheered, with sense of some society.
So, on, with going less precipitate,
And less vociferous rage, but not less fell,
Moved the infatuate multitude, repressed
And maddened, both at once, to feel themselves
Only by sufferance masters of the fate
Of Stephen, and their very footsteps timed
To regular and slow behind those few
Austere, impassive, automatic men
Armed, who, though few they might be, yet meant Rome.
Arrived at length at the accurséd spot,
They stay. The ground about was strewn with stones,
Rejected fragments from the quarry cleft,
Flakes from the mason's chisel, interspersed
Dilapidations from the city walls
Twice overthrown and razed, or missiles thence
Once by defenders on assailants hurled.
They stay, and, Stephen stationed in the midst
Where, first, a circle of spectators round
Was ordered in disorderly array,
Prepare to act their dreadful blasphemy.
Within, opposed to Stephen, Saul stood, pale,
Blanched with resolve, anguished, and tremulous,
But in nerve shaken, not in will, to take
His part. Saul's part was only to consent.
Perhaps the eyes, the beautiful sad eyes,
Of Rachel, dark and liquid ever, now
Unfathomably deep with unshed tears—
Perhaps such eyes, his sister's, fixed on him,
He seeing not because he would not see,
Wrought yet some holy spell that charmed him back
Insensibly from part more active there.
But his consent Saul testified with sign
Open to all to see, and understood.
He held the outer robes thrown off of those
Who, disencumbered so, might, with main strength,
And aim made sure, the better speed to fling
At that meek heavenly man the murderous stone.
Those witnesses malign who had forsworn
Stephen to this, were first to cast at him
The stone to slay. There Stephen stood, his face,
His glory-smitten face, upturned to heaven,
And his arms thither raised as if to meet
The down-stretched arms of Jesus from on high.
It was a sight both beautiful to see
And piteous. The angels might have wept,
Who saw it, but that they more deeply saw,
And saw the pity in the beauty lost,
Like a few drops of water on a fire
That only serve to feed the flames more bright.
At the first shower of stones at him with cry
Of self-exciting execration flung,
Stephen, with answering cry, as if of one
Running to refuge and to sanctuary,
Betook him to the covert of the Wings
That trembled with desire to be outstretched
Once over doomed Jerusalem unfain,
And, "Jesus, Lord, receive my spirit!" said.
That his friends heard and echoing said "Amen!"
But they the flying stones saw not, nor saw
Alight the flying stones upon their friend;
For they too turned their faces upward all,
And, gazing unimaginable depths
Beyond the seen, beheld the glory there,
Wherein the scandal and the mystery
Of visible things vanished, like shadows plunged
In the exceeding brightness of the sun,
Or were transformed to make the glory more,
Like discords conquered heightening harmony.
With the next flight of stones, unwatched likewise,
Stephen, raised far above the fierce effect,
Stinging or stunning, of the cruel blows,
Spoke heavenward once again, not for himself
Petitioning now, but pleading for his foes.
His foes already had prevailed to bring
The martyr to his knees, and, on his knees,
With loud last voice from lips inviolate yet—
As if that angel chant at Bethlehem
Still sounded, "Peace on earth, good will to men,"
Or that diviner tone from Calvary,
"Forgive them, for they know not what they do"—
One ransomed pure and perfect human note
Threading the dissonant noise with melody—
He prayed, "Lord Jesus, lay not Thou this sin
To their account." Therewith he fell asleep.
That holy prayer exhaled his breath away,
And on his breath exhaled to heaven in prayer
His spirit thither aspired and was with Christ.
As Stephen fell asleep, the sun went down;
But over Olivet the great full moon
Rose brightening. 'So,' thought Stephen's friends of him,
'His life has been extinguished to our eyes,
Only elsewhere to shine, but while we wait
For the new day to dawn that lingers, lo,
His memory instead shall give us light,
Not splendid like the sun, yet like the moon
Lovely!'
Thus comforting themselves, they saw
The murderers of their friend above his corse
Build roughly of the stones that smote him dead
A kind of cairn in mockery of a tomb.
Melted away meanwhile the multitude
In silence, and, soon after, all were gone
Save the true lovers of the man. Then these
Gathered together round the accurséd spot,
Now hallowed, where he stood to suffer, where
He prayed, and where he fell, and whence he rose
Deathless, leaving the sacred body there,
Dead, desolate of the spirit, but still dear,
Most dear to them. And so, with many tears
Fast falling that nigh blinded them, they took
From off the body, one by one, the stones—
Almost as if they loved them, with such care!—
Until his face, his fair disfeatured face,
And his form marred and broken, open lay
To the mild moon that seemed to sympathize,
And touched and softened all with healing beams.
"Let us bear hence the sacred clay," they said,
"And wash it from the pool of Siloam."
Then Lazarus, with three fellow-helpers more—
Nathanael, Israelite indeed, was there,
Joseph of Arimathæa too had come,
Later, and Nicodemus, by nightfall,
These were the chosen four, with Lazarus—
Making a litter of their robes, took up
The noble form that lately Stephen wore,
And gently carried it to Siloam.
With soft lustration there at loving hands,
The dust and blood were wholly washed away;
The hair and beard then decently arranged,
With skill that hid the wounds on cheek or brow,
The eyelids closed on eyes that saw no more,
The scarce cold palms folded upon the breast,
Stephen it seemed indeed just fallen asleep.
Then they were glad that Ruth would see him so,
So peaceful and so beautiful asleep,
Expecting soon to waken satisfied!
"To-morrow will be time enough," they said,
"To tell Ruth—let her sleep to-night." But Ruth
Slept not, or if she slept, slept but to dream
Of Stephen and his last hands on her head.
Under the balmy moon, up Olivet
To Bethany they bore the holy dust,
And there, beneath the roof that sheltered oft
The Man who had not where to rest His head,
They laid the body down to dreamless sleep;
And slept themselves until the morrow morn.
Very early in the morning, Rachel, charged with this office
by Stephen, breaks to Ruth the news of her husband's death.
The two then go together to the place where the body of
Stephen is laid. There, Ruth, kneeling in prayer beside her
martyred husband, repentantly accepts his Lord for hers, becoming
a Christian. Rachel, having hastily visited her home,
to find Saul gone thence with purpose not to return, leaves
the house in her maid's care and goes back to Ruth, to whom,
being requested to do so, she tells the story of Stephen's
stoning. Then the funeral of Stephen takes place, with a
memorial discourse pronounced, and an elegy recited, at the
tomb.
The morrow morn broke fair in Bethany,
And Ruth rose early from unquiet sleep;
Rachel likewise, who slept in Mary's house.
The sun had not yet risen, but in the west
The moon hung whitening opposite the dawn,
When Ruth, her children left asleep, went forth
To feel the freshness of the morning air
Without, and water from the village well
To draw, both for the slaking of her thirst
And for the cooling of her brow that burned
And of her throbbing temples. At the well
Rachel she met who earlier still was forth
On the like errand. The two women hailed
And kissed each other. Ruth to Rachel then
Said: "Thou art not, I trow, this morning come
Hither the long way from Jerusalem?"
"Nay, Ruth," said Rachel, "here the yesternight
With Mary and Martha I abode a guest."
"How fresh the wind is," Ruth said, "hither blown
From off the western sea! Us, underneath
The crest of Olivet, it lights upon
Descending, broken, like a breath from heaven.
What a delicious balm!"
"About my brow,"
Said Rachel, "gratefully I feel the air,
Attempered so, soft flowing, as if one
That loved me like a mother gently stroked
My temples to undo a band of pain
Bound round them."
"And, in sooth," the other said,
Now looking narrowly at Rachel's face,
"Thou seemest sad of favor, Rachel. Thou,
Thou too, so young, hast then thy cause to grieve!
It is a sad world and a weary. But—
Forgive me if such quick instinctive fears
Be selfish, I am wife and mother—aught
Of evil tidings bringest thou me? Spare not
To speak. Thou wilt but answer to the dreams
I had this night, portending nameless ill.
Stephen—I fear for him. He yesterday
Left me beyond his wont oppressed in spirit,
And has not since returned. Strange—yet not strange;
Sometimes the livelong night he spends in prayer
Alone upon the top of Olivet
Or in the shadows of Gethsemane."
"Ruth," Rachel said, "the Angel of the Lord
Round His belovéd, like the mountains round
Jerusalem, encampeth ever; he
Of God's belovéd is, and guarded well!"
But Ruth scarce listened; she insisting said:
"Perhaps of Stephen some report thou bringest,
Hint doubtless of new danger threatening him!"
"Nay, Ruth, no longer danger threatens now
Thy husband; that is past, and he is safe."
"Thank God," said Ruth; "but stay, I dare not yet
Thank God. Tell me, have then our rulers ceased
To frown on Stephen preaching Jesus Christ?
Or Stephen, will he cease and preach no more?
This cannot be, for Stephen is such stuff
As never yet did bend to mortal beck;
And that—our rulers surely have not changed
Thus suddenly their mind. Thou art deceived,
They have deceived thee—Stephen is not safe;
It is their guile to make us think him safe,
He off his guard will fall an easier prey
Into their hands. Rachel, it was not kind,
Not faithful in thee so to be deceived.
More love had made thee more suspicious. I
Suspect forever everybody; thee
Now I suspect. Thou keepest something back,
Or haply palterest with a double sense.
Rachel, I charge thee, I adjure thee, speak
And tell me all. Stephen is dead! Say that—
Is dead! Thou meantest that by, 'He is safe.'
They have stoned him, stoned my husband, stoned the man
That was the truest Hebrew of them all!"
Though by her words Ruth challenged frank reply,
Yet by her tones and by her eager looks
She deprecated more what she invoked.
This Rachel saw, and answered not a word.
Then Ruth gainsaid what Rachel would not say:
"They have not done it, could not do it, he—
Rachel, it is not true, unsay it, quick,
It was a cruel jest to tease me so,
Thou art not a wife, thou art not a mother, else
Thou never hadst conceived so ill a jest!"
Rachel was tortured, but she could not speak,
And Ruth, secure in sense of respite yet,
Went on invoking what she would not hear:
"Why art thou silent? Speak, and keep not back
The truth, whatever it may be; there's naught
So soothing and so healing as the truth.
But I will not believe that he is dead.
Thou didst not know my husband. Dead! dead! dead!
I tell thee, Rachel, that is something past
Imagining dreadful, hopeless. To be dead
Is—not to love, and not to speak to those
Who loved and love thee, not to hear them speak,
Saying they loved and love thee and lament
They ever gave thee cause of grief and now
Are different and would die a thousand deaths
To have been different then when thou couldst know—
Death, Rachel,—but of death what canst thou learn,
For thou art but a child and never wast,
Never, to such a husband such a wife—
To vex the noblest heart that ever broke!"
Rachel at first had listened with dismay,
And nothing found to answer to Ruth's words,
Whose words indeed flowed on and made no pause
For answer, as if she in truest truth
Sought not the answer that she seemed to seek,
Would fain postpone it rather, or avert.
But when at length the utterance of Ruth's thought
From converse passed into soliloquy
And the deep secret of her soul revealed,
Then Rachel caught a welcome gleam of hope.
A sign of grace she saw or seemed to see
At work for Ruth within her heart of grief,
Transmuting human sorrow to divine
Repentance, and for pain preparing peace.
"Let us go in together," Rachel said,
For they by this were nigh to Ruth's abode,
"Let us go in where we may be withdrawn
From note of such as here might mark our speech
Or action; I have word from him to thee."
Then they went in, and Ruth bestirred herself
To make a cheer of welcome for her guest.
That momentary truce to troubled thought
For Ruth, and interspace of quietness
From her own words which could not choose but flow
With helpless importunity till then,
Gave Rachel needed chance to speak. She said:
"O Ruth, thy husband fell asleep last night,
And slept a sweeter sleep than thine or mine,
A deep sweet sleep, a happy sleep, a blest.
Thou wouldst not wake him thence for worlds on worlds.
He felt before he slept that he should sleep,
And me, whom God our Father let be nigh,
Stephen bade bear a last good-night to thee.
He did not think the night was very long
Before him for his sleeping, and his wish
Was thou shouldst meet him presently to say
Good-morning. This was his true message, Ruth."
The ineffably serene steadfast regard
Of Rachel's eyes, that, out of liquid depths
Unsounded, looked angelic love and truth,
With pity mingled, equal measure—tears
Orbing them large, shot through and through with light
Of heavenly hope for Ruth—but, more than all
A subtly sweet insinuating tone,
Most musical, of softness in the voice,
That gently wound into the listener's heart—
These, with what else, who knows? of help from Heaven,
Wrought a bright miracle of change in Ruth.
She had been hard and dry, a desert rock;
The rock was smitten now with Moses' rod.
Ruth gushed in gracious tears, she veiled herself
With weeping, as sometimes a precipice
Veils itself dim with mist of cataract.
And Rachel wept with Ruth, until Ruth said:
"But where is Stephen, Rachel? It might be
They, meaning death, yet did not compass death.
Such things have been; haste, let us go and see.
Monstrous it were, if he should need me—I
The while here sitting weeping idle tears!"
"Come," Rachel said, and took her by the hand.
So hand in hand they went to Mary's house,
The elder guided as the younger led,
And neither speaking, stilled with solemn thought.
Mary and Martha met the twain, with mute,
Subdued, affectionate greeting, at the door,
And, understanding without word their wish,
Straight led them inward, with a quietude
Of gesture that spoke peace and peace infused,
To the place where in quietude reposed
That slumberer late so violently lulled
To this so placid sleep. The room was flushed
With hue of gold in hangings round the walls
And rugs of russet muffling deep the floor,
That made a kind of inner light diffused,
Like sunshine without sun and shadowless.
A golden-curtained window opened east,
And east the upturned face of Stephen looked,
Lying there motionless in that fast sleep—
So lying that, had he his eyelids raised,
He without moving might have seen the morn.
The rest, with one accord not entering, stood
About the door without, silent, and saw
While the wife sole went to the husband's side.
That instant, lo, from out the breaking dawn
A level sunbeam through the curtain slipped
And touched the fair translucent face with light.
Ruth marked it and she testified and said,
Falling upon her knees beside the couch:
"I take it as a token, Lord, from Thee;
Even so send Thou Thy light into my heart!
Lo, by the side of him made beautiful
In death, of whom I was unworthy, here
I give myself—alas, that it should be
Too late for him to have known it!—to his Lord.
I trust to be forgiven for my sin!
I thank Thee that I was not weight enough
Upon him to prevail against Thy might
Within him and prevent this sacrifice—
Accomplished all without my help, nay, all
In spite of my resistance! O my God,
How hast Thou humbled me! To have had no part,
Wife with her husband to have borne no part—
Save hindering what she could!—when such a deed
Of martyrdom for Christ was possible!
Behold, O Lord, thus late I take my part!
This now is also mine, as well as his,
This sacrifice. I have offered him to Thee!
And if my share be heavier even than his—
To live bereaved more grievous martyrdom
Than to have died—this too is my desert,
Accept the witness of my widowhood!"
Ruth ceased, but rose not from her knees, still fixed
In posture as if grown a pillar of prayer.
Then those three women came and knelt with her
Beside her dead, a silent fellowship
Of sympathy in sacrifice; but soon
Rachel and Mary, one on either side
Of Ruth, borne by the self-same impulse each,
Each at the self-same instant borne, unto
The self-same beautiful appeal, pure love's
Pure touch, stole softly each a hand in hers.
Each plighting hand so proffered Ruth upraised
Slowly and solemnly as with a kind
Of consecrating gesture to her lips,
And kissing seemed to seal a sacrament.
Then she arose, and all arose with her,
When Martha, not forgotten, likewise shared,
She too, with Ruth the kiss of sisterhood.
So, never a word between them spoken, all
Went backward and withdrew, Ruth last, who saw
That sunshine glorifying Stephen's brow,
And bore it thence, Shekinah in her heart.
Her countenance thus illumined from within,
The mother to her orphan children went,
And moved, a light, about her household ways.
She knew that others would with holy heed
Prepare that holy dust for burial.
But Rachel was more comfortless than Ruth.
Rest in her spirit found she none—until,
First having broken fast, but sparingly,
She hastened with winged footsteps to her home.
There her maid told her Saul went early forth
Leaving this message for his sister: "Here
Bide, if thou wilt; this house be still thy home.
But I go hence, whither I cannot tell,
Nor yet for how long absence; to what end—
Thou knowest. Cheer thee well!" The little maid
Looked rueful and perplexed, but nothing asked,
As nothing Rachel told her, save to say:
"Quick, bring thine elder sister, thou and she
Shall keep the house together for a time.
I also go, my little maid"—wherewith
Her little maid, now weeping, Rachel kissed—
"I also go, but weep not, I shall come
Again, I trust, in happier times. Farewell!"
Then Rachel straight to Ruth's abode returned.
"Glad am I thou hast come once more," said Ruth,
"For I have wished to ask thee many things.
How came his dreadful chance of martyrdom
On Stephen? I can bear to hear it all,
Since all is done and past and—'He is safe,'
As thou saidst, Rachel!"
Tenderly Ruth smiled,
With tears behind her smiles that did not fall.
Then Rachel said:
"I cannot tell thee all
As having all beheld, but this I heard,
That Stephen gave a noble testimony
Before the council who had cited him;
That there his face shone like an angel's, God
Himself so swearing for His servant, while
Against him swore false witnesses suborned
By Shimei; that his enemies could not bear
The fierceness of the love with which in wrath
He burned for God against their wickedness,
And so they rushed upon him violently
And thrust him forth without the city walls.
But God beheld their threatening, and He sent
His Romans to withstand them for a while.
Then we that loved and honored him drew nigh,
And would have spoken words of cheer to him,
But he—O Ruth, thou shouldst have seen him then!
I never can describe to thee how fair
Thy husband was to look upon, while he,
As steadfast as a star and as serene,
And not less lovely-luminous to our eyes,
Stood there amid the angry Sanhedrim
And to us spake such heavenly words of cheer!
He spake of thee, Ruth, and I think God gave
His spirit comfort in good hope for thee.
For, 'God will give all to our prayers,' said he,
And added, 'Husband He will be to her,
And Father to the fatherless.'"
Thereat
Ruth's tears as from a fresh-oped fountain flowed,
And eased her aching heart, too full before
Of love, remorseful love, for perfect peace.
Rachel with Ruth wept tears of sympathy;
But with the sweet and wholesome in her tears
Mixed salt and bitter, for she thought of Saul.
Ruth at length ceased to weep and yearning said:
"And then those Romans let them work their will!"
"On Stephen's body, yea, Ruth," Rachel said,
"But on his spirit they could have no power."
"The stones," said Ruth—
"The stones, Ruth," Rachel said,
"God gave His angels charge concerning them—
So verily I believe—and strictly bade,
'Lo, let these slay, but see ye that they do
No harm unto My prophet.' So the stones,
They slew, but hurt not. God translated him;
He rose triumphant in meek majesty.
I should have told thee, Ruth, that while he stood
Before the council, he looked up and saw
Jesus in heaven on the right hand of God—
There standing; this he testified to all.
It was as if his faithful Lord had risen
To side with Stephen in his agony.
So, when they stoned him, Stephen upward spoke,
'Lord Jesus, take my spirit'; then once more,
'Lord, lay not Thou this sin unto their charge.'
This he said kneeling and so fell asleep."
The two some space sat musing silently;
Then Ruth:
"I feel that thou hast told me all
Most truly, Rachel, as most tenderly.
Thus, then, God giveth His belovéd sleep,
Thus also! And He doeth all things well!
Amen!"
Silence once more, that seemed surcharged
With deepening inarticulate amen
From both, and Ruth, regarding Rachel, said:
"Even so! But, Rachel, us not yet doth God
Will thus to sleep. Still, otherwise to sleep—
For His belovéd are not also we?—
May be God's gift to us. Thou surely needest,
Body and spirit, rest."
And Rachel said:
"The words of Stephen leap unto my lips
For answering thee; and these were Stephen's words:
'God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!'
And this makes me remember that one thing
Done yesterday I missed to tell thee of.
For Martha, faithful heart, forecasting well,
Brought food for Stephen that might hearten him
To bear whatever he had need to bear,
A cake of barley and a honeycomb.
'God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!'
Said Stephen, and so took the food from her,
And ate it giving thanks before us all.
He ate it with such look of appetite,
It cheered us with a sense of freedom his
From any discomposure of the mind.
O Ruth, in His pavilion God did hide
Thy husband, and his soul had perfect peace!"
"Was it not done like Martha?" Ruth replied;
"And done like Stephen too. For courtesy
Bloomed like a flower to grace his daily life.
I used to wonder at it—and I now
Wonder I did not see where such a flower,
Where, and where only, such a flower could find
Rooting to flourish in a world like this!
He always told me that the heart of Christ
Nourished what good in him, or beautiful,
I found—or fancied, as he smiled and said.
But I—Oh, holden heart!—I did not see.
And now it is too late, too late, for him
To have known! It may be that he knows it, yea,
But now to know it is not wholly such
As to have known it then, to have known it then!
Alas, there is not any chance of hope
Behind us, Rachel; hope is all before.
Let us look onward; we in hope were saved,
So Stephen used to say, and, 'I go hence
In comfort of some hope,' were his last words,
Or of his last, to me—concerning me,
Spoken with a sad cheerfulness that now
Breaks me with such a surge of memory!
But this is endless, let it here have end.
Come, Rachel, see, the sun rides high, come thou,
And I will bring thee to a quiet room,
Safe from the sun, where thou shalt rest a while."
So Rachel followed Ruth, not ill content
To be alone for thought if not for sleep.
Her will was not to sleep; but weariness,
With youth and health, was stronger, and she slept.
Already, when she woke, the sun halfway
From his high noon had down the western slope
Of sky descended, and she hearkening heard
A rumorous noise without upon the ways,
The stir of movement, steps of many feet,
With sound, muffled, of many voices nigh,
That startled her from sweet forgetfulness
To sudden sad remembrance of the things
That had been, and that were, and were to be.
Instinctive up she sprang, for, "Lo," she said,
"They gather unto Stephen's funeral;
Behooves that I be ready with all speed."
Therewith upon her knees she sank and prayed
A prayer for Ruth and for Ruth's little ones,
Widowed and orphaned by so dear a death,
And for herself—and for her brother Saul!
Then her heart swelled to a capacious wish,
And, anguished in one swift vicarious throe
Of great desire for help and grace divine,
She embraced the total church of Jesus Christ—
Of such a guide, of such a stay, bereaved!
Then Rachel, with the Everlasting Arms
Invisibly, nigh visibly, around
Her to sustain her steps, came forth, as one
That meekly walks leaning on her beloved,
And begged of Ruth that she might sister be
To her, that day, and thenceforth ever, mourn
As sister with her in the eyes of all.
"For I am lonely," Rachel said, "O Ruth,
As thou art; lonely let us be, we twain,
Together, widows both, and mix our tears.
For also I am widow, as thou art,
Yet not as thou—since me a heavier stroke
Makes widow, who have never been a wife!"
Ruth answered, though she did not understand,
And kissed her friend in plight of sisterhood.
So they two, clad alike from out Ruth's store
Of raiment, clad in sad attire alike,
As sisters walked together side by side—
Ruth's children with them, grieved, not knowing why—
To where, from Mary's house and Martha's borne,
With grievous lamentation, by good men
Devout, the flower and choice of Israel,
Was laid the sacred dust of Stephen down
And sealed within a rock-hewn sepulchre.
Joseph of Arimathæa, he who sought
And gained from Pilate leave to take away
The body of Jesus crucified, had sent
To Bethany, betimes, before the hour
Of burial, rich spices, a great weight,
Aloes and myrrh, with linen pure and fine,
To wrap the body of Stephen for his tomb.
Mary, the mother of the Lord, with John
Beloved of Jesus, loving her as son,
Came to that feast of sorrow bringing tears,
To Ruth medicinal more than any, wept
By one who had so learned to weep. So there
With sackcloth worn and ashes on the head,
They wailed aloud, that Hebrew company,
Women and men, they beat the breast, they rent
Their raiment, until one stood forth who said:
"Enough already has to grief been given.
Us it befits not here, for Stephen dead,
To mourn as mourn others who have no hope.
He was a burning and a shining light,
And we a season in his beams were glad.
Glory to God who kindled him for us!
Glory to God who hath from us withdrawn
His shining, and now hides him in Himself!
We thought we could not spare him, but God knew.
Let all be as God wills Who knows. Amen!"
"Amen!" they solemnly responded all,
And he who spake these things went on and said:
"The Lord anointed Stephen with the oil
Of gladness in the gift of speech above
His fellows. How he flamed insufferably,
In words that leapt out of his mouth, like swords
Out of their sheaths, enkindled to devour
The wicked! When he spoke, flew seraphim
And bore from off the altar living coals
Of God which, laid upon his lips, purged them
To utter those pure words that purified.
What zeal, what wisdom, what fixed faith, what power!
He stood our bulwark, he advanced our sword,
And single seemed an insupportable host.
Yet this puissant soldier of the truth,
To disobedience so implacable,
How gentle and how placable he was
To all obedience! He was like his Lord,
That Lion of the tribe of Judah, named
Also the Lamb of God. No words had he
Save words of vivid flame, sudden and swift
And deadly like the lightning, for God's foes;
But for the little flock of Jesus, balm
His speech—into those lips such grace was poured!
"Nor less in him for mighty work than word
The Holy Ghost a fountain was of power.
From him or through him what a plenteous stream
Flowed like the river of God in miracle!
Signs, wonders, gifts of healing, heavenly powers,
Innumerable flocked about his hand,
Like doves unto their windows flying home,
Waiting there eager to perform his will.
"A prophet of the elder time, reborn
Into the spirit of this latter age,
Was Stephen. Thanking God for him, let us
Together and steadfastly pray that He
Who made the great Elijah live again
In John the Baptist, give us Stephen back
In resurrection from his tomb with power.
Thus shall we pray as himself prophesied—
For Stephen, you remember, glanced at this
In prophecy; unless not prophecy
It were, but only generous hope, with wish
To comfort Rachel, when he spake to her
Of grace to come upon her brother yet—
We shall so seek what seems it he foresaw,
If we ask Jesus to make captive Saul!"
That speaker ceased, and then a prophetess
Among the women there took up a wail,
Which triumphed into gladness as it grew:
"Is fallen, is fallen, a prince in Israel!
Woe, while it yet was day, his sun went down!
Daughters of Judah, mourn for Stephen slain!
"Mourn for a candle of the Lord put out,
A torch of noble witness quenched in blood;
Wear sackcloth of thick darkness and bewail!
"Repent, O daughters of Jerusalem,
Repent, forsake your wickedness of woe;
Look up, look up, the quenched torch burns a star!
"Is risen, is risen; behold, at the right hand
On high sits he of his ascended Lord;
Rejoice, rejoice, for Stephen could not die!
"Comfort ye Ruth; thrice among women she
Lives blesséd, who, from wife to him, became,
Widowed, partaker of his martyrdom!
"Hosanna to the Son of David, Who,
Beheld of Stephen standing in the heavens,
Received His servant's spirit to Himself!
"The Resurrection and the Life is He;
He will not leave this body in its tomb;
Stephen and we shall meet Him in the air.
"Descending with the sound that wakes the dead,
Ten thousand of His saints attending Him,
He comes! He comes! Even so, Lord Jesus, come!
"Salvation, worship, blessing, glory, power,
Forever and forever unto God,
Our God; He never will forsake His own."
Uplifted high in heart, they went away.