The stars that with the setting of the sunRose in the east had climbed the highest heavenAnd from their top of culmination nowWith steadfast gaze were looking steeply downThrough spaces pure, or lucid depths of skyPure as pure spaces, blanched to perfect blue,When Mary, waking, softly spoke to Ruth.They in one chamber lodged, and were so nighEach other in their couches side by side(With Rachel also in close neighborhood)That they could trust themselves to mutual speechIf need were in the night or if the wishPrompted, nor hazard to disturb the restWherein Eunicé, nigh them both bestowed,Lay locked securely in those faster bondsWhich bind the young and innocent asleep."Ruth," Mary said, so softly that the soundWas like a pulse of silence, "art asleep?""Nay, all awake to hear what thou wouldst say,"Ruth answered, in a murmur soft as hers.She had slept, but she instantly awokeWhen Mary scarcely more than thought her name.This was the wont between them; for Ruth knewThat her kinswoman Mary bore her lifeBut as a dewdrop trembling on a leafThat any little waft of wind may scatter;And so she held herself even when she sleptStill in a kind of vigil not to missA breath from Mary that might call for her."Thou wilt not sorrow should I leave thee soon,"Said Mary, with the tone of one who soothedFar rather than of one who soothed would be."I have a premonition that the endTo me of things upon the earth is nigh.Thou knowest how frail the hold whereby I holdTo life here and how ready I am to goHence whensoever He shall call my name,As once He called it I remember well,So call it yet again, bidding me come.I have wavered between this and that in thought;Now thinking: 'He will surely hither soonReturn, so as we saw Him forty daysAfter His resurrection wrapt in cloudAscending from the mount in Galilee—Return, and take us all unto Himself;'But then again I think: 'Perhaps for meHe will anticipate that destined hourAnd call me on a sudden thither hence.'Let not mine ear be heavy if He call!"O Ruth, I think I have within my heartForetokening sent that He will call to-day;A fluttering in my blood admonishes me.I should be thankful if I might once moreEre going bear some witness to His name!For Krishna's sake, too; ever a soul sincereHe seemed to me, but he would listen nowWith other ear, eager to drink the truth.""Yea, and that may be," Ruth said, "not once moreBut often if the will of God be so.God grant it! For indeed I could but grieveTo lose thee from my side; grieve, though I sawHeaven open to receive thee, as to Stephen,My Stephen, it opened—with the glory of GodFull shown Him in the face of Christ the Lord!"Yet so the weather promises this nightThe morning will, I think, be heavenly fairAnd mild, and haply thou indeed shalt greetFull soon thy wished-for chance of testimony.Thou wilt remember we were all to meetOn such a morning as this sure will beAnd hear thee tell thy story of the Lord'sVictorious resurrection from the deadJust then when day is glorying over night."Those women with each other communing so,The morning hastened, and—now nigh to breakFull splendor but with brilliance soft and chasteOver the welcoming world both land and sea—Mary and Ruth, with Rachel at the signAwakening and Eunicé fresh as dawn,Heard from without a matin signal soundBlown with the breath of Stephen on his reed—Token of tryst by all well understood,While secretly entrusted with a thrillTo one heart that the others knew not of.The Indian joyful to his host had said:"I shall forestall thee, O my Publius,I know it by my heart within me wise,In hailing the selectest dawn to break,And fittest, for our meeting on the shoreTo hear from Hebrew Mary what she yetReserves to tell us of her rising Lord:So, if thou please, I will myself betimesAwake thee when the hour I wait for comes."Publius thus roused, he in his turn awakedStephen, who rallied with his pipe the rest;But Paul, with Stephen in one chamber sleepingWoke, as his nephew woke, when Publius called.The new wine of the vernal weather filledThe golden cup of morning to the brim,And those blithe wakers drank deep draughts of it;But other morning bathed their souls with light.They to a hill of gentle rise repairedThat sloped its eastern side into the mainThence rippling up in spiral terracesBy playful Nature round about it wound:Here goodly prospect over sea and shore,From a well-sheltered seat, invited them.Before they sat, Paul stretched his hands toward heavenAnd prayed: "Thou who didst out of darkness makeLight dawn on chaos, and who day by dayDost kindle morning from the shades of night,Thanks to thy name for this fair spring of dawn!Dawn Thou into our hearts, and dayspring thereMake with the shining of thy face on usShown milder in the face of Christ thy Son!"—Then, to his fellows turning, added this:"We owe it to Krishna that we thus are here;His wishes waked him, and, as was agreed,He waked us that we might prevent the mornTo celebrate the rising of the Lord.Krishna knew not, what yet by happy chanceHas now befallen, if aught befall by chance,That we, upon the first day of the weekMeeting, meet on the day when Christ arose,The Lord's day, day peculiarly His own.We listen, Mary, tell us of that morn."Then Mary, her fair face like morning, whiteWith pureness not with pallor, spoke and said:"It was not hope, nor faith—both faith and hopeHad died within us when our Master died—Not hope, not faith, but love, and memory,And sorrow, and desire to testifyOur sense of everlasting debt to Him,That, early in the morning of the dayThird following the day wherein He suffered,Brought me—with Mary, James's mother, joined—Likewise Salomé, to the garden whereThey had laid Him in a rock-hewn sepulcher.We took sweet spices to embalm the fleshWhich late for robe the Lord of life had worn.We wondered as we went, 'But who will rollThe great stone back for us that closes upThe doorway to the tomb?' Yet went we on,To find the stone already rolled away;For there had been a mighty earthquake throe,And a descended angel of the LordWith easy strength in his celestial graceHad rolled away the stone, and on it sat.His aspect was like lightning, and snow-whiteHis dazzling vesture shone. The keepers shook,The keepers that the Jewish rulers setTo watch the grave—these for sheer terror shookAnd sank into a helpless swoon like death.But unto us that awful angel said:"Ye, fear not; for I know ye come to seekJesus the crucified; He is not here,For He is risen according to His word.Come, see the empty place where the Lord lay.""I heard and saw with a bewildered wit;And though I afterward remembered all,I did not at the moment understandWell anything save that the sepulcherWas empty of the body of the Lord.This I told the disciples, sorrowing:I ran to tell them, and they, running, cameTo find it so as I had made report.Those went away, perplexed and sad at heart:But as for me, I lingered by the tombAnd wept; I could have wept my heart away.I thought: 'And so I may not even anoint—There would be comfort, something like a senseOf healing to that holy wounded flesh,If I might salve those dead wounds with sweet spice—I may not even anoint His body dead!They have taken it away, I know not whither.Alas, alas, and woe is me!' My tearsWere falling like a shower of rain the while,But I stooped weeping, and with veiled eyes lookedInto the open sepulcher and sawTwo angels sitting there, vested in white,One at the head, the other at the feet,Where late the body of the Lord had lain."It was a heavenly spectacle to see,Those shining-vested angels sitting thereWith posture so composed and face serene!Yet would I rather then have seen the Lord,Or seen His body wounded from the cross;But if those angels knew that this was so,Their blame of me was very gently spoken:'Woman, why weepest thou?' I sobbed reply:'Because they have taken away my Lord, and whereThey have laid Him I know not.'"With that I turnedMe back, I think I should have gone away,But I saw one I knew not, standing there,Who also spake, 'Woman, why weepest thou?'Distraught I took him for the gardener,And half I did not see him for my tears,And I made answer from my eager thought:'O, sir, if thou have borne Him hence, tell meWhere thou hast laid Him and I will take Him thenceAway.' Then Jesus, for it Jesus was,Uttered one word, no more; 'Mary!' He said.I turned toward Him, but all I said was this:'Rabboni!' For it was a Hebrew wordSprang quickest to my lips; 'Master' it means—"This with a glance toward Krishna Mary said.The Indian dropped his eyes as with a kindOf sudden conscious shame confusing himTo feel her eyes that instant meet his ownAnd know his own were charged with other lookThan ever woman drew from him before.In her unconscious pure serenity,Mary—her momentary glance toward one,In equal gaze on all together sheathed—Went on, no pause, yet with some air of museTingeing her reminiscence as she said:"Perhaps I had an impulse which the LordSaw, to assure myself with touch of handOr even to cling to Him, I hardly know;'Nay,' He said tenderly, 'I am not yet,'Said He, 'ascended to the Father; thou,Go to my brethren and tell them that IAscend unto my Father and your FatherAnd my God and your God.' And this I did."O, the deep joy, the deep and solemn joy,Of knowing that the Lord was risen indeed!And the solemnity was almost moreThan even the joy; we trembled and rejoiced.He was so awful in His majestyAfter His rising from the dead! Yea, sweetWas He, beyond all language to express;But sweetness was with awfulness in HimSo qualified, the sweetness could not beEnough to overcome the awfulness;Gazing on Him we trembled and rejoiced."He forty days appeared and disappearedBy turns before us, passing through shut doorsUnhindered, yet sometimes partaking food—A paradox of spirit or of flesh,The resurrection body of the Lord!Ensample of our bodies that shall be,And witness of the wondrous wisdom God's,And power to work the counsels of His willBy many secret potencies of things,Who spirit of matter could capacious make,As matter make to spirit permeable!"Those forty days in which He showed HimselfAfter such fashion to His chosen fewNigh ended, we withdrew to GalileeWhere He appointed He would meet His own—More than five hundred we were mustered thereUpon a mountain top that well we knew.Here He was glorious in majesty,The Son of God become from Son of Man;Hushed to obedient awe, we heard Him speak.He said: 'Lo, all authority is givenTo Me, whether in heaven or on the earth.Forth, therefore, ye, among all nations go,Making disciples and baptizing themInto the name, the one name, of the Father,And of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost;Teaching them to observe all things that ICommanded you, neglecting naught of all:Behold, I am with you ever to the end.'"Thence to Jerusalem and Bethany.Here from a chosen spot on OlivetJesus, His hands uplifted as He blessed us,Rose heavenward, but He blessed us still in rising,Until a cloud enwrapt Him from our sight."The upward look of Mary saying this,Her fixéd, eager, upward-yearning look,Failed, and her face grew white as if the bloodWere shamed to stain that heavenly purity.All saw the change she suffered, and were awed.Mary's voice faltered, but she brokenlyWent on in utterance such as if she spokeOut of another world just reached from this:"That cloud—I seem to see it now again—Or something swims between to dim my sight.Those angels said that He would yet returnSo as we saw Him then ascend to heaven—Is He now come? I hear as if a voice,His, His, the same that in the garden spakeTo me calling my name, 'Mary!' It saysNow, 'Hither, Mary!' Yea, Lord Jesus, IKnow Thee, and come. At last! At last! Farewell!"Mary such words uttered with failing breath,Her eyes withdrawn from vision of things here.Her body—which in gentle rest reclinedOn her kinswoman Ruth supporting herWhen her strength failed—she left, winging her wayHence, as the lark soars from his groundling nestInto the morning sky to meet the sun.With a communicated quietudeOf spirit—which into their gesture passedMaking it seem habitual, no surprise,Scarce sorrow, hinted, perturbation none,But reverence and love ineffable—Not speaking, Ruth and Rachel decentlyComposed the body to a look of restIn sleep on the sweet earth, the stainless skyBending in benediction over herAnd the bright sun just risen touching the faceTo an auroral beauty with his beams."She has gone hence," Paul said, "to be with Christ,Which is far better. See the peace expressedIn the unmoving hands on the stilled heart,The form relapsed oblivious on the ground,And the face fixed in transport of repose!Surpassing beauty! But corruptible;Faint image of the beauty which shall beWhen this seed planted springs in heavenly bloomAnd mortal takes on immortality!Think when we sow this beauty in the dust,That which we sow is earthly though so fair;But that will be celestial which shall henceIn the bright resurrection season spring."Ye know that when the husbandman entrustsHis seed-grain to the soil he does not sowThat body which shall be, but kernels bareTo which God gives a body as He will;From the wheat sown there springs a blade of greenUnlike the wheat and far more beautiful.So is the resurrection that awaitsMary, our sister; this corruptibleWill put on incorruption in that day,And Christ will fashion it anew more fair,After the body of His glory changed!"Ye do not ask, but some have doubting asked,'How are the dead raised up, and in what formOf body do they come?' Not surely suchAs they within the tomb were laid away.There sleeps a natural body in the dust;There wakes a spiritual body purifiedFrom every imperfection of the flesh.Whatever glorious beauty here was wornIs worn a changed more glorious beauty there."His proper glory to the sun belongs,And the moon has her glory, and the starsEach in his own peculiar glory shines:The body of the resurrection soHas its enduements proper to itself,Capacities, adjustments, attributes,Other than we know here—though shadowed forthObscurely in the body that the LordAfter His resurrection wore—such highTransfigurations of the facultiesBelonging to the body of this fleshAs man's imagination cannot dream!"O clay, that late seemed Mary!"—and therewithThe tears that would not longer be stayed backBurst from Paul's eyes and fell a sunlit shower,While all the rest beholding wept with Paul—"Form, for her sake, our well-belovéd, dear,Must we then leave thee in the dust of earth?But not as thus we leave thee wilt thou rise!Thou in corruption wilt lie waiting here,But thou shalt rise, to incorruption changed;Thou wilt sleep darkling underneath the clod,But thence in glory shalt thou waking burst;In weakness buried, thou shalt rise in power.Mary the image of the earthy bore,She shall the image of the heavenly bear:Comfort yourselves, belovéd, with such hope."Paul these triumphal words of prophecyUttered with streaming tears that testifiedThe sorrow in him at the heart of joy;And they all wept with Paul, in fellowshipOf pathos at sweet strife with glorying hope.A little leave for silent tears, and PaulSaid: "Bide ye here until the evenfall,Or some of you by turns as need of rest,Of food, of change, allows the privilegeOf watching by this sacred dust asleep.I will meantime desire from PubliusPermission to prepare her resting-placeFor Mary here upon the selfsame spotThat she has hallowed for us by dying here;And we at set of sun will bury her."Now Publius had, with Sergius Paulus too,And Krishna—those, and the centurion—Silently, in that silent time of tears,Retired; they with one instinct felt that hereWere love and grief that needed privacyFrom witness even of moistened eyes like theirs.But Krishna went apart from all, and bowedHimself together motionless and wept.While those sat weeping, and these last withdrewRefraining not the sympathetic tear,A different scene passed elsewhere in the isle.Simon, the sorcerer, sought and found accessTo Felix and Drusilla and said to them:"I roused this night an hour before the dawn,My sleep disturbed with signs in dreams of you.Some secret prescience urged me out of doors,And I went wandering forth with no clear thoughtWhither, but felt my footsteps onward drawn,Until I gained an overlooking heightOf hill, whence, ranging round me with mine eyes,I saw a dozen people more or less,Women as seemed with men, a motley train,Walking thus early, why I could not guess;They tended toward a hillock neighboring mine.I, heeding to be hid from them the while,Crept up as near them as I safely could.Paul was among them, chief, though not the guideAs guide our worthy friend Sir Publius served.That Sergius Paulus, with his Indian friend,Krishna they call him, the centurion too,Were of the company; as for the rest,Count up the tale of Paul's companionship,They were all there."After these reached the pointWhere they made pause, the first thing that befellWas Paul in menace lifting up those handsOf his and therewith muttering magic words.I could not hear them, but the tone I knew,As too I knew that gesture of the hands.I thought of how he conjured with his spellOf uncouth baleful words at Cæsarea!Paul got all seated; but one sat apart,The destined victim of his wicked wiles,A woman she, that Mary Magdalené,Like an accused impaled to make defence.Paul seemed to say to her, 'Speak, if thou wilt,'Whereon the woman with a pleading voice,But hopeless, breaking into moan at last,Made her apology—of course in vain.The spell that Paul had cast upon her wrought,And she sank lifeless at his feet. So onceA spell from Peter at JerusalemWith Ananias and Sapphira wroughtKilling them out of hand.""But wherefore this?"Drusilla doubted. "Also wherefore that?""Real reason, or pretended, wilt thou have?"Said Simon with his air of oracle."Both," said Drusilla shortly, answering him."Well, the pretended reason," Simon said,"To Peter, was hot zeal for righteousness.Seems Ananias and Sapphira lied;A venial lie, they set a little shortThe price they had received for certain landsOr other property sold by them lateIn the behoof of Peter and his crew.Peter would none of that; the revenuesTo be extorted from his dupes would shrinkWith such prevarications once in vogue:There hast thou the real reason for his crime."As for this last case, Paul's, I can but guessWhat his pretended reason was. IndeedPerhaps pretended reason there was none.It may be he preferred to have it seem,To all except his special followers,A case of sudden death from natural cause.Or again, likelier, he alleged some crimeAgainst her, sacrilege or blasphemy,Secret, thence lacking proof but capableOf being proved upon her by his art.He would pronounce a spell of magic power,Then let her talk and try to clear herself:Meanwhile, if she were guilty as he thought,The spell would work and punish her with death,But remain harmless were she innocent.Guesses, but plausible; still it would beSufficiently like Paul if he devisedA blank mere demonstration for the sakeOf those outside spectators of the scene,Simply in order to impress on themHis power in magic, and win their applause.It would at the same time inspire with aweThose dupes of his, and faster bind their bonds.Yet a particular reason intermixedDoubtless with general motives for his crime;Some insubordination, it may be,On Mary Magdalené's part toward him,Had stung him to inflict this punishment.""What of it all?" Drusilla coldly said."Nothing," said Simon; "just a pretty tale!Only I thought it might perhaps subserveLady Drusilla's purpose yonder at Rome,To have a crime convenient to her hand,A fresh crime, and a flagrant, she could chargeTo Paul's account to make more sure his doom."'Why, aye,' Drusilla thought, 'one that involvesSergius Paulus, renegade, and thatToo complaisant centurion, the whole crewIndeed present to be spectators thereAnd not protesting, hence accomplicesAll of a crime they might have stayed in act.As to the matter of a sudden deathWith circumstance attending such and such,Surplus of testimony was to handFor that; as to the matter of the meansEmployed, magic—Simon magician was,And he, as expert witness, should suffice.If any question as tohimarose,Drusilla should be equal to the need;Iwould vouch for him to the emperor.Nothing would please me better than to tryOn him the virtue of my sponsorship!'So the proud woman swiftly in mute museSlid to the goal she wished. Nay, scarce a pauseSeeming to have occurred before she spoke,Already had her formless thought forecastThe triumphs over Nero she would winWith her voluptuous beauty wielded soAs she could wield it through her equal wit,When she to Simon answered absently:"True, worthy Simon; something such might chance;Be ready to make good at need thy part."This as dismissal; and the sorcerer went.Felix had moody sat with never a word.And now the cloudless splendor of the dayWas softly toward a cloudless sunset waned,When round an open grave upon that hillWere gathered those who mourned for Mary dead;Publius was there, and Julius, with the rest.They with all reverence lifted the fair form,Wrapped round about with linen clean and white,And laid it like a seed within the ground;They spread it with a coverlet of soilWhich falling through the farewell sunset beamsSeemed leavened to lie more lightly on the dead:The earth with such a treasure in her breastWas sweeter, and they almost yearned toward it.Yet upward rather soon they turn their eyesAs once those upward gazed in GalileeSeeing their Lord ascend in cloud to heaven—While thus Paul, he too thither looking, said:"Concerning her who sleeps here, think aright;For we must sorrow not as others doWho have no hope. We have a hope. Our hopeIs, that if Jesus died and rose again,Even so them likewise who in Jesus sleepWill God bring with Him. Yea, I say to youBy the command and promise of the LordIf we survive to see the Lord returnWe shall not so forestall our sleeping friendIn springing toward Him as He hither comes.For with a shout the Lord Himself from heavenWill hither come descending with the voiceOf the archangel and the trump of God.First shall those dead in Christ arise, and thenWe, if we linger living till He come,(Transfigured in the twinkling of an eyeWhen the trump sounded to our heavenly guise)Will be with them together in the cloudsCaught up in instant rapture from the earthTo meet the Lord descended in the air:So shall we be forever with the Lord.With these things comfort ye yourselves, and eachComfort the other."And all comfort me!"Paul added, with a breaking voice, and tears;But quick he rallied for those others' sakeAnd his victorious tone recovered quite,Looking down, like a warrior on a foeTrampled into the dust beneath his feet—So looking down upon that vanquished grave,Paul almost chanted in heroic rhythmThis lyric exultation calmed to praise:"O death, where is thy sting? Thy victory where,O grave? Thanks be to God who giveth us,Through our Lord Jesus Christ, the victory!"Paul indeed craved the touch of human love,To stay him with a healing sense of help,And medicine to sorrow; but in partIt was for his companions' own behoofHe had desired their fellowship of cheer;He knew well that to comfort was of allWays the way surest to be comforted.
The stars that with the setting of the sunRose in the east had climbed the highest heavenAnd from their top of culmination nowWith steadfast gaze were looking steeply downThrough spaces pure, or lucid depths of skyPure as pure spaces, blanched to perfect blue,When Mary, waking, softly spoke to Ruth.They in one chamber lodged, and were so nighEach other in their couches side by side(With Rachel also in close neighborhood)That they could trust themselves to mutual speechIf need were in the night or if the wishPrompted, nor hazard to disturb the restWherein Eunicé, nigh them both bestowed,Lay locked securely in those faster bondsWhich bind the young and innocent asleep.
"Ruth," Mary said, so softly that the soundWas like a pulse of silence, "art asleep?""Nay, all awake to hear what thou wouldst say,"Ruth answered, in a murmur soft as hers.She had slept, but she instantly awokeWhen Mary scarcely more than thought her name.
This was the wont between them; for Ruth knewThat her kinswoman Mary bore her lifeBut as a dewdrop trembling on a leafThat any little waft of wind may scatter;And so she held herself even when she sleptStill in a kind of vigil not to missA breath from Mary that might call for her.
"Thou wilt not sorrow should I leave thee soon,"Said Mary, with the tone of one who soothedFar rather than of one who soothed would be."I have a premonition that the endTo me of things upon the earth is nigh.Thou knowest how frail the hold whereby I holdTo life here and how ready I am to goHence whensoever He shall call my name,As once He called it I remember well,So call it yet again, bidding me come.I have wavered between this and that in thought;Now thinking: 'He will surely hither soonReturn, so as we saw Him forty daysAfter His resurrection wrapt in cloudAscending from the mount in Galilee—Return, and take us all unto Himself;'But then again I think: 'Perhaps for meHe will anticipate that destined hourAnd call me on a sudden thither hence.'Let not mine ear be heavy if He call!
"O Ruth, I think I have within my heartForetokening sent that He will call to-day;A fluttering in my blood admonishes me.I should be thankful if I might once moreEre going bear some witness to His name!For Krishna's sake, too; ever a soul sincereHe seemed to me, but he would listen nowWith other ear, eager to drink the truth.""Yea, and that may be," Ruth said, "not once moreBut often if the will of God be so.God grant it! For indeed I could but grieveTo lose thee from my side; grieve, though I sawHeaven open to receive thee, as to Stephen,My Stephen, it opened—with the glory of GodFull shown Him in the face of Christ the Lord!
"Yet so the weather promises this nightThe morning will, I think, be heavenly fairAnd mild, and haply thou indeed shalt greetFull soon thy wished-for chance of testimony.Thou wilt remember we were all to meetOn such a morning as this sure will beAnd hear thee tell thy story of the Lord'sVictorious resurrection from the deadJust then when day is glorying over night."
Those women with each other communing so,The morning hastened, and—now nigh to breakFull splendor but with brilliance soft and chasteOver the welcoming world both land and sea—Mary and Ruth, with Rachel at the signAwakening and Eunicé fresh as dawn,Heard from without a matin signal soundBlown with the breath of Stephen on his reed—Token of tryst by all well understood,While secretly entrusted with a thrillTo one heart that the others knew not of.
The Indian joyful to his host had said:"I shall forestall thee, O my Publius,I know it by my heart within me wise,In hailing the selectest dawn to break,And fittest, for our meeting on the shoreTo hear from Hebrew Mary what she yetReserves to tell us of her rising Lord:So, if thou please, I will myself betimesAwake thee when the hour I wait for comes."Publius thus roused, he in his turn awakedStephen, who rallied with his pipe the rest;But Paul, with Stephen in one chamber sleepingWoke, as his nephew woke, when Publius called.
The new wine of the vernal weather filledThe golden cup of morning to the brim,And those blithe wakers drank deep draughts of it;But other morning bathed their souls with light.They to a hill of gentle rise repairedThat sloped its eastern side into the mainThence rippling up in spiral terracesBy playful Nature round about it wound:Here goodly prospect over sea and shore,From a well-sheltered seat, invited them.Before they sat, Paul stretched his hands toward heavenAnd prayed: "Thou who didst out of darkness makeLight dawn on chaos, and who day by dayDost kindle morning from the shades of night,Thanks to thy name for this fair spring of dawn!Dawn Thou into our hearts, and dayspring thereMake with the shining of thy face on usShown milder in the face of Christ thy Son!"—Then, to his fellows turning, added this:"We owe it to Krishna that we thus are here;His wishes waked him, and, as was agreed,He waked us that we might prevent the mornTo celebrate the rising of the Lord.Krishna knew not, what yet by happy chanceHas now befallen, if aught befall by chance,That we, upon the first day of the weekMeeting, meet on the day when Christ arose,The Lord's day, day peculiarly His own.We listen, Mary, tell us of that morn."
Then Mary, her fair face like morning, whiteWith pureness not with pallor, spoke and said:"It was not hope, nor faith—both faith and hopeHad died within us when our Master died—Not hope, not faith, but love, and memory,And sorrow, and desire to testifyOur sense of everlasting debt to Him,That, early in the morning of the dayThird following the day wherein He suffered,Brought me—with Mary, James's mother, joined—Likewise Salomé, to the garden whereThey had laid Him in a rock-hewn sepulcher.We took sweet spices to embalm the fleshWhich late for robe the Lord of life had worn.We wondered as we went, 'But who will rollThe great stone back for us that closes upThe doorway to the tomb?' Yet went we on,To find the stone already rolled away;For there had been a mighty earthquake throe,And a descended angel of the LordWith easy strength in his celestial graceHad rolled away the stone, and on it sat.His aspect was like lightning, and snow-whiteHis dazzling vesture shone. The keepers shook,The keepers that the Jewish rulers setTo watch the grave—these for sheer terror shookAnd sank into a helpless swoon like death.But unto us that awful angel said:"Ye, fear not; for I know ye come to seekJesus the crucified; He is not here,For He is risen according to His word.Come, see the empty place where the Lord lay."
"I heard and saw with a bewildered wit;And though I afterward remembered all,I did not at the moment understandWell anything save that the sepulcherWas empty of the body of the Lord.This I told the disciples, sorrowing:I ran to tell them, and they, running, cameTo find it so as I had made report.Those went away, perplexed and sad at heart:But as for me, I lingered by the tombAnd wept; I could have wept my heart away.I thought: 'And so I may not even anoint—There would be comfort, something like a senseOf healing to that holy wounded flesh,If I might salve those dead wounds with sweet spice—I may not even anoint His body dead!They have taken it away, I know not whither.Alas, alas, and woe is me!' My tearsWere falling like a shower of rain the while,But I stooped weeping, and with veiled eyes lookedInto the open sepulcher and sawTwo angels sitting there, vested in white,One at the head, the other at the feet,Where late the body of the Lord had lain.
"It was a heavenly spectacle to see,Those shining-vested angels sitting thereWith posture so composed and face serene!Yet would I rather then have seen the Lord,Or seen His body wounded from the cross;But if those angels knew that this was so,Their blame of me was very gently spoken:'Woman, why weepest thou?' I sobbed reply:'Because they have taken away my Lord, and whereThey have laid Him I know not.'
"With that I turnedMe back, I think I should have gone away,But I saw one I knew not, standing there,Who also spake, 'Woman, why weepest thou?'Distraught I took him for the gardener,And half I did not see him for my tears,And I made answer from my eager thought:'O, sir, if thou have borne Him hence, tell meWhere thou hast laid Him and I will take Him thenceAway.' Then Jesus, for it Jesus was,Uttered one word, no more; 'Mary!' He said.I turned toward Him, but all I said was this:'Rabboni!' For it was a Hebrew wordSprang quickest to my lips; 'Master' it means—"This with a glance toward Krishna Mary said.
The Indian dropped his eyes as with a kindOf sudden conscious shame confusing himTo feel her eyes that instant meet his ownAnd know his own were charged with other lookThan ever woman drew from him before.In her unconscious pure serenity,Mary—her momentary glance toward one,In equal gaze on all together sheathed—Went on, no pause, yet with some air of museTingeing her reminiscence as she said:"Perhaps I had an impulse which the LordSaw, to assure myself with touch of handOr even to cling to Him, I hardly know;'Nay,' He said tenderly, 'I am not yet,'Said He, 'ascended to the Father; thou,Go to my brethren and tell them that IAscend unto my Father and your FatherAnd my God and your God.' And this I did.
"O, the deep joy, the deep and solemn joy,Of knowing that the Lord was risen indeed!And the solemnity was almost moreThan even the joy; we trembled and rejoiced.He was so awful in His majestyAfter His rising from the dead! Yea, sweetWas He, beyond all language to express;But sweetness was with awfulness in HimSo qualified, the sweetness could not beEnough to overcome the awfulness;Gazing on Him we trembled and rejoiced.
"He forty days appeared and disappearedBy turns before us, passing through shut doorsUnhindered, yet sometimes partaking food—A paradox of spirit or of flesh,The resurrection body of the Lord!Ensample of our bodies that shall be,And witness of the wondrous wisdom God's,And power to work the counsels of His willBy many secret potencies of things,Who spirit of matter could capacious make,As matter make to spirit permeable!
"Those forty days in which He showed HimselfAfter such fashion to His chosen fewNigh ended, we withdrew to GalileeWhere He appointed He would meet His own—More than five hundred we were mustered thereUpon a mountain top that well we knew.Here He was glorious in majesty,The Son of God become from Son of Man;Hushed to obedient awe, we heard Him speak.He said: 'Lo, all authority is givenTo Me, whether in heaven or on the earth.Forth, therefore, ye, among all nations go,Making disciples and baptizing themInto the name, the one name, of the Father,And of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost;Teaching them to observe all things that ICommanded you, neglecting naught of all:Behold, I am with you ever to the end.'
"Thence to Jerusalem and Bethany.Here from a chosen spot on OlivetJesus, His hands uplifted as He blessed us,Rose heavenward, but He blessed us still in rising,Until a cloud enwrapt Him from our sight."
The upward look of Mary saying this,Her fixéd, eager, upward-yearning look,Failed, and her face grew white as if the bloodWere shamed to stain that heavenly purity.All saw the change she suffered, and were awed.Mary's voice faltered, but she brokenlyWent on in utterance such as if she spokeOut of another world just reached from this:"That cloud—I seem to see it now again—Or something swims between to dim my sight.Those angels said that He would yet returnSo as we saw Him then ascend to heaven—Is He now come? I hear as if a voice,His, His, the same that in the garden spakeTo me calling my name, 'Mary!' It saysNow, 'Hither, Mary!' Yea, Lord Jesus, IKnow Thee, and come. At last! At last! Farewell!"
Mary such words uttered with failing breath,Her eyes withdrawn from vision of things here.Her body—which in gentle rest reclinedOn her kinswoman Ruth supporting herWhen her strength failed—she left, winging her wayHence, as the lark soars from his groundling nestInto the morning sky to meet the sun.
With a communicated quietudeOf spirit—which into their gesture passedMaking it seem habitual, no surprise,Scarce sorrow, hinted, perturbation none,But reverence and love ineffable—Not speaking, Ruth and Rachel decentlyComposed the body to a look of restIn sleep on the sweet earth, the stainless skyBending in benediction over herAnd the bright sun just risen touching the faceTo an auroral beauty with his beams.
"She has gone hence," Paul said, "to be with Christ,Which is far better. See the peace expressedIn the unmoving hands on the stilled heart,The form relapsed oblivious on the ground,And the face fixed in transport of repose!Surpassing beauty! But corruptible;Faint image of the beauty which shall beWhen this seed planted springs in heavenly bloomAnd mortal takes on immortality!Think when we sow this beauty in the dust,That which we sow is earthly though so fair;But that will be celestial which shall henceIn the bright resurrection season spring.
"Ye know that when the husbandman entrustsHis seed-grain to the soil he does not sowThat body which shall be, but kernels bareTo which God gives a body as He will;From the wheat sown there springs a blade of greenUnlike the wheat and far more beautiful.So is the resurrection that awaitsMary, our sister; this corruptibleWill put on incorruption in that day,And Christ will fashion it anew more fair,After the body of His glory changed!
"Ye do not ask, but some have doubting asked,'How are the dead raised up, and in what formOf body do they come?' Not surely suchAs they within the tomb were laid away.There sleeps a natural body in the dust;There wakes a spiritual body purifiedFrom every imperfection of the flesh.Whatever glorious beauty here was wornIs worn a changed more glorious beauty there.
"His proper glory to the sun belongs,And the moon has her glory, and the starsEach in his own peculiar glory shines:The body of the resurrection soHas its enduements proper to itself,Capacities, adjustments, attributes,Other than we know here—though shadowed forthObscurely in the body that the LordAfter His resurrection wore—such highTransfigurations of the facultiesBelonging to the body of this fleshAs man's imagination cannot dream!
"O clay, that late seemed Mary!"—and therewithThe tears that would not longer be stayed backBurst from Paul's eyes and fell a sunlit shower,While all the rest beholding wept with Paul—"Form, for her sake, our well-belovéd, dear,Must we then leave thee in the dust of earth?But not as thus we leave thee wilt thou rise!Thou in corruption wilt lie waiting here,But thou shalt rise, to incorruption changed;Thou wilt sleep darkling underneath the clod,But thence in glory shalt thou waking burst;In weakness buried, thou shalt rise in power.Mary the image of the earthy bore,She shall the image of the heavenly bear:Comfort yourselves, belovéd, with such hope."
Paul these triumphal words of prophecyUttered with streaming tears that testifiedThe sorrow in him at the heart of joy;And they all wept with Paul, in fellowshipOf pathos at sweet strife with glorying hope.
A little leave for silent tears, and PaulSaid: "Bide ye here until the evenfall,Or some of you by turns as need of rest,Of food, of change, allows the privilegeOf watching by this sacred dust asleep.I will meantime desire from PubliusPermission to prepare her resting-placeFor Mary here upon the selfsame spotThat she has hallowed for us by dying here;And we at set of sun will bury her."
Now Publius had, with Sergius Paulus too,And Krishna—those, and the centurion—Silently, in that silent time of tears,Retired; they with one instinct felt that hereWere love and grief that needed privacyFrom witness even of moistened eyes like theirs.But Krishna went apart from all, and bowedHimself together motionless and wept.
While those sat weeping, and these last withdrewRefraining not the sympathetic tear,A different scene passed elsewhere in the isle.Simon, the sorcerer, sought and found accessTo Felix and Drusilla and said to them:"I roused this night an hour before the dawn,My sleep disturbed with signs in dreams of you.Some secret prescience urged me out of doors,And I went wandering forth with no clear thoughtWhither, but felt my footsteps onward drawn,Until I gained an overlooking heightOf hill, whence, ranging round me with mine eyes,I saw a dozen people more or less,Women as seemed with men, a motley train,Walking thus early, why I could not guess;They tended toward a hillock neighboring mine.I, heeding to be hid from them the while,Crept up as near them as I safely could.Paul was among them, chief, though not the guideAs guide our worthy friend Sir Publius served.That Sergius Paulus, with his Indian friend,Krishna they call him, the centurion too,Were of the company; as for the rest,Count up the tale of Paul's companionship,They were all there.
"After these reached the pointWhere they made pause, the first thing that befellWas Paul in menace lifting up those handsOf his and therewith muttering magic words.I could not hear them, but the tone I knew,As too I knew that gesture of the hands.I thought of how he conjured with his spellOf uncouth baleful words at Cæsarea!Paul got all seated; but one sat apart,The destined victim of his wicked wiles,A woman she, that Mary Magdalené,Like an accused impaled to make defence.Paul seemed to say to her, 'Speak, if thou wilt,'Whereon the woman with a pleading voice,But hopeless, breaking into moan at last,Made her apology—of course in vain.The spell that Paul had cast upon her wrought,And she sank lifeless at his feet. So onceA spell from Peter at JerusalemWith Ananias and Sapphira wroughtKilling them out of hand."
"But wherefore this?"Drusilla doubted. "Also wherefore that?"
"Real reason, or pretended, wilt thou have?"Said Simon with his air of oracle."Both," said Drusilla shortly, answering him."Well, the pretended reason," Simon said,"To Peter, was hot zeal for righteousness.Seems Ananias and Sapphira lied;A venial lie, they set a little shortThe price they had received for certain landsOr other property sold by them lateIn the behoof of Peter and his crew.Peter would none of that; the revenuesTo be extorted from his dupes would shrinkWith such prevarications once in vogue:There hast thou the real reason for his crime.
"As for this last case, Paul's, I can but guessWhat his pretended reason was. IndeedPerhaps pretended reason there was none.It may be he preferred to have it seem,To all except his special followers,A case of sudden death from natural cause.Or again, likelier, he alleged some crimeAgainst her, sacrilege or blasphemy,Secret, thence lacking proof but capableOf being proved upon her by his art.He would pronounce a spell of magic power,Then let her talk and try to clear herself:Meanwhile, if she were guilty as he thought,The spell would work and punish her with death,But remain harmless were she innocent.Guesses, but plausible; still it would beSufficiently like Paul if he devisedA blank mere demonstration for the sakeOf those outside spectators of the scene,Simply in order to impress on themHis power in magic, and win their applause.It would at the same time inspire with aweThose dupes of his, and faster bind their bonds.Yet a particular reason intermixedDoubtless with general motives for his crime;Some insubordination, it may be,On Mary Magdalené's part toward him,Had stung him to inflict this punishment."
"What of it all?" Drusilla coldly said."Nothing," said Simon; "just a pretty tale!Only I thought it might perhaps subserveLady Drusilla's purpose yonder at Rome,To have a crime convenient to her hand,A fresh crime, and a flagrant, she could chargeTo Paul's account to make more sure his doom."
'Why, aye,' Drusilla thought, 'one that involvesSergius Paulus, renegade, and thatToo complaisant centurion, the whole crewIndeed present to be spectators thereAnd not protesting, hence accomplicesAll of a crime they might have stayed in act.As to the matter of a sudden deathWith circumstance attending such and such,Surplus of testimony was to handFor that; as to the matter of the meansEmployed, magic—Simon magician was,And he, as expert witness, should suffice.If any question as tohimarose,Drusilla should be equal to the need;Iwould vouch for him to the emperor.Nothing would please me better than to tryOn him the virtue of my sponsorship!'
So the proud woman swiftly in mute museSlid to the goal she wished. Nay, scarce a pauseSeeming to have occurred before she spoke,Already had her formless thought forecastThe triumphs over Nero she would winWith her voluptuous beauty wielded soAs she could wield it through her equal wit,When she to Simon answered absently:"True, worthy Simon; something such might chance;Be ready to make good at need thy part."This as dismissal; and the sorcerer went.Felix had moody sat with never a word.
And now the cloudless splendor of the dayWas softly toward a cloudless sunset waned,When round an open grave upon that hillWere gathered those who mourned for Mary dead;Publius was there, and Julius, with the rest.They with all reverence lifted the fair form,Wrapped round about with linen clean and white,And laid it like a seed within the ground;They spread it with a coverlet of soilWhich falling through the farewell sunset beamsSeemed leavened to lie more lightly on the dead:The earth with such a treasure in her breastWas sweeter, and they almost yearned toward it.Yet upward rather soon they turn their eyesAs once those upward gazed in GalileeSeeing their Lord ascend in cloud to heaven—While thus Paul, he too thither looking, said:"Concerning her who sleeps here, think aright;For we must sorrow not as others doWho have no hope. We have a hope. Our hopeIs, that if Jesus died and rose again,Even so them likewise who in Jesus sleepWill God bring with Him. Yea, I say to youBy the command and promise of the LordIf we survive to see the Lord returnWe shall not so forestall our sleeping friendIn springing toward Him as He hither comes.For with a shout the Lord Himself from heavenWill hither come descending with the voiceOf the archangel and the trump of God.First shall those dead in Christ arise, and thenWe, if we linger living till He come,(Transfigured in the twinkling of an eyeWhen the trump sounded to our heavenly guise)Will be with them together in the cloudsCaught up in instant rapture from the earthTo meet the Lord descended in the air:So shall we be forever with the Lord.With these things comfort ye yourselves, and eachComfort the other.
"And all comfort me!"Paul added, with a breaking voice, and tears;But quick he rallied for those others' sakeAnd his victorious tone recovered quite,Looking down, like a warrior on a foeTrampled into the dust beneath his feet—So looking down upon that vanquished grave,Paul almost chanted in heroic rhythmThis lyric exultation calmed to praise:"O death, where is thy sting? Thy victory where,O grave? Thanks be to God who giveth us,Through our Lord Jesus Christ, the victory!"
Paul indeed craved the touch of human love,To stay him with a healing sense of help,And medicine to sorrow; but in partIt was for his companions' own behoofHe had desired their fellowship of cheer;He knew well that to comfort was of allWays the way surest to be comforted.
The day following, the shipwrecked company embark on a vessel that had wintered at Melita and sail for Puteoli. The islanders give Paul and his companions a grateful farewell of good wishes and of presents for their cheer. With Felix and Drusilla goes as a fresh addition to their train a Phrygian runaway slave whom Syrus, a young slave of Felix's, has befriended and has devised thus to get safely to Rome. Stephen is made confidant of this plan, and becoming interested in the runaway introduces him to Paul. The foot journey from Puteoli to Rome is accomplished, the approach to that city being made along the Appian Way. Various reflections are inspired in Paul by this experience and by the sight of the metropolis itself. At Rome, the Phrygian runaway slave goes to Paul's quarters, merged in the daily concourse that throngs thither to hear the gospel. Having been converted, he is encouraged by Paul to return to his master. This he finally does, carrying with him a letter from Paul. The result is, that the slave at the wish of the master comes joyfully back to Rome and devotes himself to the loving service of Paul.
ARRIVAL.
A trireme that had wintered in the isle—By stress of weather hindered in her wayFrom Egypt to the shores of Italy—Refitted now was ready to pursueHer destined voyage to Puteoli.The master's thought had been to put to seaThat selfsame day whose beamy morn beheldThe meeting on the hill in Melita;But the centurion intervened to bidDelay the sailing yet another day:His mind was with his prisoners to embarkHimself on that Egyptian ship for Rome;And, partly out of kindly complaisanceToward Paul, and partly from a sympathyUnconscious, or ashamed and unconfessedOf interest in the tale that Mary told,He would not let the purposes he knewEngaged the Christians for that morn be crossed.The morrow morn full early they put forthOn a smooth sea beneath a smiling sky.A concourse of the grateful islandersFlowed to the quay with signals of farewellAnd blessing and with honors manifoldLavished on Paul and for Paul's sake on themThat with him sailed; nor only eager wordsBrought they and tears of reverence and of love,But bounty in unbounded store of allThings needful to sustain those travellers' cheer.So, sail and oar, they steered for Syracuse;There for three days they tarried, and thence northWarping their way in variance with the windTouched Rhegium where another day they bide.Then, the south blowing, they once more set sailAnd the next day attained Puteoli.Of those who sailed on that good ship for RomeWere Felix and Drusilla with their train;And their train was, by one addition, moreThan when the shipwreck cast them on the isle.This was a slave, a Phrygian runaway,Out of Colossæ strayed to MelitaBut in his wish and purpose aimed for Rome:He should be safely lost in multitudeDrowned in the depths of that metropolis.The shifty Syrus, fond of his device,And not without true kindness in his heart,Meeting the fugitive had befriended him.Onesimus—such name the bondman bore—He wisely warned that, wandering unattachedAnd destitute (for spent long since was allHe had in starting from his lord purloined),He advertised himself for what he was,A vagrant slave, and ran a needless risk."Attach thyself," said Syrus, "to the trainOf my lord Felix; I will manage itHe shall receive thee; he delights in pompAnd show as does Drusilla too his spouse,And they would gladly swell their retinueWith one head more to make them great at Rome.This gets thee thither whither thou wouldst go;Once there, thou quittest at thine own good willThy dear adoptive master's service—noExchanges of farewells betwixt you twain—And hast thy freedom, safe of course from him,Lord Felix, who will have no claim on thee,And well removed from fear of thine own lord."He added in pathetic humor half:"Remember Syrus when thou art thine ownAnd hast perhaps some small peculium gained,And in turn help who freely now helps thee."Onesimus, so doing as Syrus plannedHis part, was reckoned of lord Felix slave,And on that vessel sailed with him to Rome.Now that which Syrus had, on Stephen's behalfAnd on Eunicé's, done and dared, the dayThat Felix in his lust threatened to themIn his own house in Melita such harm—This, Stephen in time had come to know; nor ceasedThenceforth to wish that he might recompenseIn some kind to the bondman his good will.His grateful wish Stephen had signifiedTo Syrus, which emboldened him in turnTo make the Hebrew youth a confidantOf his devices for Onesimus.Thus Stephen with Onesimus had talked;Not often, for need was that all should beTransacted as in secret to avoidFelix's, more, Drusilla's, jealous watch—Not often but so many times as servedTo yield some true impression to the youthOf what the slave was in his manhood's worth,And to inflame a generous desireOf rescue for him to a nobler life.Stephen spoke of Onesimus to Paul,And Paul on shipboard came to speech with him.The runaway's heart was wholly won to Paul;And ere those parted at PuteoliOnesimus had gladly promised StephenTo seek his uncle out, arrived in Rome.A sequel thence redounded to the slaveOf boundless blessing he had dreamed not of;Likewise of good to men in every ageWherever might be found fit soul to beEnnobled to the touch of noble thought,In answerable style with noblenessConveyed, and purified fine feeling, borneTo perfect heavenly-mindedness yet sweetAnd tender with a pulsing human love.For Felix and Drusilla, disembarked,No welcome waited and no warm godspeed;They went their Romeward way in lonely state,The showiest that in their impoverished plightThey could make shift to invest themselves withal.But Paul with his companions, good heart's cheerMet at Puteoli; a brotherhoodOf lovers greeted them and bade them bideSeven days for rest and for refreshment there:The kindly Julius suffered this to themFor Paul's sake easily, seeing to Paul he owedHis own life snatched from those shipwrecking waves.A week of opportunity it wasTo Paul for service of his fellow-men;For he most rested when he labored most,Unhindered, with the joy of harvest his,Winning men to the obedience of his Lord.Fed with a full refection of such toilAnd gladdened with the cordial dearest to him,Comfort of love from mutual human hearts,The prisoner apostle, those seven daysEnded, was ready to move on toward Rome.Dusty and weary footing many a mileTo him and to his fellow-prisoners,As to those willing sharers of his lot,Lay stretched before them on the Roman road.Eastward a stage by the Campanian WayTo Capua—city famous then as sinceFor lulling in her too luxurious lapTo loss of manhood in enervate slothThose warriors who, with the great HannibalFor leader, late had spurned the barrier Alps,Thence, like a loosened avalanche, had fallenOn Italy—and might have taken Rome!A different conqueror now in captive's chainsWas marching on that world-metropolis:No battle of the warrior would he wage,With confused noise and garments rolled in blood;Yet wrested from the Cæsars Rome should beAnd from the empire of her gods no gods!From Capua northwestward breaking sharp,The Way, now Appian from Campanian, ledOver the stream Vulturnus; then acrossSavo to Sinuessa by the sea;Onward thence, climbing the Falernian hillsVine-clad, until the Massic, last of these,Descended on their northward-sliding slope,Shut off behind the wayfarers their viewOf the bright summit of Vesuvius(His fiery heart uneasily asleep)And the blue circlet of the Lucrine Lake.Like a stream flooded level with its banks,The Appian Way was filled from side to sideWith travel flowing double to and fro.Now centuries of soldiers, foot or horse,Clanged iron hoof or heel with rhythmic beatAlong the bedded rock that paved their way;Now pomps of embassy in various garb,Returning from their suits at Cæsar's feetOr thither tending vexed with hope or fear;Then some gay reveller to Baiæ bound,Behind his foaming steeds urged ever on,Dashed in his biga down the crowded roadAnd recked not what might meet his whirling wheels;Next, moving slowly in more solemn state—Outriders either hand and nigh before—The chariot of some rich patrician rolledWho sought the spring of southern Italy:Huge wains there were, that creaked along the wayLaden with beasts from Afric or from Ind,Lions and tigers, and hyenas dire;These—destined to dye red, perhaps with bloodOf human ravin, the arena sandsOf mighty amphitheaters, a feastOf foul and fell delight to avid eyesOf Roman lords and ladies gathered thereWith scum and dross plebeian to behold—Now winked and glared behind their prison-barsOr frothed and fretted out their fierce disdain.Luxurious litters borne of sinewy slaves—Who softly eased them, bending as they wentWith well-timed flexure and compliant gaitTheir supple knees in perfect unison—Were thickly sown between, with ladies fairReposing in them sunk in silk and down,Or senators of Rome effeminate;Besides, were foot-wayfarers, motley groupsOr single, messengers that hasted post,Slaves trusted by their masters to conveyLetters of import out of lands remoteTo Rome or out of Rome abroad; with those,Idlers and loiterers sauntering without aim,Vomit from Rome or current thither sucked,Freemen, but of the dregs of populaceAnd shameless feeders at the public crib.Beholding all this various spectacleOf life lived wholly without God, and vain,Paul sighed in spirit and thought: 'The world, the world!How vast and dreadful, overshadowing all!How strong and dreadful, dominating all!Kingdom and usurpation in the earth!What power shall overthrow thee, so enthronedAs thou art at the center of all thingsIn Rome, and wielding, thou unshaken there,Thence wielding all the shaken universeImplement in thy hand to wreak thy will?Appalling! Yea, yet am I not appalled."Be of good cheer," said Jesus, then when HeSeemed to be sinking vanquished by the world,Even then, "Be of good cheer," said He, "lo, IHave overcome the world." O, hollow showAnd mockery of power browbeating me!Browbeaten am I not, though in myselfNothing, nay, less than nothing, vanity.There is One in me who is mightier farThan is that mighty who is in the world.Not carnal are the weapons of my war;But potent through my God they yet shall proveUnto the pulling down of all strong holds,And false imaginations of the mindsOf men, with every overweening highThing that exalts itself against the Lord!'But, O, the streams of men that blinded go,One secular procession perishing,Endlessly on and on, from age to age,In every race and clime—that blinded goIn sadness or with madcap songs of mirthFrightfully toward the brink and precipiceBeetling sheer over the abyss profoundOf hopeless utter last despair and death—For whom Christ died! Shall He have died in vain?Forbid it God! Was it not promised HimThat he should of the travail of His soulSee and be satisfied? My soul with HisTravails in infinite desire to save;Give Thou me children in my bonds at Rome!O God, my God, hear me herein I pray!'Enlarged in heart with such desire and prayerAnd lifted high in hope of what would be,Paul walked as one with feet above the groundUnconsciously buoyed up to tread the air.But God had further cheer in store for him.At Appii Forum and the Taverns Three,Two several stations on the Appian Way,There met him out of Rome two companiesOf brethren who, while he abode those daysGuest at Puteoli, had heard of himAs Romeward faring, and had come thus farTo bring him greeting and good cheer. They viedWith one another, those two companies,In joyful rivalry of love to seeWhich should speed faster farther forth, and comeFirst with their plight of loyalty to Paul.Divided thus, their welcome doubled wasIn worth and in effect to him who nowThanked God and took fresh heart. So on to Rome.The city, from the summit of a hillSurmounted, of the Alban range, hill hungWith villas and with villages, was seen,A huge agglomerate of building heavedAbove the level campagna, circuit wideBy the blue Sabine mountains bounded northWith lone Soracte in Etruria shown—Streets of bright suburbs, gardens, aqueductsConfused about the walls on every side.Between long rows of stately sepulchersIllustrious with memorial names inscribed,The Scipios, the Metelli, many more—Each name a magic spell to summon upThe image of the greatness of the RomeThat had been—ranged along the Appian Way,Slowly they passed, Paul with his train, unmarked.Through throngs of frequence serried ever denseAnd denser with the confluence of the tidesOf travel and of traffic intermixed,Pedestrian, and equestrian, and what rolledIn chariots, splendid equipage, or mean,Entering and issuing at the city gate—Slowly, thus hindered, on they urged their way.At last they—passing by the Capene portUnder an arch of stone forever dewedAnd dripping through its grudging pores with oozeAs of cold sweat wrung out by agonyTo bear the great weight of the aqueductAbove it—were within the Servian Wall.On their left hand the Aventine, they woundAbout the Cœlian by its base; traversedA droop of hollow to the Palatine;Over the gentle undulation namedVelia next passing (where, ere many years,The arch of Titus would erect its prideTo glory over Jerusalem destroyed!);Hence down the Sacred Way into the famedForum, where stood that milestone golden calledWhich rayed out roads to all the provinces,And was as if the navel of the world.All round them here great architecture rose,Temples, basilicas, long colonnades,Triumphal arches, amphitheaters,Aqueducts vaulting with colossal springAs if in huge Cyclopean sport acrossFrom pier to pier of massive masonry;Stupendous spectacle! but over all,To Paul's eye, one sole legend written large,Not Rome's majestic history and power,But her abjectness in idolatry;Rome's captive pitied her, and would have saved!Crowning the summit of the Capitoline,The palace of the Cæsars wide outspread,A wilderness of building, hung in view.To Burrus, the prætorian prefect, hereIn due course Julius gave his prisoners up;But ere he deemed himself acquitted quiteOf his debt due to Paul he gained for himFrom Burrus, a just man, the privilegeOf living as in free captivityIn quarters of his own, at small removeFrom the prætorium yet in privacy.With Paul abode his sister and her son;Ruth nigh at hand with her Eunicé lodged—Protected, for again from these not farThe faithful Luke and Aristarchus dwelt.A season the disciples of the LordIn Rome supplied to all their frugal needs;But each one had some handicraft or skillWhich soon found chance and scope to exerciseItself to purpose; and with cheerful toilIn thankfulness they earned their daily bread.Two years long here, as late in Cæsarea,Paul waited on the wanton whim of power;A prisoner in chains, accused of crime,And even the right of trial still denied.Yet, though both night and day, asleep, awake,Bound to a ruthless Roman soldier armTo arm, he, the great heart, the spacious mind,Was not uncomforted, not void of joy:He had at full his fellowship of love,And, better, he could freely preach his Lord.Besides, whatever soldier guarded him,That soldier, if his heart was capableAt all of gentleness for any causeToward any one, was softened toward this manWhom he felt ever strangely toward himselfAs toward one not so happy in his lotConsiderate, regardful, pitiful;And whom not seldom, with a sweet constraintPersuaded or compelled, he listened toTelling him of a Savior that could saveEven to the uttermost, therefore also him.As loyal lover of his nation, PaulInvited to give audience to his causeFirst his compatriots judged the chief in Rome.He told them that, albeit he had appealedTo Cæsar from his fellow-countrymen,Yet had he naught to accuse his nation of.Paul's hearers on their part had had, they said,No word against him from Jerusalem.They added: "We would hear thee speak thy mind;As for this party of the Nazarene,That everywhere we know is spoken against."So they appointed Paul a day to speak,And in full frequence to his lodgings came.All the day long from morn to evenfallHe held discourse to them, and testifiedThe kingdom come on earth of God, and Him,The King, Christ Jesus; with persuasions drawnFrom Moses and from all the prophets old.Divided were his hearers; some electBelieved, but others disbelieved. To thesePaul solemnly denounced the prophecyOf sad Isaiah to his countrymenThat seeing they should see and not perceive;Then added: "Witness now, I make you knowThat the salvation sent by God in vainTo you turns to the Gentiles; they will hear."Thenceforward daily, streams of concourse flowedUnhindered, bondmen, freemen, to Paul's doors,And heard while God's ambassador in chainsBesought them to be reconciled to God.The million slaves of the metropolisWere as a subterranean city Rome,Substruction to the mighty capital.Here undercurrent rumor to and froFrom mouth to mouth or haply in dumb signTransmitted—cipher unintelligibleSave to the dwellers of that underworld—Ran swift and secret as by telegraphAnd everywhither messages conveyed.Onesimus thus learned where Paul abode,And what a tide set daily toward him thereOf eager audience for the things he taught:The bondman threw himself upon the tide,And was borne by it whither he would go.Hearing good tidings meant for such as he,Decree of manumission for the slave,He joyful freeman of the Lord became.Freeman and bondman both at once was he—Free from the hateful service of himself,And bond of love to serve his Savior Lord.This his new loyalty Paul put to proofExtreme, proposing to the runawayReturn to his Colossian servitude;Paul would test also the obedient faithOf the wronged master of the fugitive.When Syrus learned this from Onesimus,He, wary, with a much-importing shrugOf shoulder, warned his friend betimes beware.The young disciple by such whispered fearsWas somewhat shaken in his faithful mind;He failed a moment from his first good willTo do as prompted his new heart and Paul.But at the last he was persuaded quite;Yet rather by the spectacle itselfOf that apostle willingly in chainsFor Jesus than by any words he spoke:He fixed to go back to his master. PaulGave him a letter for that master, sealed.Now Paul well knew the master, but of thisHe wisely to Onesimus said naught.Philemon was his name; he had by PaulBeen won to be a brother in the Lord."How knowest thou what is in that letter?" soSyrus, with honest scruple, asked his friend."Paul is a good man, aye; but good men needMoney in Rome to serve themselves withal.He makes a merit of returning theeHaply and in his letter claims rewardWhich thou thyself shalt pay with servitudeExacted henceforth heavier than before—Besides the stripes and brands for runaways.Thou hast thy freedom, keep it, and be wise."Onesimus was wise, but he went back;Onesimus was wise; yea, and he keptHis freedom also, double freedom kept,Of spirit as of flesh, though he went back.This was the letter which the bondman bore:Paul, prisoner of Christ Jesus, and with himTimotheus the brother, to our friendBelovéd and our fellow-laborer,Philemon; and to Appia the sister;And to our fellow-soldier of the truth,Archippus; and to all the church with thee:Grace unto you and peace in plenteous store,From God our Father and His Son our Lord!'I never cease pouring out thanks to GodFor thee, my brother, in my daily prayers;I hear such tidings of thy faith and loveToward our Lord Jesus and toward all God's own.I pray thy faith may multiply itselfRichly in others, and of influence proveTo spread the knowledge everywhere abroadOf all the good in us to work for Christ.Joy have I and sweet comfort in thy love,Because God's people oft have been in heartCheered by thee, brother. So, albeit I mightBoldly in the authority of ChristEnjoin upon thee what is seemly, yetFor love's sake I beseech thee rather, I,Being such as Paul the aged, prisoner nowOf Jesus Christ—beseech thee for my sonWhom I have late begotten in my bonds,Onesimus; unprofitable onceTo thee but now to thee and me alikeFound profitable. I have sent him back—Him have sent back, that is, mine own heart sent;I fain myself had kept him with me hereTo minister to me in thy stead, while IFor preaching the glad tidings wear these bonds;But I would nothing do without thy mindIn order that thy kindness may not beAs of compulsion but of free good will.Who knows but in God's grace and wisdom heWas parted from thee for a little timeThat thou mightst have him for thine own forever,As slave no longer, but above a slave,Brother belovéd now, greatly to me,But how much more to thee, both in the fleshAnd in the Lord! If then a partner's placeI hold in thy regard, receive thou himEven as myself. If he have wronged thee aught,Or anywise have fallen in debt to thee,Put that to mine account.'Until these words,Paul had let Stephen catch with ear alertWhat issued hastening from his fervid lips,And fix it on the parchment with swift hand.But now himself he seized the pen and wroteAs so to make his promise fast and good.'Put that to mine account,' he wrote; 'I, Paul,Write this with mine own hand; I will repayThee; for I would not say to thee that thouOwest to me thy very self besides.Yea, brother'—now by Stephen's hand once more—Let me have joy of thee in Christ the Lord;Comfort thou me in Him. I write to theeIn fullest faith of thine obedient heed;Thou wilt go even beyond my word I know.Moreover I have hope to be thy guestErelong; make ready for me; through the prayersOf you belovéd all, I trust to come.Epaphras, fellow-prisoner of mineIn Jesus Christ, sends greeting to thee; MarkLikewise, and Aristarchus, Demas, Luke,My fellow-laborers, wish thee health and peace.The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ abideA guestship with your spirit evermore!'The generous trust Paul staked upon him foundPhilemon worthy, or him worthy made.At first he frowned on his returning slave,Who shrank before him, conscious of his fault.But in the truth and secret of their hearts,Master and bondman toward each other yearned.Either remembered what before had been,The wont of mutual human-heartednessWhich, between such as they, could not but springTo blossom in kind offices exchangedTo make the bond of master and of slaveUnnatural though it was yet tolerable.Philemon, less in anger and despiteThan in love disappointed and aggrieved,Was ready to burst out upon the youthIn loud upbraidings of his gracelessnessTo have made his master such return for allThe kindness he had tasted in his house;Whereto Onesimus would have repliedWith protestations of his penitenceAnd tears of promise never to offendAgain a master so magnanimous;But when Philemon broke the letter's sealAnd read what Paul had written, his eyes swamAnd his heart melted and he flung his armsWide to embrace his slave and welcome himWith kisses of a brother to his breast;And they twain wept together happy tearsOf equal love and heavenly gratitude,And fell upon their knees before the LordAnd poured out all their soul in fervent prayerFor Paul through whom their blessing came to them.Soon after, from Philemon charged with giftsTo Paul and many messages of love,Onesimus went joyful back to RomeTo serve his master there by serving Paul.He faithfully rehearsed to Syrus allThat at Colossæ chanced to him, and said:"Paul never told me that he knew my lord,That therefore I might trust him all in all.He must have wished to put me so to proofWhat naked peril I would dare for Christ.I tremble when I think: 'If I had failedIn faith and in obedience to Paul's word!Had I not made the venture to go back!What had I lost on earth, perhaps in heaven!'But I am glad the venture was so sheer,Since I at last went back in spite of doubt.But, know, my heart beat thick against my ribs,When I was on the brink to meet him first,My master—for in truth I had wrought him wrong.But, Syrus, what thinkest thou my master did?Thou hast never, I suppose, beheld a slaveWept over by his master as in love,And like an equal drawn unto his breastAnd kissed. But so my master did to me.For he too was disciple, like myself,And Paul erst won him to discipleship;And thus we twain were brethren in the Lord.Andhewas tried and found not wanting too!And here am I in Rome, no runaway,But hither by Philemon's wishes spedTo be a happy minister to Paul."When Syrus heard such things, the skeptic heartThat had resisted all Paul's eloquenceWas overcome at last through works to faith.
A trireme that had wintered in the isle—By stress of weather hindered in her wayFrom Egypt to the shores of Italy—Refitted now was ready to pursueHer destined voyage to Puteoli.The master's thought had been to put to seaThat selfsame day whose beamy morn beheldThe meeting on the hill in Melita;But the centurion intervened to bidDelay the sailing yet another day:His mind was with his prisoners to embarkHimself on that Egyptian ship for Rome;And, partly out of kindly complaisanceToward Paul, and partly from a sympathyUnconscious, or ashamed and unconfessedOf interest in the tale that Mary told,He would not let the purposes he knewEngaged the Christians for that morn be crossed.
The morrow morn full early they put forthOn a smooth sea beneath a smiling sky.A concourse of the grateful islandersFlowed to the quay with signals of farewellAnd blessing and with honors manifoldLavished on Paul and for Paul's sake on themThat with him sailed; nor only eager wordsBrought they and tears of reverence and of love,But bounty in unbounded store of allThings needful to sustain those travellers' cheer.
So, sail and oar, they steered for Syracuse;There for three days they tarried, and thence northWarping their way in variance with the windTouched Rhegium where another day they bide.Then, the south blowing, they once more set sailAnd the next day attained Puteoli.
Of those who sailed on that good ship for RomeWere Felix and Drusilla with their train;And their train was, by one addition, moreThan when the shipwreck cast them on the isle.This was a slave, a Phrygian runaway,Out of Colossæ strayed to MelitaBut in his wish and purpose aimed for Rome:He should be safely lost in multitudeDrowned in the depths of that metropolis.The shifty Syrus, fond of his device,And not without true kindness in his heart,Meeting the fugitive had befriended him.Onesimus—such name the bondman bore—He wisely warned that, wandering unattachedAnd destitute (for spent long since was allHe had in starting from his lord purloined),He advertised himself for what he was,A vagrant slave, and ran a needless risk."Attach thyself," said Syrus, "to the trainOf my lord Felix; I will manage itHe shall receive thee; he delights in pompAnd show as does Drusilla too his spouse,And they would gladly swell their retinueWith one head more to make them great at Rome.This gets thee thither whither thou wouldst go;Once there, thou quittest at thine own good willThy dear adoptive master's service—noExchanges of farewells betwixt you twain—And hast thy freedom, safe of course from him,Lord Felix, who will have no claim on thee,And well removed from fear of thine own lord."He added in pathetic humor half:"Remember Syrus when thou art thine ownAnd hast perhaps some small peculium gained,And in turn help who freely now helps thee."Onesimus, so doing as Syrus plannedHis part, was reckoned of lord Felix slave,And on that vessel sailed with him to Rome.
Now that which Syrus had, on Stephen's behalfAnd on Eunicé's, done and dared, the dayThat Felix in his lust threatened to themIn his own house in Melita such harm—This, Stephen in time had come to know; nor ceasedThenceforth to wish that he might recompenseIn some kind to the bondman his good will.His grateful wish Stephen had signifiedTo Syrus, which emboldened him in turnTo make the Hebrew youth a confidantOf his devices for Onesimus.Thus Stephen with Onesimus had talked;Not often, for need was that all should beTransacted as in secret to avoidFelix's, more, Drusilla's, jealous watch—Not often but so many times as servedTo yield some true impression to the youthOf what the slave was in his manhood's worth,And to inflame a generous desireOf rescue for him to a nobler life.Stephen spoke of Onesimus to Paul,And Paul on shipboard came to speech with him.The runaway's heart was wholly won to Paul;And ere those parted at PuteoliOnesimus had gladly promised StephenTo seek his uncle out, arrived in Rome.A sequel thence redounded to the slaveOf boundless blessing he had dreamed not of;Likewise of good to men in every ageWherever might be found fit soul to beEnnobled to the touch of noble thought,In answerable style with noblenessConveyed, and purified fine feeling, borneTo perfect heavenly-mindedness yet sweetAnd tender with a pulsing human love.
For Felix and Drusilla, disembarked,No welcome waited and no warm godspeed;They went their Romeward way in lonely state,The showiest that in their impoverished plightThey could make shift to invest themselves withal.But Paul with his companions, good heart's cheerMet at Puteoli; a brotherhoodOf lovers greeted them and bade them bideSeven days for rest and for refreshment there:The kindly Julius suffered this to themFor Paul's sake easily, seeing to Paul he owedHis own life snatched from those shipwrecking waves.A week of opportunity it wasTo Paul for service of his fellow-men;For he most rested when he labored most,Unhindered, with the joy of harvest his,Winning men to the obedience of his Lord.Fed with a full refection of such toilAnd gladdened with the cordial dearest to him,Comfort of love from mutual human hearts,The prisoner apostle, those seven daysEnded, was ready to move on toward Rome.
Dusty and weary footing many a mileTo him and to his fellow-prisoners,As to those willing sharers of his lot,Lay stretched before them on the Roman road.Eastward a stage by the Campanian WayTo Capua—city famous then as sinceFor lulling in her too luxurious lapTo loss of manhood in enervate slothThose warriors who, with the great HannibalFor leader, late had spurned the barrier Alps,Thence, like a loosened avalanche, had fallenOn Italy—and might have taken Rome!A different conqueror now in captive's chainsWas marching on that world-metropolis:No battle of the warrior would he wage,With confused noise and garments rolled in blood;Yet wrested from the Cæsars Rome should beAnd from the empire of her gods no gods!
From Capua northwestward breaking sharp,The Way, now Appian from Campanian, ledOver the stream Vulturnus; then acrossSavo to Sinuessa by the sea;Onward thence, climbing the Falernian hillsVine-clad, until the Massic, last of these,Descended on their northward-sliding slope,Shut off behind the wayfarers their viewOf the bright summit of Vesuvius(His fiery heart uneasily asleep)And the blue circlet of the Lucrine Lake.
Like a stream flooded level with its banks,The Appian Way was filled from side to sideWith travel flowing double to and fro.Now centuries of soldiers, foot or horse,Clanged iron hoof or heel with rhythmic beatAlong the bedded rock that paved their way;Now pomps of embassy in various garb,Returning from their suits at Cæsar's feetOr thither tending vexed with hope or fear;Then some gay reveller to Baiæ bound,Behind his foaming steeds urged ever on,Dashed in his biga down the crowded roadAnd recked not what might meet his whirling wheels;Next, moving slowly in more solemn state—Outriders either hand and nigh before—The chariot of some rich patrician rolledWho sought the spring of southern Italy:Huge wains there were, that creaked along the wayLaden with beasts from Afric or from Ind,Lions and tigers, and hyenas dire;These—destined to dye red, perhaps with bloodOf human ravin, the arena sandsOf mighty amphitheaters, a feastOf foul and fell delight to avid eyesOf Roman lords and ladies gathered thereWith scum and dross plebeian to behold—Now winked and glared behind their prison-barsOr frothed and fretted out their fierce disdain.Luxurious litters borne of sinewy slaves—Who softly eased them, bending as they wentWith well-timed flexure and compliant gaitTheir supple knees in perfect unison—Were thickly sown between, with ladies fairReposing in them sunk in silk and down,Or senators of Rome effeminate;Besides, were foot-wayfarers, motley groupsOr single, messengers that hasted post,Slaves trusted by their masters to conveyLetters of import out of lands remoteTo Rome or out of Rome abroad; with those,Idlers and loiterers sauntering without aim,Vomit from Rome or current thither sucked,Freemen, but of the dregs of populaceAnd shameless feeders at the public crib.
Beholding all this various spectacleOf life lived wholly without God, and vain,Paul sighed in spirit and thought: 'The world, the world!How vast and dreadful, overshadowing all!How strong and dreadful, dominating all!Kingdom and usurpation in the earth!What power shall overthrow thee, so enthronedAs thou art at the center of all thingsIn Rome, and wielding, thou unshaken there,Thence wielding all the shaken universeImplement in thy hand to wreak thy will?Appalling! Yea, yet am I not appalled."Be of good cheer," said Jesus, then when HeSeemed to be sinking vanquished by the world,Even then, "Be of good cheer," said He, "lo, IHave overcome the world." O, hollow showAnd mockery of power browbeating me!Browbeaten am I not, though in myselfNothing, nay, less than nothing, vanity.There is One in me who is mightier farThan is that mighty who is in the world.Not carnal are the weapons of my war;But potent through my God they yet shall proveUnto the pulling down of all strong holds,And false imaginations of the mindsOf men, with every overweening highThing that exalts itself against the Lord!
'But, O, the streams of men that blinded go,One secular procession perishing,Endlessly on and on, from age to age,In every race and clime—that blinded goIn sadness or with madcap songs of mirthFrightfully toward the brink and precipiceBeetling sheer over the abyss profoundOf hopeless utter last despair and death—For whom Christ died! Shall He have died in vain?Forbid it God! Was it not promised HimThat he should of the travail of His soulSee and be satisfied? My soul with HisTravails in infinite desire to save;Give Thou me children in my bonds at Rome!O God, my God, hear me herein I pray!'
Enlarged in heart with such desire and prayerAnd lifted high in hope of what would be,Paul walked as one with feet above the groundUnconsciously buoyed up to tread the air.But God had further cheer in store for him.At Appii Forum and the Taverns Three,Two several stations on the Appian Way,There met him out of Rome two companiesOf brethren who, while he abode those daysGuest at Puteoli, had heard of himAs Romeward faring, and had come thus farTo bring him greeting and good cheer. They viedWith one another, those two companies,In joyful rivalry of love to seeWhich should speed faster farther forth, and comeFirst with their plight of loyalty to Paul.Divided thus, their welcome doubled wasIn worth and in effect to him who nowThanked God and took fresh heart. So on to Rome.
The city, from the summit of a hillSurmounted, of the Alban range, hill hungWith villas and with villages, was seen,A huge agglomerate of building heavedAbove the level campagna, circuit wideBy the blue Sabine mountains bounded northWith lone Soracte in Etruria shown—Streets of bright suburbs, gardens, aqueductsConfused about the walls on every side.Between long rows of stately sepulchersIllustrious with memorial names inscribed,The Scipios, the Metelli, many more—Each name a magic spell to summon upThe image of the greatness of the RomeThat had been—ranged along the Appian Way,Slowly they passed, Paul with his train, unmarked.Through throngs of frequence serried ever denseAnd denser with the confluence of the tidesOf travel and of traffic intermixed,Pedestrian, and equestrian, and what rolledIn chariots, splendid equipage, or mean,Entering and issuing at the city gate—Slowly, thus hindered, on they urged their way.
At last they—passing by the Capene portUnder an arch of stone forever dewedAnd dripping through its grudging pores with oozeAs of cold sweat wrung out by agonyTo bear the great weight of the aqueductAbove it—were within the Servian Wall.On their left hand the Aventine, they woundAbout the Cœlian by its base; traversedA droop of hollow to the Palatine;Over the gentle undulation namedVelia next passing (where, ere many years,The arch of Titus would erect its prideTo glory over Jerusalem destroyed!);Hence down the Sacred Way into the famedForum, where stood that milestone golden calledWhich rayed out roads to all the provinces,And was as if the navel of the world.
All round them here great architecture rose,Temples, basilicas, long colonnades,Triumphal arches, amphitheaters,Aqueducts vaulting with colossal springAs if in huge Cyclopean sport acrossFrom pier to pier of massive masonry;Stupendous spectacle! but over all,To Paul's eye, one sole legend written large,Not Rome's majestic history and power,But her abjectness in idolatry;Rome's captive pitied her, and would have saved!
Crowning the summit of the Capitoline,The palace of the Cæsars wide outspread,A wilderness of building, hung in view.To Burrus, the prætorian prefect, hereIn due course Julius gave his prisoners up;But ere he deemed himself acquitted quiteOf his debt due to Paul he gained for himFrom Burrus, a just man, the privilegeOf living as in free captivityIn quarters of his own, at small removeFrom the prætorium yet in privacy.With Paul abode his sister and her son;Ruth nigh at hand with her Eunicé lodged—Protected, for again from these not farThe faithful Luke and Aristarchus dwelt.A season the disciples of the LordIn Rome supplied to all their frugal needs;But each one had some handicraft or skillWhich soon found chance and scope to exerciseItself to purpose; and with cheerful toilIn thankfulness they earned their daily bread.
Two years long here, as late in Cæsarea,Paul waited on the wanton whim of power;A prisoner in chains, accused of crime,And even the right of trial still denied.Yet, though both night and day, asleep, awake,Bound to a ruthless Roman soldier armTo arm, he, the great heart, the spacious mind,Was not uncomforted, not void of joy:He had at full his fellowship of love,And, better, he could freely preach his Lord.Besides, whatever soldier guarded him,That soldier, if his heart was capableAt all of gentleness for any causeToward any one, was softened toward this manWhom he felt ever strangely toward himselfAs toward one not so happy in his lotConsiderate, regardful, pitiful;And whom not seldom, with a sweet constraintPersuaded or compelled, he listened toTelling him of a Savior that could saveEven to the uttermost, therefore also him.
As loyal lover of his nation, PaulInvited to give audience to his causeFirst his compatriots judged the chief in Rome.He told them that, albeit he had appealedTo Cæsar from his fellow-countrymen,Yet had he naught to accuse his nation of.Paul's hearers on their part had had, they said,No word against him from Jerusalem.They added: "We would hear thee speak thy mind;As for this party of the Nazarene,That everywhere we know is spoken against."So they appointed Paul a day to speak,And in full frequence to his lodgings came.All the day long from morn to evenfallHe held discourse to them, and testifiedThe kingdom come on earth of God, and Him,The King, Christ Jesus; with persuasions drawnFrom Moses and from all the prophets old.Divided were his hearers; some electBelieved, but others disbelieved. To thesePaul solemnly denounced the prophecyOf sad Isaiah to his countrymenThat seeing they should see and not perceive;Then added: "Witness now, I make you knowThat the salvation sent by God in vainTo you turns to the Gentiles; they will hear."Thenceforward daily, streams of concourse flowedUnhindered, bondmen, freemen, to Paul's doors,And heard while God's ambassador in chainsBesought them to be reconciled to God.
The million slaves of the metropolisWere as a subterranean city Rome,Substruction to the mighty capital.Here undercurrent rumor to and froFrom mouth to mouth or haply in dumb signTransmitted—cipher unintelligibleSave to the dwellers of that underworld—Ran swift and secret as by telegraphAnd everywhither messages conveyed.Onesimus thus learned where Paul abode,And what a tide set daily toward him thereOf eager audience for the things he taught:The bondman threw himself upon the tide,And was borne by it whither he would go.Hearing good tidings meant for such as he,Decree of manumission for the slave,He joyful freeman of the Lord became.Freeman and bondman both at once was he—Free from the hateful service of himself,And bond of love to serve his Savior Lord.
This his new loyalty Paul put to proofExtreme, proposing to the runawayReturn to his Colossian servitude;Paul would test also the obedient faithOf the wronged master of the fugitive.When Syrus learned this from Onesimus,He, wary, with a much-importing shrugOf shoulder, warned his friend betimes beware.The young disciple by such whispered fearsWas somewhat shaken in his faithful mind;He failed a moment from his first good willTo do as prompted his new heart and Paul.But at the last he was persuaded quite;Yet rather by the spectacle itselfOf that apostle willingly in chainsFor Jesus than by any words he spoke:He fixed to go back to his master. PaulGave him a letter for that master, sealed.Now Paul well knew the master, but of thisHe wisely to Onesimus said naught.Philemon was his name; he had by PaulBeen won to be a brother in the Lord.
"How knowest thou what is in that letter?" soSyrus, with honest scruple, asked his friend."Paul is a good man, aye; but good men needMoney in Rome to serve themselves withal.He makes a merit of returning theeHaply and in his letter claims rewardWhich thou thyself shalt pay with servitudeExacted henceforth heavier than before—Besides the stripes and brands for runaways.Thou hast thy freedom, keep it, and be wise."
Onesimus was wise, but he went back;Onesimus was wise; yea, and he keptHis freedom also, double freedom kept,Of spirit as of flesh, though he went back.This was the letter which the bondman bore:Paul, prisoner of Christ Jesus, and with himTimotheus the brother, to our friendBelovéd and our fellow-laborer,Philemon; and to Appia the sister;And to our fellow-soldier of the truth,Archippus; and to all the church with thee:Grace unto you and peace in plenteous store,From God our Father and His Son our Lord!
'I never cease pouring out thanks to GodFor thee, my brother, in my daily prayers;I hear such tidings of thy faith and loveToward our Lord Jesus and toward all God's own.I pray thy faith may multiply itselfRichly in others, and of influence proveTo spread the knowledge everywhere abroadOf all the good in us to work for Christ.Joy have I and sweet comfort in thy love,Because God's people oft have been in heartCheered by thee, brother. So, albeit I mightBoldly in the authority of ChristEnjoin upon thee what is seemly, yetFor love's sake I beseech thee rather, I,Being such as Paul the aged, prisoner nowOf Jesus Christ—beseech thee for my sonWhom I have late begotten in my bonds,Onesimus; unprofitable onceTo thee but now to thee and me alikeFound profitable. I have sent him back—Him have sent back, that is, mine own heart sent;I fain myself had kept him with me hereTo minister to me in thy stead, while IFor preaching the glad tidings wear these bonds;But I would nothing do without thy mindIn order that thy kindness may not beAs of compulsion but of free good will.Who knows but in God's grace and wisdom heWas parted from thee for a little timeThat thou mightst have him for thine own forever,As slave no longer, but above a slave,Brother belovéd now, greatly to me,But how much more to thee, both in the fleshAnd in the Lord! If then a partner's placeI hold in thy regard, receive thou himEven as myself. If he have wronged thee aught,Or anywise have fallen in debt to thee,Put that to mine account.'
Until these words,Paul had let Stephen catch with ear alertWhat issued hastening from his fervid lips,And fix it on the parchment with swift hand.But now himself he seized the pen and wroteAs so to make his promise fast and good.'Put that to mine account,' he wrote; 'I, Paul,Write this with mine own hand; I will repayThee; for I would not say to thee that thouOwest to me thy very self besides.Yea, brother'—now by Stephen's hand once more—Let me have joy of thee in Christ the Lord;Comfort thou me in Him. I write to theeIn fullest faith of thine obedient heed;Thou wilt go even beyond my word I know.Moreover I have hope to be thy guestErelong; make ready for me; through the prayersOf you belovéd all, I trust to come.
Epaphras, fellow-prisoner of mineIn Jesus Christ, sends greeting to thee; MarkLikewise, and Aristarchus, Demas, Luke,My fellow-laborers, wish thee health and peace.The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ abideA guestship with your spirit evermore!'
The generous trust Paul staked upon him foundPhilemon worthy, or him worthy made.At first he frowned on his returning slave,Who shrank before him, conscious of his fault.But in the truth and secret of their hearts,Master and bondman toward each other yearned.Either remembered what before had been,The wont of mutual human-heartednessWhich, between such as they, could not but springTo blossom in kind offices exchangedTo make the bond of master and of slaveUnnatural though it was yet tolerable.Philemon, less in anger and despiteThan in love disappointed and aggrieved,Was ready to burst out upon the youthIn loud upbraidings of his gracelessnessTo have made his master such return for allThe kindness he had tasted in his house;Whereto Onesimus would have repliedWith protestations of his penitenceAnd tears of promise never to offendAgain a master so magnanimous;But when Philemon broke the letter's sealAnd read what Paul had written, his eyes swamAnd his heart melted and he flung his armsWide to embrace his slave and welcome himWith kisses of a brother to his breast;And they twain wept together happy tearsOf equal love and heavenly gratitude,And fell upon their knees before the LordAnd poured out all their soul in fervent prayerFor Paul through whom their blessing came to them.
Soon after, from Philemon charged with giftsTo Paul and many messages of love,Onesimus went joyful back to RomeTo serve his master there by serving Paul.He faithfully rehearsed to Syrus allThat at Colossæ chanced to him, and said:"Paul never told me that he knew my lord,That therefore I might trust him all in all.He must have wished to put me so to proofWhat naked peril I would dare for Christ.I tremble when I think: 'If I had failedIn faith and in obedience to Paul's word!Had I not made the venture to go back!What had I lost on earth, perhaps in heaven!'But I am glad the venture was so sheer,Since I at last went back in spite of doubt.But, know, my heart beat thick against my ribs,When I was on the brink to meet him first,My master—for in truth I had wrought him wrong.But, Syrus, what thinkest thou my master did?Thou hast never, I suppose, beheld a slaveWept over by his master as in love,And like an equal drawn unto his breastAnd kissed. But so my master did to me.For he too was disciple, like myself,And Paul erst won him to discipleship;And thus we twain were brethren in the Lord.Andhewas tried and found not wanting too!And here am I in Rome, no runaway,But hither by Philemon's wishes spedTo be a happy minister to Paul."
When Syrus heard such things, the skeptic heartThat had resisted all Paul's eloquenceWas overcome at last through works to faith.