Onesimus and Syrus had been seizedTo make them swear a dreadful perjury;It was persuasion from Drusilla wroughtWith Tigellinus to commit this deedOf outrage against ruth and righteousness:Those bondmen should be brought, by utmost pangsWreaked on them in the anguish of the rack,To charge Paul with the poisoning of her spouse.Drusilla first had vainly sought to bribePoor Syrus to that lie and perfidy.Smiles, blandishments, entreaties, promises,Failing—she next, with scourgings from her tongue,Threats, thrusts from female weapons in her hands,Had striven to warp him to her wish—in vain.At last she, giving him up for torture, yetBade him remember he need only swear,Therein supported by Onesimus,That from Paul's hand he had a dust received—Impalpable, so fine—of unknown powerTo work unknown effect upon a man,And had by Paul instructed been to siftThis secretly into some draught his lordWould drink, and watch how it would gladden him—That he had only to protest that lie,Confessing then that, in all innocenceOf childish curiosity to see,He did it when his mistress sent by himA sleeping-draught to Felix in his bath—Only just this, and straight for both of them,Onesimus with Syrus, the sharp painsAnd rending of the question should be stayed.Syrus said sadly to Onesimus:"O, would that Paul were here to give us heart!""Jesus is here, and He will give us heart,"Onesimus replied; "let us trust Him.""I fear I shall be broken to their will,"Said Syrus, "and swear whatever they desire;I am so in terror of the frightful pain!"This was while they were binding the poor slavesUpon the rack. His comrade spoke in cheer:"'Lo, I am with you alway,' Jesus said;He will not let us suffer overmuch.I shall not wonder if He take awayThe pain, almost—or altogether even.For He abideth faithful—so Paul says,And Paul has proved it over and over again.At any rate, the promise Jesus madeTo Paul once, when his need was very sore,Will be as good to us in this our stead;His grace will be sufficient for us still.The dread is heavier than the pain will be."And it was so; for after the first wrench,Which well-nigh solved the jointings of their limbs,The spirit rose the sovereign of the fleshAnd bore those helpless victims of the rackTriumphant as in painless ecstasy.Their mortal frames became as instrumentsOf music underneath the player's hand;For every quivering nerve within them strungResponded to the running torture's touchIn bursts of exclamation like the notesOf a song sung to some pathetic tuneWherein the pathos still keeps triumphing:"Lord Jesus, this for Thee!" "And this!" "O, joyThat we are counted worthy thus to suffer!""It is not suffering, since for Thee we suffer!"Meanwhile to every challenge touching Paul,Though thrills of anguish broke their speech to cries,They said, and would forever only say:"He taught us nothing but to reverenceOur masters with all good fidelityOf service rendered them out of true heartsAs to the Lord in heaven and not to men."By secret orders from the emperorThe torture-room was cunningly contrivedTo be a sort of whispering gallery,An ear of Dionysius, to resoundWhatever might be uttered from the rackWrung out of victims put to question there—Words, cries, sighs, groans, or moans of agony—And carry them to distance where above,If one should listen, they might all be heard.Here Nero laid a listening ear that day—Seneca's prompting, who was present too—And heard Onesimus and Syrus bearTheir steadfast witness on behalf of Paul,With adjuration mingled of a Name.The not yet utterly extinguished sparkOf human in that indurated breast(Perhaps therewith effect of fear infused—Divinely—at such adjuration heard)Responded in a transitory glowOf something gentle that resembled ruthToward those poor sufferers faithful against pain;Of something that resembled justice tooToward Paul so stoutly witnessed for by them.He forthwith bade release the witnesses;And hearkened to a counsel touching Paul.For Seneca adventured this to him—A farewell flicker of his influence,Ere Tigellinus overbore him quite—:"Shouldst thou think well it might indeed be well,To loose this Jewish prisoner from his thrall—He giving surety under ample bondTo answer with his person at the barOf Cæsar upon summons, to be triedWhenever shall appear accusers sentAccredited from Jerusalem to Rome."So out of darkness there sprang up a lightTo Paul, and for that present he went free.Soon at a meeting of thanksgiving heldTo celebrate with praises to the LordHis unexpected riddance out of thrallPaul to his brethren and his kindred said:"My life reprieved from threatened death in shame,I dedicate anew to Christ the Lord.I go hence, parting from you all with tearsOf joyful love, and thanks for love againMine in full measure from so many heartsThat have not here my bonds in Christ despised—I go hence, in the Spirit bound, to bearFar as I may abroad in all the worldThe glorious gospel of the blesséd God.Pray for me that I may be sped in peace,And that before me doors of utterance maySwing open wide wherever I am led.The time is short for all of us; for meShorter, it may be, than our present joyBuoys us to hope. Perhaps the Lord will comeAnd find me waking still—and not asleep—To welcome Him descending in the air.Amen! So may it be! Lord Jesus, come!"And yet, belovéd, though these words I speak,A more prevailing prescience in my heartForewarns me I shall witness with my bloodFor Him who suffered unto blood for me.If so it be, amen! Lord Jesus, yea,Thy will for me is my will for myself;I spring to it with joy, or far or near—Unknown to me—enough that it is Thine!"So, farewell, ye. Watch and remember, all,That by the space of two full years in chainsI have not ceased to warn you night and day,Each one, with tears. And now, behold, I knowThat some of you to whom I have fulfilledThis ministry shall see my face no more.O, brethren, I commend you unto God!Be perfect, be of brave and hopeful cheer,Be of one mind, abide in peace, and He,The God of love and peace, shall with you be.O, how my heart is large toward you! The loveOf God, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,And the communion of the Holy GhostBe with you and abound—ever! Amen!"Therewith Paul kneeled and prayed a breaking prayer;And they all wept, and he wept with them all,They falling on his neck and kissing himIn love and sorrow. Each one with himself'Among them, I?' asked, and so sorrowed mostOf all for that word which he spoke, "I knowThat some of you shall see my face no more."Paul sent his kindred and his lovers—thoseWho for his sake had sailed with him to Rome—Back to find home again in Holy Land,While he, with Luke for his companion sole,Should run his rounds of mission through the world."But what ye can," he said, "before ye go,Comfort Onesimus and Syrus, sickWith wounding for Christ's sake and mine; I haveAlready bathed Onesimus with tearsOf love, and bidden him in Christ be strong:Ye will not leave him till his health be wholeAt least enough to take the journey backTo our Philemon, bearing thanks from me."Those here in Rome that love me I shall trustTo speed both you and him with needful aid—Even as I trust them not to let me lack.Onesimus no doubt will find a wayThat ye could not, nor I, to carry helpTo Syrus in his far more wretched case—Beset with household craft and cruelty.Pray ye for him; and lade OnesimusIn seeking Syrus deep with love from me.Christ will not fail him, if he fail not Christ;'It is but for a moment, all the pain,'Charge it upon Onesimus to say,'But for eternal ages is the joy!'"Now unto such as can receive it I,Under this present imminence of woeForerunning the return of Christ the Lord,Give counsel not to marry but abideIn undistracted waiting for the Day.Yet for our Stephen and Eunicé here,Already long betrothed and lovers true,My will is as their will is; let them wed.Stephen as husband to Eunicé canIn journeying better fend both her and RuthHer mother; he as well can fend his own,Rachel, the only—sister of my heart!"Paul's voice a little failed him, ending thus;And all took knowledge how his kindred loveBroke over him, a wave of tenderness!So Stephen and Eunicé wedded were,Paul each in turn adjuring solemnly:"Thou, O Eunicé, wilt as wife be true,That know I well, to whom thou thus hast wed.Submit thyself to him in loyal love,And as in pledged obedience to the Lord—Less to his will so yielding than to Christ's.For God ordains it that the husband beHead to the wife, as to the church is Christ.But thou, O Stephen, judge what sanction soIs on the husband laid, to be how pure,Above self-will and selfishness how high,How full of ministration and of help,How ready ever to self-sacrificeFor the wife's sake, how gentle and how kind!Thou, therefore, Stephen, love thy wife, even soAs the Lord Jesus loved the church, His bride,And for her gave Himself. Be happy, ye,Belovéd, in a love so sanctified."Paul blessed them, and they felt that they were blessed.When soon from Rome they took their homeward way—Ruth, Rachel, and the newly-wedded pair—They wept that they had looked their last on Paul;Wept with rejoicing that, a little while,And the Lord coming would make all things glad.Now Sergius Paulus chose it for his partTo fill Paul's purse, speeding him on his way;But Krishna was of mind himself to goWith those who would return to Holy Land.He longed with his own eyes to see the scenesAmid which Jesus lived His life on earthAnd to glean up from the tradition foundHaply there current in the mouths of menConcerning Him, both what He taught and whatHe was: the Indian's thought was he would then,Full-laden with such treasures of the West,To his own native East return and thereDispense them to enrich his countrymen.Paul bade him prosper in his wish, and go.Acquitted thus of all his natural cares,And joyful in the sense of his reprieve,And springing toward the work that he would do,And for that work renewed in strength by hopeAnd faith and love and zeal unquenchableAnd passion for the saving of the soulsOf men, his fellows, perishing in sin—Much more, by the almighty hand of GodUpon him stayed in an immortal youth—That spent old man, refusing to be spentThough spending daily like the river of God,Set forward, Luke alone companion now,To send with torch in hand a running fireOf gospel conflagration round the world.Go, Paul, forgetful of thyself, make speed!Thou shalt not be forgotten of thy God!Go, with that treasure for thy fellows fraught!Go, with the future of the world in trust!Nowhere in utmost islands of the sea,Never till time shall be no more, shall menNot owe thee debt for blessings manifold—Crowning the life that now is, frail and fleet,Crowning the nobler life that is to be—Blessings theirs but because thou wouldst not shrinkFrom whatsoever hardship, peril, harm,Loss, toil, self-sacrifice to martyrdom.So thou mightst scatter far and wide for usThe deathless seeds of that which we enjoyIn harvest of all good, civilityOf morals and of manners, science, art,Fair order, freedom, progress, light and life,And, overvaulting all, the hope of heaven!While Paul his circuits was accomplishing,Paul's enemies (and ours) were not remiss,Whether in Rome or in Jerusalem.Drusilla, disappointed of her hopesWith Nero to ensnare his heart and beAssumed to sit beside him on his throne,Even cheated for the moment of the glutShe thought she had purchased at such cost to prideOf extreme vengeance visited on Paul,Was sullenly but more than ever bentNot to fail yet of at least that desire.She saw Octavia, sent to exile, wayMake for Poppæa's spousals; heard the shoutOf shallow hollow popular acclaimThat hailed her hated rival conqueror,Bearing her as on billows of applauseTo the high seat herself had hoped for once!Envy and hatred ulcerous ate her heart—But not despair; despair was not for her:Malignity was fuel still to hope.She despatched Simon to JerusalemTo blow the embers smouldering there to flameOf deadly accusation against Paul:Simon was Shimei risen from the dead,Shimei in all his pristine force unspent.The elders of the Jews commissioned him,With others to whom he was heart and head,To press at Rome for Paul the doom of death.Meantime the mouth of common fame beganTo whisper that Poppæa, though a wifeTo Nero now—perhaps because a wifeAnd mother of a daughter, Claudia, bornTo him—no longer charmed him as of old.Unholy hope flared up a flicker of flameDelusive in Drusilla's breast once more.Octavia, when her husband tired of her,Went into exile and then went to deathTo give Poppæa room; Poppæa's turnPerhaps was nearing to make room for her,Drusilla!'Up, O heart!' she inly cried.The emperor had indeed with fickle whim,Dazed by some intercepting lure more nigh,Forgotten quite his thought of tryst with her—As her conditions too he had not met.But her conditions now were well in train,She trusted, to fulfill themselves on Paul;And if before, some trace of conscience leftIn Nero interfered to make him pause,Such scruple would no longer be a letTo his desire, should his desire revive,Of meeting her upon the terms she fixedTo satisfy at once her hate, her pride.Simon then, from Jerusalem returnedBlithe with his prosperous mission and with hope,Should go once more to Nero for her cause.And Simon went, but went not for her cause.He had a purpose of his own to serve—Purpose malignant, fatuous—which, fulfilled,Would swift recoil in ruin on himself.No worship to Poppæa's setting sunPaid by him now to win his way at court,He boldly in Drusilla's name besoughtAccess to the imperial ear: that nameProcured him instant audience. DiscomposedA little by the sudden way he madeSimon stood faltering, and before his witWas ready with apt words the emperor spoke:"What will thy mistress? She perhaps has thoughtThe emperor was a trifle slow to claimHis privilege at her court? Bid her take heart;Things now begin to shape themselves aright."By this time Simon had recovered himself;He said: "My mistress is indulgent, Sire.Knowing my fondness for my art, and wishThat I might entertain the emperor,She begs thou wilt appoint a time for me—""O, aye," the emperor said; "return to her,And if thou canst bring promptly back to meAssurance of her grace that she forgivesMy tardiness in the past, and will receiveMe yet upon the terms she fixed before—Somewhat abated, aye, but in the mainWhole; for although the rabble rest she namedAre scattered and not worth regathering, PaulIs under hand again, duly accused,And freely may be dealt with to our wish—Bring, I say, word to me that she consents,And thou shalt exercise for me thine artAt pleasure here within my palace halls.Go, and good speed, ambassador of love!"The sarcasm and the irony took effectTo quicken in the sorcerer his resolve:For Simon his own doom was teeming now.He was infatuate with the vain conceitThat he the secret in his art possessedOf a mock-supernatural power to playUpon the conscience of the emperorAnd fill his conscious breast with guilty fears:So once he saw Paul play on Felix's,Making him shudder on his judgment-throne;Aye, and so he himself in sequel playedOn the same kingly culprit with his spells.Beyond all, Simon was beside himselfWith suffocated hatred seeking breathIn freak of demonstration on the manWho in the wantonness of despotic prideHad so despised and mocked and flouted him.Mad thus—judicially, and doubly—he,Having brought back the word the emperor wished,And had the promised day appointed him,Dared an audacious and a fatal thing.A series of phantasmagories shownBy him, he closed with a presentment, clearIn outline cast upon the palace wallIn shapes of shadow moving like grim life,Of the dread scene of Agrippina's death:There hung the vessel on a glassy sea;The coping timbers causelessly fell down,But missed the empress-mother figured there;There followed then the ghastly after-actOf mother-murder done in pantomime—More ghastly, that it passed in silence all.Simon mistook—it was his last mistake!He had overweened both of the power his own,And of the emperor's openness to fear.Nero sat gazing on the spectacleWith heed moveless, and mute, and ominous,Till the device was acted to the end.Then still no sign he gave—save summons sentBidding two household soldiers straight come in.To these he coldly, curtly, only said:"Crucify me this Jew; do it at once!Be gentle with him; make him last for days,And every day bring me report of him."Simon bethought him as he shuddering wentHustled and hurried to that sudden doom,Of his gold hoarded long for utmost need:He offered it in ransom for his life.The soldiers took it, share and share alikeBetween them, but it did not buy his life!Simon died miserably upon the cross.'I have abolishedhim!' the emperor thought—'The adamantine front of impudence!Whimsical way of paying a lady court,To crucify her conjurer out of hand!I hope she did not greatly care for him!Happily if she did I can repairThe loss to her by putting Paul to death.Strange, they should hate that blameless man so much!But reasons of state are strong—and reasons of love;I must propitiate with a sacrifice.Jove is compelled by fate mightier than he!'The tetrarch Herod, to content the whimAnd hatred of his wife Herodias,Once at petition of her daughter fair—Whose dancing measures beat at festivalBefore him had, forsooth, the monarch pleased!—Sent to behead John Baptist in his prison:So Nero now in mind delivered PaulTo death—an unconsidered pledge and pawnOf complaisance to a base woman paid.As were a star by some avulsive forceMalignant sheer from out her pathway tornWhere she went singing her celestial wayHappy but to fulfill His high decreeWho orbed her and who sped her on her course(Thenceforth to be abolished from a heavenLighted no longer with her lucent beams!);So Paul was in his heavenly circuits stayedAnd wrenched thence by the hand of violent power.Rome had already round him flung the loopOf her long lasso irresistible,And drawn him home to Cæsar to be judged.No little damped because their head was gone,But more because he so had disappeared,The Jews commissioned from JerusalemPressed fierce their suit against their fellow-Jew.Nero's assessors sat without their chief;For Nero was grown indolent and lax,And he deputed his judicial powers.Yet oft deigned he to give his deputiesHint of what judgment he desired from them;And they now knew the doom required for Paul.Paul was left lonely of all men save Luke;But Luke the faithful chose with him his part.Paul longed for Timothy, and wrote to himBidding him haste and bring John Mark to Rome.But the end hasted more than these could haste,And Timothy was never in the fleshTo greet again that father of his soulWho, for the son's sake more than for his own,Yearned toward the son to fix in him his faithSeen nigh to falter in the face of thingsSuch as now fronted Paul. John Mark though onceIn haste of spirit sundered from Paul's part,Had long before been won again—to bideThenceforward ever fast in loyalty;But as not Timothy, so neither heWould comfort Paul in this his last assay.So much the more Paul's lonely fortitudeIn witness amid storms of obloquyAnd under the impending threat of doom,Then against doom itself upon him fallen,Should at need brace them both to martyrdom.Most exquisitely human-hearted, PaulCould not but feel full sore his loneliness—Loneliness more for sense of being forsaken."Demas," to Timothy he sighed, "has lovedThis present world, and has forsaken me.All men forsook me the first time I stoodTo make my answer at the judgment-bar;I pray it be not laid to their account!"Nobly repined!—yet for a moment only;Then cheerly added, this, and thankfully:"Of men not one stood with me; but the Lord,He with me stood, and cheered and strengthened me,That all the gentiles might the gospel hear;And for that time from out the lion's mouthI was delivered. Yea, and betide what may,Still the Lord Jesus will deliver meFrom every machination of ill men,And to His heavenly kingdom bring me safe.To whom be glory evermore! Amen!"Enjoined thereto by Paul, Luke bore from RomeTo Rachel and the rest in Holy Land—That dear companionship of kindred hearts—The tidings how all ended with his death;Yet how, before he died, and when he died,He conquered gloriously. Luke said to them:"He was not taken at all at unawares;Nothing surprised and nothing daunted him.Nay, he rejoiced in spirit that all was nowFinished for him on earth; that he might layHis warrior's harness off and take his crown.He said this to his judges with such calmClear consciousness of speaking simple truth,Such sober confidence devoid of vaunt,That something like conviction seized on themListening; while on the listening multitude—For the basilica was thronged—I feltFall a great hush and a pathetic awe.'I know well whom I have believed,' he said,'And my persuasion is complete that HeIs able to keep that which I have givenIn trust to Him against the coming day.Yea, ye will surely send me hence to die;The time of my departure ye have set;So much is in your power to do to me;But there is more, far more, beyond your power.Life ye can take, but not the good of life.The good of life is lodged where it is safe,And life indeed no power can take from me;That is committed to almighty hands,Almighty, and all-faithful, and all-wise:There it is mine, inalienably mine.So there is that in me which bides secureFrom any terror men can threat me with.A witness in my heart attests that IHave fought the good fight, fought it to the end;That I have run my race and touched the goal;Through all temptation, I have kept the faith.I strain my eyes before me and I see,Shining, a crown, the crown of righteousness,Held in the hand once pierced and pierced for meOf the arisen Lord and glorified,The righteous Judge who will award the prize.That prize he holds for me'—"Hereon," Luke said,"Paul turned toward where I stood—O, how I wishedThere had been many others with me thenTo hear what I heard, and to take his look,That kindling look of large vicarious hope!—Paul turned toward me his heaven-illumined face,And added: 'Yea, for me holds—nor for meAlone, but with me all men also whoHave loved the bright appearing of the Lord.'I have been bound, but not the word of God;That has run freely, sped around the world.I am to die, but the quick word of God,So much incapable of dying, livesForever an invulnerable life.This Roman empire, like those empires old,Will crumble into dust and pass away;The temples and the palaces of RomeWill vanish like a vision from men's eyes;But the majestic kingdom of my GodWill stand forever and forever grow.Within its walls, I have not built in vain;For I have founded on a corner-stoneThat never will be moved. The earth we treadWill tremble and be moved out of its place;The heavens above us, sun and moon and star,Will yet be rolled together like a scroll,Or folded like a vestment laid aside;But what on Jesus Christ for corner-stoneI, with much prayer and many tears, in faithHave builded to the glory of His grace,Will still in ever-during beauty shine.'But though I speak thus of the vanishingOf all this fabric of a mighty state,All this imperial pomp and power of Rome,And the succeeding of an order new,A heavenly kingdom with a heavenly King,Yet know, O judges, that in all good faith,I ever everywhere have taught and shownLoyal submission to the powers that be.By letter, ere I came myself to Rome,I charged this duty on my brethren here;I told them they could not in any wiseObedient be to God, and not obeyThe powers by Him set over them to rule:Ask my disciples, make them witnesses,They all will testify I taught them thus.Not that my life is such a prize to me;But I would have the holy name of HimWho bought me with His blood, and made of meA herald of His glorious grace to men—Yea, I would have that ever-blesséd NamePure of reproach through me before you all.'I thank my judges that at least I mayThus freely speak once more before I die.A cloud of witnesses around me hereHangs in my eye; I might behold, beyondThese and above, innumerably bright,Thick ranks of hovering angels beckoning me;But I stretch out my hands in suit to these,My fellows, and beseech them one and all,And you, my judges, I beseech—and wouldI might beseech the whole world with my voiceNow speaking for its last time in men's ears!—Be reconciled through Jesus Christ to God.With me it is a light thing to be judgedOf men; albeit obeisance due I payTo this tribunal as ordained of God.But I look forward to be judged of OneBefore whose eyes the secrets of men's heartsLie open like the pages of a book.And ye too all who judge me, and all theseWho see me judged—yea, and himself, your head,The emperor, with his counsellors, and allThat under earth slumber or in the sea,The living generations and the dead,One congregation and assembly calledAt last together whencesoever found,Shall stand before the judgment-seat of Christ.O, I adjure you and entreat you, hearBetimes my message sent from God to you.One advocate alone, none other, canPlead to the Father with effect for you.But He can, for it is the Judge HimselfWill be your advocate, if but you willNow choose Him to be such, and He will speakFor you with a resistless eloquenceOf wounds shown in His hands and feet and side,Signs of His suffering borne in the behalfOf all those who will come to God by Him.'I have a vision of that judgment-scene:These wide-embracing walls I see expandTo the horizon's utmost rim around;This roof is lifted to the top of heaven;This multitude is multiplied to countBeyond all count; yon judgment-throne becomesDazzling beyond the splendors of the sunWith an exceeding whiteness, such as eyeOf man nor angel can abide to see;And He that sits thereon, and makes it darkBy the excess of brightness in His face,Speaks, and His voice to hear is as the soundOf many waters rolling down in flood.I heard that voice once speaking from the skyAmid a blaze of light falling aroundMe at midnoon that blanched the Syrian sunBurning from his meridian height on me.O men, my brethren, it was a dread voice;But I obeyed it, and I therefore lived.Obey it ye, heard speaking through my lipsAnd bidding, Come! O, sweet and dreadful voice,Both sweet and dreadful, uttering now that word!Dreadful, not sweet, it then will sound to thoseWho hearing thus the invitation, Come,Harden their hearts to disobey. For thenIn changed tones it will speak a different word.'Hence, curséd of my Father!' it will say,And drive the disobedient as with swordOf flame forth issuing and pursuing them,Pursuing and devouring, while they flyIn vain forever and forever farBefore it, and no refuge anywhereIn all the boundless universe of GodFind from the fiery fangs of that fierce sword!'"I never saw," said Luke, "such pity castSuch pathos over such solemnity,Such faithfulness to God, to man, as then,While he in that hushed audience spoke these things,Lived in Paul's looks and tuned his prophet tones.No one that listened and beheld escapedThe power of God; and some perhaps believed."But they condemned the guiltless man to die;And, like his Lord, he died without the gates.They led him to a chosen spot not farBeyond the city walls—he all the waySeen walking like one meekly triumphing;For a train followed and attended him,Before whom he was as a conqueror.Where gushed a fountain in a pine-tree shadeSuburban, there they made their prisoner stay.Here they beheaded him; Christ suffered it—What matter to His servant how he died?The pain was short, if sharp; perhaps indeedThere was no pain at all, but only swiftTransition to a state of perfect restFrom pain, from weariness, from every ill,Forever in the presence of the Lord.The dear dissevered head we joined againTo the worn-weary body as we could:We comforted ourselves to see the peaceThat the white-shining countenance expressed,And stanched our tears and eased our aching heartsTo think that all his toil was over now,And all the contradiction he so longHad suffered from his thankless fellow-men;And that he had aspired triumphantlyAt last to be at home with Christ in heaven,There to behold the glory that He had,Ere the beginning of the world, with GodHis Father."So we buried him in hopeThere on the selfsame spot where he had fallen;And said to one another the great words,Heroic, heartening, full of heavenly truth,Himself with streaming tears once spoke to us—You will remember—then when Mary died,And when we buried her that sunset hourThere on that holy hill in Melita."With such a gentle cadence to his tale,Luke ended; and those sat in silence long,Remembering with sweet heart-ache what had been.Then, having knelt together first in prayer,And having lifted a patheticalHigh hymn of triumph over death, they roseCalm and addressed themselves anew to life:A little patience and the Lord would come.
Onesimus and Syrus had been seizedTo make them swear a dreadful perjury;It was persuasion from Drusilla wroughtWith Tigellinus to commit this deedOf outrage against ruth and righteousness:Those bondmen should be brought, by utmost pangsWreaked on them in the anguish of the rack,To charge Paul with the poisoning of her spouse.
Drusilla first had vainly sought to bribePoor Syrus to that lie and perfidy.Smiles, blandishments, entreaties, promises,Failing—she next, with scourgings from her tongue,Threats, thrusts from female weapons in her hands,Had striven to warp him to her wish—in vain.At last she, giving him up for torture, yetBade him remember he need only swear,Therein supported by Onesimus,That from Paul's hand he had a dust received—Impalpable, so fine—of unknown powerTo work unknown effect upon a man,And had by Paul instructed been to siftThis secretly into some draught his lordWould drink, and watch how it would gladden him—That he had only to protest that lie,Confessing then that, in all innocenceOf childish curiosity to see,He did it when his mistress sent by himA sleeping-draught to Felix in his bath—Only just this, and straight for both of them,Onesimus with Syrus, the sharp painsAnd rending of the question should be stayed.
Syrus said sadly to Onesimus:"O, would that Paul were here to give us heart!""Jesus is here, and He will give us heart,"Onesimus replied; "let us trust Him.""I fear I shall be broken to their will,"Said Syrus, "and swear whatever they desire;I am so in terror of the frightful pain!"This was while they were binding the poor slavesUpon the rack. His comrade spoke in cheer:"'Lo, I am with you alway,' Jesus said;He will not let us suffer overmuch.I shall not wonder if He take awayThe pain, almost—or altogether even.For He abideth faithful—so Paul says,And Paul has proved it over and over again.At any rate, the promise Jesus madeTo Paul once, when his need was very sore,Will be as good to us in this our stead;His grace will be sufficient for us still.The dread is heavier than the pain will be."
And it was so; for after the first wrench,Which well-nigh solved the jointings of their limbs,The spirit rose the sovereign of the fleshAnd bore those helpless victims of the rackTriumphant as in painless ecstasy.Their mortal frames became as instrumentsOf music underneath the player's hand;For every quivering nerve within them strungResponded to the running torture's touchIn bursts of exclamation like the notesOf a song sung to some pathetic tuneWherein the pathos still keeps triumphing:"Lord Jesus, this for Thee!" "And this!" "O, joyThat we are counted worthy thus to suffer!""It is not suffering, since for Thee we suffer!"Meanwhile to every challenge touching Paul,Though thrills of anguish broke their speech to cries,They said, and would forever only say:"He taught us nothing but to reverenceOur masters with all good fidelityOf service rendered them out of true heartsAs to the Lord in heaven and not to men."
By secret orders from the emperorThe torture-room was cunningly contrivedTo be a sort of whispering gallery,An ear of Dionysius, to resoundWhatever might be uttered from the rackWrung out of victims put to question there—Words, cries, sighs, groans, or moans of agony—And carry them to distance where above,If one should listen, they might all be heard.Here Nero laid a listening ear that day—Seneca's prompting, who was present too—And heard Onesimus and Syrus bearTheir steadfast witness on behalf of Paul,With adjuration mingled of a Name.The not yet utterly extinguished sparkOf human in that indurated breast(Perhaps therewith effect of fear infused—Divinely—at such adjuration heard)Responded in a transitory glowOf something gentle that resembled ruthToward those poor sufferers faithful against pain;Of something that resembled justice tooToward Paul so stoutly witnessed for by them.He forthwith bade release the witnesses;And hearkened to a counsel touching Paul.For Seneca adventured this to him—A farewell flicker of his influence,Ere Tigellinus overbore him quite—:"Shouldst thou think well it might indeed be well,To loose this Jewish prisoner from his thrall—He giving surety under ample bondTo answer with his person at the barOf Cæsar upon summons, to be triedWhenever shall appear accusers sentAccredited from Jerusalem to Rome."
So out of darkness there sprang up a lightTo Paul, and for that present he went free.
Soon at a meeting of thanksgiving heldTo celebrate with praises to the LordHis unexpected riddance out of thrallPaul to his brethren and his kindred said:"My life reprieved from threatened death in shame,I dedicate anew to Christ the Lord.I go hence, parting from you all with tearsOf joyful love, and thanks for love againMine in full measure from so many heartsThat have not here my bonds in Christ despised—I go hence, in the Spirit bound, to bearFar as I may abroad in all the worldThe glorious gospel of the blesséd God.Pray for me that I may be sped in peace,And that before me doors of utterance maySwing open wide wherever I am led.The time is short for all of us; for meShorter, it may be, than our present joyBuoys us to hope. Perhaps the Lord will comeAnd find me waking still—and not asleep—To welcome Him descending in the air.Amen! So may it be! Lord Jesus, come!
"And yet, belovéd, though these words I speak,A more prevailing prescience in my heartForewarns me I shall witness with my bloodFor Him who suffered unto blood for me.If so it be, amen! Lord Jesus, yea,Thy will for me is my will for myself;I spring to it with joy, or far or near—Unknown to me—enough that it is Thine!
"So, farewell, ye. Watch and remember, all,That by the space of two full years in chainsI have not ceased to warn you night and day,Each one, with tears. And now, behold, I knowThat some of you to whom I have fulfilledThis ministry shall see my face no more.O, brethren, I commend you unto God!Be perfect, be of brave and hopeful cheer,Be of one mind, abide in peace, and He,The God of love and peace, shall with you be.O, how my heart is large toward you! The loveOf God, the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,And the communion of the Holy GhostBe with you and abound—ever! Amen!"Therewith Paul kneeled and prayed a breaking prayer;And they all wept, and he wept with them all,They falling on his neck and kissing himIn love and sorrow. Each one with himself'Among them, I?' asked, and so sorrowed mostOf all for that word which he spoke, "I knowThat some of you shall see my face no more."
Paul sent his kindred and his lovers—thoseWho for his sake had sailed with him to Rome—Back to find home again in Holy Land,While he, with Luke for his companion sole,Should run his rounds of mission through the world."But what ye can," he said, "before ye go,Comfort Onesimus and Syrus, sickWith wounding for Christ's sake and mine; I haveAlready bathed Onesimus with tearsOf love, and bidden him in Christ be strong:Ye will not leave him till his health be wholeAt least enough to take the journey backTo our Philemon, bearing thanks from me.
"Those here in Rome that love me I shall trustTo speed both you and him with needful aid—Even as I trust them not to let me lack.Onesimus no doubt will find a wayThat ye could not, nor I, to carry helpTo Syrus in his far more wretched case—Beset with household craft and cruelty.Pray ye for him; and lade OnesimusIn seeking Syrus deep with love from me.Christ will not fail him, if he fail not Christ;'It is but for a moment, all the pain,'Charge it upon Onesimus to say,'But for eternal ages is the joy!'
"Now unto such as can receive it I,Under this present imminence of woeForerunning the return of Christ the Lord,Give counsel not to marry but abideIn undistracted waiting for the Day.Yet for our Stephen and Eunicé here,Already long betrothed and lovers true,My will is as their will is; let them wed.Stephen as husband to Eunicé canIn journeying better fend both her and RuthHer mother; he as well can fend his own,Rachel, the only—sister of my heart!"Paul's voice a little failed him, ending thus;And all took knowledge how his kindred loveBroke over him, a wave of tenderness!
So Stephen and Eunicé wedded were,Paul each in turn adjuring solemnly:"Thou, O Eunicé, wilt as wife be true,That know I well, to whom thou thus hast wed.Submit thyself to him in loyal love,And as in pledged obedience to the Lord—Less to his will so yielding than to Christ's.For God ordains it that the husband beHead to the wife, as to the church is Christ.But thou, O Stephen, judge what sanction soIs on the husband laid, to be how pure,Above self-will and selfishness how high,How full of ministration and of help,How ready ever to self-sacrificeFor the wife's sake, how gentle and how kind!Thou, therefore, Stephen, love thy wife, even soAs the Lord Jesus loved the church, His bride,And for her gave Himself. Be happy, ye,Belovéd, in a love so sanctified."Paul blessed them, and they felt that they were blessed.When soon from Rome they took their homeward way—Ruth, Rachel, and the newly-wedded pair—They wept that they had looked their last on Paul;Wept with rejoicing that, a little while,And the Lord coming would make all things glad.
Now Sergius Paulus chose it for his partTo fill Paul's purse, speeding him on his way;But Krishna was of mind himself to goWith those who would return to Holy Land.He longed with his own eyes to see the scenesAmid which Jesus lived His life on earthAnd to glean up from the tradition foundHaply there current in the mouths of menConcerning Him, both what He taught and whatHe was: the Indian's thought was he would then,Full-laden with such treasures of the West,To his own native East return and thereDispense them to enrich his countrymen.Paul bade him prosper in his wish, and go.
Acquitted thus of all his natural cares,And joyful in the sense of his reprieve,And springing toward the work that he would do,And for that work renewed in strength by hopeAnd faith and love and zeal unquenchableAnd passion for the saving of the soulsOf men, his fellows, perishing in sin—Much more, by the almighty hand of GodUpon him stayed in an immortal youth—That spent old man, refusing to be spentThough spending daily like the river of God,Set forward, Luke alone companion now,To send with torch in hand a running fireOf gospel conflagration round the world.
Go, Paul, forgetful of thyself, make speed!Thou shalt not be forgotten of thy God!Go, with that treasure for thy fellows fraught!Go, with the future of the world in trust!Nowhere in utmost islands of the sea,Never till time shall be no more, shall menNot owe thee debt for blessings manifold—Crowning the life that now is, frail and fleet,Crowning the nobler life that is to be—Blessings theirs but because thou wouldst not shrinkFrom whatsoever hardship, peril, harm,Loss, toil, self-sacrifice to martyrdom.So thou mightst scatter far and wide for usThe deathless seeds of that which we enjoyIn harvest of all good, civilityOf morals and of manners, science, art,Fair order, freedom, progress, light and life,And, overvaulting all, the hope of heaven!
While Paul his circuits was accomplishing,Paul's enemies (and ours) were not remiss,Whether in Rome or in Jerusalem.Drusilla, disappointed of her hopesWith Nero to ensnare his heart and beAssumed to sit beside him on his throne,Even cheated for the moment of the glutShe thought she had purchased at such cost to prideOf extreme vengeance visited on Paul,Was sullenly but more than ever bentNot to fail yet of at least that desire.She saw Octavia, sent to exile, wayMake for Poppæa's spousals; heard the shoutOf shallow hollow popular acclaimThat hailed her hated rival conqueror,Bearing her as on billows of applauseTo the high seat herself had hoped for once!Envy and hatred ulcerous ate her heart—But not despair; despair was not for her:Malignity was fuel still to hope.She despatched Simon to JerusalemTo blow the embers smouldering there to flameOf deadly accusation against Paul:Simon was Shimei risen from the dead,Shimei in all his pristine force unspent.The elders of the Jews commissioned him,With others to whom he was heart and head,To press at Rome for Paul the doom of death.
Meantime the mouth of common fame beganTo whisper that Poppæa, though a wifeTo Nero now—perhaps because a wifeAnd mother of a daughter, Claudia, bornTo him—no longer charmed him as of old.Unholy hope flared up a flicker of flameDelusive in Drusilla's breast once more.Octavia, when her husband tired of her,Went into exile and then went to deathTo give Poppæa room; Poppæa's turnPerhaps was nearing to make room for her,Drusilla!
'Up, O heart!' she inly cried.The emperor had indeed with fickle whim,Dazed by some intercepting lure more nigh,Forgotten quite his thought of tryst with her—As her conditions too he had not met.But her conditions now were well in train,She trusted, to fulfill themselves on Paul;And if before, some trace of conscience leftIn Nero interfered to make him pause,Such scruple would no longer be a letTo his desire, should his desire revive,Of meeting her upon the terms she fixedTo satisfy at once her hate, her pride.Simon then, from Jerusalem returnedBlithe with his prosperous mission and with hope,Should go once more to Nero for her cause.
And Simon went, but went not for her cause.He had a purpose of his own to serve—Purpose malignant, fatuous—which, fulfilled,Would swift recoil in ruin on himself.
No worship to Poppæa's setting sunPaid by him now to win his way at court,He boldly in Drusilla's name besoughtAccess to the imperial ear: that nameProcured him instant audience. DiscomposedA little by the sudden way he madeSimon stood faltering, and before his witWas ready with apt words the emperor spoke:"What will thy mistress? She perhaps has thoughtThe emperor was a trifle slow to claimHis privilege at her court? Bid her take heart;Things now begin to shape themselves aright."By this time Simon had recovered himself;He said: "My mistress is indulgent, Sire.Knowing my fondness for my art, and wishThat I might entertain the emperor,She begs thou wilt appoint a time for me—""O, aye," the emperor said; "return to her,And if thou canst bring promptly back to meAssurance of her grace that she forgivesMy tardiness in the past, and will receiveMe yet upon the terms she fixed before—Somewhat abated, aye, but in the mainWhole; for although the rabble rest she namedAre scattered and not worth regathering, PaulIs under hand again, duly accused,And freely may be dealt with to our wish—Bring, I say, word to me that she consents,And thou shalt exercise for me thine artAt pleasure here within my palace halls.Go, and good speed, ambassador of love!"
The sarcasm and the irony took effectTo quicken in the sorcerer his resolve:For Simon his own doom was teeming now.He was infatuate with the vain conceitThat he the secret in his art possessedOf a mock-supernatural power to playUpon the conscience of the emperorAnd fill his conscious breast with guilty fears:So once he saw Paul play on Felix's,Making him shudder on his judgment-throne;Aye, and so he himself in sequel playedOn the same kingly culprit with his spells.Beyond all, Simon was beside himselfWith suffocated hatred seeking breathIn freak of demonstration on the manWho in the wantonness of despotic prideHad so despised and mocked and flouted him.Mad thus—judicially, and doubly—he,Having brought back the word the emperor wished,And had the promised day appointed him,Dared an audacious and a fatal thing.
A series of phantasmagories shownBy him, he closed with a presentment, clearIn outline cast upon the palace wallIn shapes of shadow moving like grim life,Of the dread scene of Agrippina's death:There hung the vessel on a glassy sea;The coping timbers causelessly fell down,But missed the empress-mother figured there;There followed then the ghastly after-actOf mother-murder done in pantomime—More ghastly, that it passed in silence all.
Simon mistook—it was his last mistake!He had overweened both of the power his own,And of the emperor's openness to fear.Nero sat gazing on the spectacleWith heed moveless, and mute, and ominous,Till the device was acted to the end.Then still no sign he gave—save summons sentBidding two household soldiers straight come in.To these he coldly, curtly, only said:"Crucify me this Jew; do it at once!Be gentle with him; make him last for days,And every day bring me report of him."
Simon bethought him as he shuddering wentHustled and hurried to that sudden doom,Of his gold hoarded long for utmost need:He offered it in ransom for his life.The soldiers took it, share and share alikeBetween them, but it did not buy his life!Simon died miserably upon the cross.
'I have abolishedhim!' the emperor thought—'The adamantine front of impudence!Whimsical way of paying a lady court,To crucify her conjurer out of hand!I hope she did not greatly care for him!Happily if she did I can repairThe loss to her by putting Paul to death.Strange, they should hate that blameless man so much!But reasons of state are strong—and reasons of love;I must propitiate with a sacrifice.Jove is compelled by fate mightier than he!'
The tetrarch Herod, to content the whimAnd hatred of his wife Herodias,Once at petition of her daughter fair—Whose dancing measures beat at festivalBefore him had, forsooth, the monarch pleased!—Sent to behead John Baptist in his prison:So Nero now in mind delivered PaulTo death—an unconsidered pledge and pawnOf complaisance to a base woman paid.
As were a star by some avulsive forceMalignant sheer from out her pathway tornWhere she went singing her celestial wayHappy but to fulfill His high decreeWho orbed her and who sped her on her course(Thenceforth to be abolished from a heavenLighted no longer with her lucent beams!);So Paul was in his heavenly circuits stayedAnd wrenched thence by the hand of violent power.Rome had already round him flung the loopOf her long lasso irresistible,And drawn him home to Cæsar to be judged.
No little damped because their head was gone,But more because he so had disappeared,The Jews commissioned from JerusalemPressed fierce their suit against their fellow-Jew.Nero's assessors sat without their chief;For Nero was grown indolent and lax,And he deputed his judicial powers.Yet oft deigned he to give his deputiesHint of what judgment he desired from them;And they now knew the doom required for Paul.
Paul was left lonely of all men save Luke;But Luke the faithful chose with him his part.Paul longed for Timothy, and wrote to himBidding him haste and bring John Mark to Rome.But the end hasted more than these could haste,And Timothy was never in the fleshTo greet again that father of his soulWho, for the son's sake more than for his own,Yearned toward the son to fix in him his faithSeen nigh to falter in the face of thingsSuch as now fronted Paul. John Mark though onceIn haste of spirit sundered from Paul's part,Had long before been won again—to bideThenceforward ever fast in loyalty;But as not Timothy, so neither heWould comfort Paul in this his last assay.So much the more Paul's lonely fortitudeIn witness amid storms of obloquyAnd under the impending threat of doom,Then against doom itself upon him fallen,Should at need brace them both to martyrdom.
Most exquisitely human-hearted, PaulCould not but feel full sore his loneliness—Loneliness more for sense of being forsaken."Demas," to Timothy he sighed, "has lovedThis present world, and has forsaken me.All men forsook me the first time I stoodTo make my answer at the judgment-bar;I pray it be not laid to their account!"Nobly repined!—yet for a moment only;Then cheerly added, this, and thankfully:"Of men not one stood with me; but the Lord,He with me stood, and cheered and strengthened me,That all the gentiles might the gospel hear;And for that time from out the lion's mouthI was delivered. Yea, and betide what may,Still the Lord Jesus will deliver meFrom every machination of ill men,And to His heavenly kingdom bring me safe.To whom be glory evermore! Amen!"
Enjoined thereto by Paul, Luke bore from RomeTo Rachel and the rest in Holy Land—That dear companionship of kindred hearts—The tidings how all ended with his death;Yet how, before he died, and when he died,He conquered gloriously. Luke said to them:"He was not taken at all at unawares;Nothing surprised and nothing daunted him.Nay, he rejoiced in spirit that all was nowFinished for him on earth; that he might layHis warrior's harness off and take his crown.He said this to his judges with such calmClear consciousness of speaking simple truth,Such sober confidence devoid of vaunt,That something like conviction seized on themListening; while on the listening multitude—For the basilica was thronged—I feltFall a great hush and a pathetic awe.
'I know well whom I have believed,' he said,'And my persuasion is complete that HeIs able to keep that which I have givenIn trust to Him against the coming day.Yea, ye will surely send me hence to die;The time of my departure ye have set;So much is in your power to do to me;But there is more, far more, beyond your power.Life ye can take, but not the good of life.The good of life is lodged where it is safe,And life indeed no power can take from me;That is committed to almighty hands,Almighty, and all-faithful, and all-wise:There it is mine, inalienably mine.So there is that in me which bides secureFrom any terror men can threat me with.A witness in my heart attests that IHave fought the good fight, fought it to the end;That I have run my race and touched the goal;Through all temptation, I have kept the faith.I strain my eyes before me and I see,Shining, a crown, the crown of righteousness,Held in the hand once pierced and pierced for meOf the arisen Lord and glorified,The righteous Judge who will award the prize.That prize he holds for me'—"Hereon," Luke said,"Paul turned toward where I stood—O, how I wishedThere had been many others with me thenTo hear what I heard, and to take his look,That kindling look of large vicarious hope!—Paul turned toward me his heaven-illumined face,And added: 'Yea, for me holds—nor for meAlone, but with me all men also whoHave loved the bright appearing of the Lord.
'I have been bound, but not the word of God;That has run freely, sped around the world.I am to die, but the quick word of God,So much incapable of dying, livesForever an invulnerable life.This Roman empire, like those empires old,Will crumble into dust and pass away;The temples and the palaces of RomeWill vanish like a vision from men's eyes;But the majestic kingdom of my GodWill stand forever and forever grow.Within its walls, I have not built in vain;For I have founded on a corner-stoneThat never will be moved. The earth we treadWill tremble and be moved out of its place;The heavens above us, sun and moon and star,Will yet be rolled together like a scroll,Or folded like a vestment laid aside;But what on Jesus Christ for corner-stoneI, with much prayer and many tears, in faithHave builded to the glory of His grace,Will still in ever-during beauty shine.
'But though I speak thus of the vanishingOf all this fabric of a mighty state,All this imperial pomp and power of Rome,And the succeeding of an order new,A heavenly kingdom with a heavenly King,Yet know, O judges, that in all good faith,I ever everywhere have taught and shownLoyal submission to the powers that be.By letter, ere I came myself to Rome,I charged this duty on my brethren here;I told them they could not in any wiseObedient be to God, and not obeyThe powers by Him set over them to rule:Ask my disciples, make them witnesses,They all will testify I taught them thus.Not that my life is such a prize to me;But I would have the holy name of HimWho bought me with His blood, and made of meA herald of His glorious grace to men—Yea, I would have that ever-blesséd NamePure of reproach through me before you all.
'I thank my judges that at least I mayThus freely speak once more before I die.A cloud of witnesses around me hereHangs in my eye; I might behold, beyondThese and above, innumerably bright,Thick ranks of hovering angels beckoning me;But I stretch out my hands in suit to these,My fellows, and beseech them one and all,And you, my judges, I beseech—and wouldI might beseech the whole world with my voiceNow speaking for its last time in men's ears!—Be reconciled through Jesus Christ to God.With me it is a light thing to be judgedOf men; albeit obeisance due I payTo this tribunal as ordained of God.But I look forward to be judged of OneBefore whose eyes the secrets of men's heartsLie open like the pages of a book.And ye too all who judge me, and all theseWho see me judged—yea, and himself, your head,The emperor, with his counsellors, and allThat under earth slumber or in the sea,The living generations and the dead,One congregation and assembly calledAt last together whencesoever found,Shall stand before the judgment-seat of Christ.O, I adjure you and entreat you, hearBetimes my message sent from God to you.One advocate alone, none other, canPlead to the Father with effect for you.But He can, for it is the Judge HimselfWill be your advocate, if but you willNow choose Him to be such, and He will speakFor you with a resistless eloquenceOf wounds shown in His hands and feet and side,Signs of His suffering borne in the behalfOf all those who will come to God by Him.
'I have a vision of that judgment-scene:These wide-embracing walls I see expandTo the horizon's utmost rim around;This roof is lifted to the top of heaven;This multitude is multiplied to countBeyond all count; yon judgment-throne becomesDazzling beyond the splendors of the sunWith an exceeding whiteness, such as eyeOf man nor angel can abide to see;And He that sits thereon, and makes it darkBy the excess of brightness in His face,Speaks, and His voice to hear is as the soundOf many waters rolling down in flood.I heard that voice once speaking from the skyAmid a blaze of light falling aroundMe at midnoon that blanched the Syrian sunBurning from his meridian height on me.O men, my brethren, it was a dread voice;But I obeyed it, and I therefore lived.Obey it ye, heard speaking through my lipsAnd bidding, Come! O, sweet and dreadful voice,Both sweet and dreadful, uttering now that word!Dreadful, not sweet, it then will sound to thoseWho hearing thus the invitation, Come,Harden their hearts to disobey. For thenIn changed tones it will speak a different word.'Hence, curséd of my Father!' it will say,And drive the disobedient as with swordOf flame forth issuing and pursuing them,Pursuing and devouring, while they flyIn vain forever and forever farBefore it, and no refuge anywhereIn all the boundless universe of GodFind from the fiery fangs of that fierce sword!'
"I never saw," said Luke, "such pity castSuch pathos over such solemnity,Such faithfulness to God, to man, as then,While he in that hushed audience spoke these things,Lived in Paul's looks and tuned his prophet tones.No one that listened and beheld escapedThe power of God; and some perhaps believed.
"But they condemned the guiltless man to die;And, like his Lord, he died without the gates.They led him to a chosen spot not farBeyond the city walls—he all the waySeen walking like one meekly triumphing;For a train followed and attended him,Before whom he was as a conqueror.Where gushed a fountain in a pine-tree shadeSuburban, there they made their prisoner stay.Here they beheaded him; Christ suffered it—What matter to His servant how he died?The pain was short, if sharp; perhaps indeedThere was no pain at all, but only swiftTransition to a state of perfect restFrom pain, from weariness, from every ill,Forever in the presence of the Lord.The dear dissevered head we joined againTo the worn-weary body as we could:We comforted ourselves to see the peaceThat the white-shining countenance expressed,And stanched our tears and eased our aching heartsTo think that all his toil was over now,And all the contradiction he so longHad suffered from his thankless fellow-men;And that he had aspired triumphantlyAt last to be at home with Christ in heaven,There to behold the glory that He had,Ere the beginning of the world, with GodHis Father.
"So we buried him in hopeThere on the selfsame spot where he had fallen;And said to one another the great words,Heroic, heartening, full of heavenly truth,Himself with streaming tears once spoke to us—You will remember—then when Mary died,And when we buried her that sunset hourThere on that holy hill in Melita."
With such a gentle cadence to his tale,Luke ended; and those sat in silence long,Remembering with sweet heart-ache what had been.Then, having knelt together first in prayer,And having lifted a patheticalHigh hymn of triumph over death, they roseCalm and addressed themselves anew to life:A little patience and the Lord would come.