BOOK IX.

The sun of Syrian afternoon, declinedHalf-way betwixt the zenith and the west,Burned blinding in the cloudless blue of heavenAnd fired a conflagration in the copesOf beaten gold hung over the augustHouse of Jehovah, whither Stephen nowTended unconsciously with wonted feet.That spectacle of splendor he, agazeWith holden unbeholding eyes, saw not,Or, as but with his heart beholding, sawOnly as goal of his obedience due.Down the abrupt declivity with speed,The westward-slanting slope of Olivet,Descending by a path stony and steep—The same whereon full often to and froHad fared the Blessed Feet, between the dustAnd din and fever of Jerusalem,And the sweet purity and peace, the cool,The quiet, of that home in Bethany,His refuge!—so descending, Stephen passedOn his right hand Gethsemane, that movedMuse of the Master's agony for men,Crossed Kedron, and thence upward pressing gainedGate Susan, whence the temple nigh in view.'Perhaps,' thought he, 'perhaps, once more, againstMy expectation, I am thither broughtTo preach as when I answered Saul that day.The Lord will show me, in full time, alikeWhat I must speak, and when, and where.'So wraptIn welcome of the will unknown of God,And full of faith and of the Holy Ghost,Stephen with no amazement was afraidWhen, suddenly and rudely, in the street,A band in service of the SanhedrimSet on him, and, by their authority,Seized him and brought him prisoner accusedOf blasphemy before their council, thereTo be examined for his words and deeds.Captive in body, he in soul was free,Exulting in that glorious liberty,The sense of sonship to Almighty God.False witnesses, by Shimei suborned,And well their lesson taught by Shimei,Stood forth, who, to the teeth of Stephen, swore:"This person never ceases speaking wordsAgainst this holy place and Moses' law;We heard him say that Jesus NazareneIs going to destroy this place, and changeThe customs Moses handed down to us."All the assessors in the Sanhedrim,Fastening their eyes on Stephen, saw his face,As it had been an angel's, kindling shine.Saul marked it, and remembered how that dayThe lightning of that face had blinded him!The high priest now, accosting Stephen, asked,"Are these things so?" and Stephen thus replied:"Brethren and fathers, hearken to my words.With ears that tingle to the echoes yet,Perchance, of that high passionate harangueWhich late from Saul ye heard concerning woundsIntended to this Jewish commonwealth,Ye now have heard forsooth again from these—How temple, law, and well-belovéd waysBequeathed us by our fathers from of oldAre threatened in the message that I preach."But, brethren, he mistakes who deems that GodIs to one place, one race, one time, one clime,One mode of showing forth Himself, shut up.Consider through what phases manifoldHas passed already heretofore God's wayWith men; thence learn how lightly reckons GodOf place or method."Unto Abraham firstBefore he came to Charan, while he yetDwelt in the land between the rivers, GodAppeared. Nor in a place thus holy made,And glorious, by theophany, was he,Our father, suffered to abide. 'Arise,'Jehovah said, 'and get thee hence and comeInto the land which I will show thee.' ThenTo Charan that obedient pilgrim passed.Nor there found he a settled rest. AgainHe journeyed and in Canaan, this fair landWherein ye dwell, a sojourner became;For here God gave him no inheritance,Promising only that in after timesThat childless father's children here should dwell."Meanwhile another change, and now what seemsA long postponement of the purposed grace.Four hundred years should Abraham's seed sojournAs strangers in an alien land where theyShould suffer bondage and an evil lot:Delivered thence with judgment on their foes,They then should hither come and here serve God."Yet when the ripeness of the time was full,And Moses offered to deliver them,Our fathers doubted and refused his hand:But Moses notwithstanding led them out.And that same Moses prophesied of OneTo follow him as Prophet Whom must allObey. Yet Moses, mouth of God to men,Obeyed our fathers not, but, in their heartsGone back to Egypt, spurned him far aloofFrom them. Then followed that apostasyTo idols, by Jehovah God chastised,On those offending, with captivityWhich beyond Babylon carried them away."Albeit Jehovah gave to Moses suchHonor as never yet to man was given,Still much that Moses wrought was cast aside.That tabernacle, made by him expressAs God Himself had shown him in the mount,And so inwove with Hebrew history,God suffered this to pass, and in its placePreferred the temple built by Solomon."Yet not in houses built with human handsDwells the Most High; as, by His prophet, GodSays, 'On the heaven sit I as on a throne,And the earth make a footstool for My feet.''What house will ye build Me,' the Lord inquires,'Or what shall be the place of Mine abode?'"So far a loth penurious decent heedThe council had grudged out to Stephen; hereThe scowl of curious incredulity,Wherewith they listened while as yet in doubtWhither might tend his drift of argument,Changed to a frown of deadly hate, as theyConclusion from his use of Scripture drewThat Stephen glanced at overthrow indeedMeant for the temple. Instantly, alertTo seize occasion, Shimei the sigGave to prepared conspirators, who nowObediently framed a menace grimOf gesture to denounce the speaker's aim;And all the council, as one man, astirWith insurrection, frowned a vehementRefusal to receive the word of God.Stephen beheld their aspect, and his soul,Dilating to a seraph's measure, filledWith sudden prophet's zeal aflame for God.He forged his indignation into wordsWhich, like bolts kindling, now he launched at them.He said:"Stiff-necked ye, and uncircumcisedIn heart and ears! Always do ye resistThe Holy Ghost; as did your fathers, soDo ye. Which of the prophets did they not,Your fathers, persecute? Who showed beforeThe coming of the Just One, those they slew;And of Him now have ye betrayers beenAnd murderers. Ye who the law, receivedAt angels' disposition, have not kept!"Cut to the heart at this, those councillorsGnashed with their teeth on Stephen.But that sightStephen, his eyes rapt elsewhere, did not see.Full of the Holy Ghost, his face he raised,Gazing with sense undazzled into heaven,And saw the glory of God, and Jesus there,Not sitting, as at ease, but, as in actTo help, standing, on the right hand of God.He testified that vision thus to men:"Opened see I the heavens and standing thereThe Son of Man on the right hand of God."Thereat a loud acclaim of hatred forthBurst in one voice from all the Sanhedrim.Full come was Shimei's opportunity.As started Mattathias to his feetIn honest wrath instinctive, Shimei tooRose, counterfeiting wrath, sign understoodBy his complotters, who now likewise roseIn simultaneous second and support,Setting the council in a wild turmoil.They stopped their ears, and all together ranOn Stephen with tumultuary rageTo thrust him forth without the city walls.The rush of such commotion through the streets,A torrent madness raging on its way,Raging and roaring, every moment more,Roused a wide wind of rumor and surmiseTroubling the air of all Jerusalem.Tremor of this reached Rachel's jealous sense,On edge—she knowing that the SanhedrimWould that day summon Stephen to its bar—To fear the worst for Stephen and for Saul.But Ruth, her home more distant, she at homeUrged by importunate cares which for her wroughtSome present respite from the strain and painOf that farewell with Stephen—vexing thought!Too certain to return insistently,In waking and in sleeping vision, soon,At night upon her bed, unbidden guest,And haunt her bosom with sad memories,And vague, unhappy, beckoning shapes of fears!—Ruth, so precluded, nothing knew of all.Rachel, with other women of the WayLike-minded with herself, pathetic group!Drew timorous nigh the ragged rushing rimOf that confusion pouring toward the gateWhich northward opened on Damascus road.The self-same path it was whereby had walkedA little while before, bearing His cross,The Saviour of mankind toward Calvary.Stephen remembered, and, remembering, wentBoth meekly more, and more triumphantly,To suffer like his Lord without the gate.He said within himself, 'I follow Him;I feel His footprints underneath my feet.'Those women watched the martyr every step,And with hands waved signalled him sympathy.Such helpless help was help the more to him—Who had no need, but gave them back againTheir sympathy in looks of strength and cheerWhich bade them too be faithful unto death,As they saw him that day. The peace of God,Lodged in his heart—a trust from Christ, Whose wordWas, "Peace I leave with you, My peace to youI give; not as the world gives give I you:Let not your heart be troubled, neither letIt be afraid"—that peace steadfast he boreAmid the tumult round him, the one thingNot shaken in a shaken universe,Like the earth's axle sleeping and the earthWhirling from centre to circumference!Not yet the rout had reached the city gate,When, lo! a sudden halt, a sudden hush,Arrested and becalmed the multitude.A file of Roman soldiers from the fort,With swift, straight, sure lock-step, steel-clad, that clanged,Flowed like a rill of flowing mercury,Heavy yet nimble, through a street that crossedThe course of that mad progress, and, athwartIts head abutting, stayed; the clang of pauseRang sharper than the clang of the advance.The leader, a centurion, sternly spoke:"What means this uproar? Seek ye to provokeYour rulers? Love ye, then, your yoke so wellYe fain would feel it heavier on your necks?Sedition into insurrection growsFull easily, and this sedition seems.Speak, who can tell, and say, What would ye?"Prompt,Then, Shimei, of the foremost, stepping forthSaid;"This is no sedition as might seem;A crushing of sedition rather. We,The Sanhedrim"—wherewith a smirk and bowFrom Shimei, with wave of hand swept roundUpon his colleagues in their sorry plightDishevelled, seemed, in sneering cynic sort,To introduce them with mock dignity—"We Sanhedrim this fellow caught employedIn stirring up sedition, and our zealFor peace and order under Roman ruleInflamed us, following our forefathers' way,To visit death on him without the gate.We beg you will allow us to proceedAnd put to proof of act our loyalty"—Hot breath, half hiss, from Mattathias here—"This script perhaps will help determine you."And Shimei handed up a tablet writ.The Roman read:"Let this disorder pass;It may be useful. Watch it well."The sealOnce more with care examined, parley hadWith Shimei, whose crafty answers meetEach wary scruple of the officer,And sign is given to let the rout proceed.Meantime a different scene has quietlyBeen passing unperceived. That companyOf ministering women Rachel found,Salomé, and the Marys, blessed name!With others who had followed and bewailedWhen Jesus suffered—these, joined now by thoseFrom Bethany, with Lazarus, prevailedTo edge their way ungrudged through the close ranksOf idle gazers round not undisposedThemselves to sympathize, until they stoodNigh Stephen, and in undertones could speakWith him, and hear his words."Weep not for me,"He said, "ye blesséd! I am well content.I think how short the way is, not how sharp,To Jesus where just now I saw Him. ThereHe stood in heaven on the right hand of God.He seemed to lean toward me with arms outstretchedAs if at once to take me to Himself!I spring toward Him with joy unutterable.I shall not feel the pain, which will but speedMe thither. He hath overcome the world.Be of good cheer, belovéd, ye who waitA little longer to behold His face.For you too He hath overcome the world.Be strong, be faithful, be obedient,A little while—and we shall meet againSafe, happy, in the New Jerusalem,Forever and forever with the Lord."But Ruth, my wife, yet unbelieving—careFor her and for my children! God will giveAll to our prayers. And Husband He will beTo her, and Father to the fatherless."Rachel to Lazarus whispered:"Tell him I,Rachel, Saul's sister, would do something. AskWhat I may do for Ruth, to testifyA sister's sorrow for a brother's fault.And let him not think hardly, not too hardly,Of Saul who wrongs him so!"And LazarusTold Stephen, who, with look benign addressedTo Rachel, said:"Thou, Rachel, thou thyself,No other, shalt to Ruth my wife conveyHer husband's very last farewell; good-nightCall it, and bid her meet me there to sayGood-morning. Comfort her with words. To SaulSay—when the time comes he will hear, not now—That all is well, is wholly well. I go—And that is well—perhaps in part through him,Which seems not well, but is, by grace of Christ,Who thus, in part through me—and surely thatLikewise is well—erelong will make of Saul,In Stephen's room, a more than Stephen bothTo preach and suffer for His name. This hopeBe thine, Rachel, and God be with thee, child!"Martha, her hand as ready as her heart,Had other cheer provided than of words.'The willing spirit, if the flesh be weak,May faint,' she thought, 'and angels strengthening HimBrought Jesus succor in Gethsemane.May I not be his angel, Stephen's, now,And his flesh brace to bear his agony?'She said to Stephen:"I have brought thee hereA cake of barley and a honeycomb.I pray thee eat and cheer therewith thy heart.""God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!"Said Stephen; and he took the food from herAnd ate it, giving thanks before them all.And all with him gave thanks, for nothing elseCould so have cheered them in their sad estateAs thus to see their friend at such an hourCheering himself with food, his appetiteNot troubled by least trouble of the mind,And he approved superior to his lot,Not by a strain of high heroic pride,Not by access of transient ecstasy,But simply by the sober confidence,Well-grounded, of the soul enduring allAs seeing Him Who is invisible.Besides, had any deemed that Martha erred,Inopportunely ministering to the flesh,When spirit unsupported by the fleshAs well had conquered, and more gloriously,Haply, too, letting this their thought escape,Unmeant, in look or gesture, to her pain—Such might, in Stephen's gracious act, have heardAs if a silent echo of those words—Ineffably persuasive sweet reproofAt once and soft assuagement of unease—"Why trouble ye the woman? She hath wroughtA good work for Me."But the Sanhedrim,Permitted by the Roman to resumeTheir way with Stephen, now to him once moreTheir notice turned. Within their heart enraged,First, to have met with such a check, and then,Scarce less,soto have had the check removed—Both this and that their sense of bondage chafed—Ill brooked it they to see what now they saw,Their prisoner in calm converse with his friends."Begone!" to these they cried. "For shame to showUntimely softness thus to whom ye seeYour rulers judge worthy of death. Begone!"One churl among those councillors was found,When Stephen gently bade his friends give way,Even for his own sake, who could least endureTo see them suffer roughness, most unmeetFor such as they—one graceless churl was foundTo raise his hand at Stephen speaking soAnd smite him on the mouth. A wail at thisBroke from those women, and their hair they toreIn passion of compassion and of wrathHoly as love. But Stephen was most meek,And only in a shadowed look expressedPain at such painful sympathy with pain.This seen by those, they soon responsivelyResumed composure like his own, and walked,Following, molested not, at small removeFrom the belovéd martyr, cheering him,And cheered, with sense of some society.So, on, with going less precipitate,And less vociferous rage, but not less fell,Moved the infatuate multitude, repressedAnd maddened, both at once, to feel themselvesOnly by sufferance masters of the fateOf Stephen, and their very footsteps timedTo regular and slow behind those fewAustere, impassive, automatic menArmed, who, though few they might be, yet meant Rome.Arrived at length at the accurséd spot,They stay. The ground about was strewn with stones,Rejected fragments from the quarry cleft,Flakes from the mason's chisel, interspersedDilapidations from the city wallsTwice overthrown and razed, or missiles thenceOnce by defenders on assailants hurled.They stay, and, Stephen stationed in the midstWhere, first, a circle of spectators roundWas ordered in disorderly array,Prepare to act their dreadful blasphemy.Within, opposed to Stephen, Saul stood, pale,Blanched with resolve, anguished, and tremulous,But in nerve shaken, not in will, to takeHis part. Saul's part was only to consent.Perhaps the eyes, the beautiful sad eyes,Of Rachel, dark and liquid ever, nowUnfathomably deep with unshed tears—Perhaps such eyes, his sister's, fixed on him,He seeing not because he would not see,Wrought yet some holy spell that charmed him backInsensibly from part more active there.But his consent Saul testified with signOpen to all to see, and understood.He held the outer robes thrown off of thoseWho, disencumbered so, might, with main strength,And aim made sure, the better speed to flingAt that meek heavenly man the murderous stone.Those witnesses malign who had forswornStephen to this, were first to cast at himThe stone to slay. There Stephen stood, his face,His glory-smitten face, upturned to heaven,And his arms thither raised as if to meetThe down-stretched arms of Jesus from on high.It was a sight both beautiful to seeAnd piteous. The angels might have wept,Who saw it, but that they more deeply saw,And saw the pity in the beauty lost,Like a few drops of water on a fireThat only serve to feed the flames more bright.At the first shower of stones at him with cryOf self-exciting execration flung,Stephen, with answering cry, as if of oneRunning to refuge and to sanctuary,Betook him to the covert of the WingsThat trembled with desire to be outstretchedOnce over doomed Jerusalem unfain,And, "Jesus, Lord, receive my spirit!" said.That his friends heard and echoing said "Amen!"But they the flying stones saw not, nor sawAlight the flying stones upon their friend;For they too turned their faces upward all,And, gazing unimaginable depthsBeyond the seen, beheld the glory there,Wherein the scandal and the mysteryOf visible things vanished, like shadows plungedIn the exceeding brightness of the sun,Or were transformed to make the glory more,Like discords conquered heightening harmony.With the next flight of stones, unwatched likewise,Stephen, raised far above the fierce effect,Stinging or stunning, of the cruel blows,Spoke heavenward once again, not for himselfPetitioning now, but pleading for his foes.His foes already had prevailed to bringThe martyr to his knees, and, on his knees,With loud last voice from lips inviolate yet—As if that angel chant at BethlehemStill sounded, "Peace on earth, good will to men,"Or that diviner tone from Calvary,"Forgive them, for they know not what they do"—One ransomed pure and perfect human noteThreading the dissonant noise with melody—He prayed, "Lord Jesus, lay not Thou this sinTo their account." Therewith he fell asleep.That holy prayer exhaled his breath away,And on his breath exhaled to heaven in prayerHis spirit thither aspired and was with Christ.As Stephen fell asleep, the sun went down;But over Olivet the great full moonRose brightening. 'So,' thought Stephen's friends of him,'His life has been extinguished to our eyes,Only elsewhere to shine, but while we waitFor the new day to dawn that lingers, lo,His memory instead shall give us light,Not splendid like the sun, yet like the moonLovely!'Thus comforting themselves, they sawThe murderers of their friend above his corseBuild roughly of the stones that smote him deadA kind of cairn in mockery of a tomb.Melted away meanwhile the multitudeIn silence, and, soon after, all were goneSave the true lovers of the man. Then theseGathered together round the accurséd spot,Now hallowed, where he stood to suffer, whereHe prayed, and where he fell, and whence he roseDeathless, leaving the sacred body there,Dead, desolate of the spirit, but still dear,Most dear to them. And so, with many tearsFast falling that nigh blinded them, they tookFrom off the body, one by one, the stones—Almost as if they loved them, with such care!—Until his face, his fair disfeatured face,And his form marred and broken, open layTo the mild moon that seemed to sympathize,And touched and softened all with healing beams."Let us bear hence the sacred clay," they said,"And wash it from the pool of Siloam."Then Lazarus, with three fellow-helpers more—Nathanael, Israelite indeed, was there,Joseph of Arimathæa too had come,Later, and Nicodemus, by nightfall,These were the chosen four, with Lazarus—Making a litter of their robes, took upThe noble form that lately Stephen wore,And gently carried it to Siloam.With soft lustration there at loving hands,The dust and blood were wholly washed away;The hair and beard then decently arranged,With skill that hid the wounds on cheek or brow,The eyelids closed on eyes that saw no more,The scarce cold palms folded upon the breast,Stephen it seemed indeed just fallen asleep.Then they were glad that Ruth would see him so,So peaceful and so beautiful asleep,Expecting soon to waken satisfied!"To-morrow will be time enough," they said,"To tell Ruth—let her sleep to-night." But RuthSlept not, or if she slept, slept but to dreamOf Stephen and his last hands on her head.Under the balmy moon, up OlivetTo Bethany they bore the holy dust,And there, beneath the roof that sheltered oftThe Man who had not where to rest His head,They laid the body down to dreamless sleep;And slept themselves until the morrow morn.

The sun of Syrian afternoon, declinedHalf-way betwixt the zenith and the west,Burned blinding in the cloudless blue of heavenAnd fired a conflagration in the copesOf beaten gold hung over the augustHouse of Jehovah, whither Stephen nowTended unconsciously with wonted feet.That spectacle of splendor he, agazeWith holden unbeholding eyes, saw not,Or, as but with his heart beholding, sawOnly as goal of his obedience due.Down the abrupt declivity with speed,The westward-slanting slope of Olivet,Descending by a path stony and steep—The same whereon full often to and froHad fared the Blessed Feet, between the dustAnd din and fever of Jerusalem,And the sweet purity and peace, the cool,The quiet, of that home in Bethany,His refuge!—so descending, Stephen passedOn his right hand Gethsemane, that movedMuse of the Master's agony for men,Crossed Kedron, and thence upward pressing gainedGate Susan, whence the temple nigh in view.'Perhaps,' thought he, 'perhaps, once more, againstMy expectation, I am thither broughtTo preach as when I answered Saul that day.The Lord will show me, in full time, alikeWhat I must speak, and when, and where.'

So wraptIn welcome of the will unknown of God,And full of faith and of the Holy Ghost,Stephen with no amazement was afraidWhen, suddenly and rudely, in the street,A band in service of the SanhedrimSet on him, and, by their authority,Seized him and brought him prisoner accusedOf blasphemy before their council, thereTo be examined for his words and deeds.Captive in body, he in soul was free,Exulting in that glorious liberty,The sense of sonship to Almighty God.

False witnesses, by Shimei suborned,And well their lesson taught by Shimei,Stood forth, who, to the teeth of Stephen, swore:"This person never ceases speaking wordsAgainst this holy place and Moses' law;We heard him say that Jesus NazareneIs going to destroy this place, and changeThe customs Moses handed down to us."

All the assessors in the Sanhedrim,Fastening their eyes on Stephen, saw his face,As it had been an angel's, kindling shine.Saul marked it, and remembered how that dayThe lightning of that face had blinded him!

The high priest now, accosting Stephen, asked,"Are these things so?" and Stephen thus replied:"Brethren and fathers, hearken to my words.With ears that tingle to the echoes yet,Perchance, of that high passionate harangueWhich late from Saul ye heard concerning woundsIntended to this Jewish commonwealth,Ye now have heard forsooth again from these—How temple, law, and well-belovéd waysBequeathed us by our fathers from of oldAre threatened in the message that I preach.

"But, brethren, he mistakes who deems that GodIs to one place, one race, one time, one clime,One mode of showing forth Himself, shut up.Consider through what phases manifoldHas passed already heretofore God's wayWith men; thence learn how lightly reckons GodOf place or method."Unto Abraham firstBefore he came to Charan, while he yetDwelt in the land between the rivers, GodAppeared. Nor in a place thus holy made,And glorious, by theophany, was he,Our father, suffered to abide. 'Arise,'Jehovah said, 'and get thee hence and comeInto the land which I will show thee.' ThenTo Charan that obedient pilgrim passed.Nor there found he a settled rest. AgainHe journeyed and in Canaan, this fair landWherein ye dwell, a sojourner became;For here God gave him no inheritance,Promising only that in after timesThat childless father's children here should dwell.

"Meanwhile another change, and now what seemsA long postponement of the purposed grace.Four hundred years should Abraham's seed sojournAs strangers in an alien land where theyShould suffer bondage and an evil lot:Delivered thence with judgment on their foes,They then should hither come and here serve God.

"Yet when the ripeness of the time was full,And Moses offered to deliver them,Our fathers doubted and refused his hand:But Moses notwithstanding led them out.And that same Moses prophesied of OneTo follow him as Prophet Whom must allObey. Yet Moses, mouth of God to men,Obeyed our fathers not, but, in their heartsGone back to Egypt, spurned him far aloofFrom them. Then followed that apostasyTo idols, by Jehovah God chastised,On those offending, with captivityWhich beyond Babylon carried them away.

"Albeit Jehovah gave to Moses suchHonor as never yet to man was given,Still much that Moses wrought was cast aside.That tabernacle, made by him expressAs God Himself had shown him in the mount,And so inwove with Hebrew history,God suffered this to pass, and in its placePreferred the temple built by Solomon.

"Yet not in houses built with human handsDwells the Most High; as, by His prophet, GodSays, 'On the heaven sit I as on a throne,And the earth make a footstool for My feet.''What house will ye build Me,' the Lord inquires,'Or what shall be the place of Mine abode?'"

So far a loth penurious decent heedThe council had grudged out to Stephen; hereThe scowl of curious incredulity,Wherewith they listened while as yet in doubtWhither might tend his drift of argument,Changed to a frown of deadly hate, as theyConclusion from his use of Scripture drewThat Stephen glanced at overthrow indeedMeant for the temple. Instantly, alertTo seize occasion, Shimei the sigGave to prepared conspirators, who nowObediently framed a menace grimOf gesture to denounce the speaker's aim;And all the council, as one man, astirWith insurrection, frowned a vehementRefusal to receive the word of God.

Stephen beheld their aspect, and his soul,Dilating to a seraph's measure, filledWith sudden prophet's zeal aflame for God.He forged his indignation into wordsWhich, like bolts kindling, now he launched at them.He said:"Stiff-necked ye, and uncircumcisedIn heart and ears! Always do ye resistThe Holy Ghost; as did your fathers, soDo ye. Which of the prophets did they not,Your fathers, persecute? Who showed beforeThe coming of the Just One, those they slew;And of Him now have ye betrayers beenAnd murderers. Ye who the law, receivedAt angels' disposition, have not kept!"

Cut to the heart at this, those councillorsGnashed with their teeth on Stephen.But that sightStephen, his eyes rapt elsewhere, did not see.Full of the Holy Ghost, his face he raised,Gazing with sense undazzled into heaven,And saw the glory of God, and Jesus there,Not sitting, as at ease, but, as in actTo help, standing, on the right hand of God.He testified that vision thus to men:"Opened see I the heavens and standing thereThe Son of Man on the right hand of God."

Thereat a loud acclaim of hatred forthBurst in one voice from all the Sanhedrim.Full come was Shimei's opportunity.As started Mattathias to his feetIn honest wrath instinctive, Shimei tooRose, counterfeiting wrath, sign understoodBy his complotters, who now likewise roseIn simultaneous second and support,Setting the council in a wild turmoil.They stopped their ears, and all together ranOn Stephen with tumultuary rageTo thrust him forth without the city walls.

The rush of such commotion through the streets,A torrent madness raging on its way,Raging and roaring, every moment more,Roused a wide wind of rumor and surmiseTroubling the air of all Jerusalem.Tremor of this reached Rachel's jealous sense,On edge—she knowing that the SanhedrimWould that day summon Stephen to its bar—To fear the worst for Stephen and for Saul.But Ruth, her home more distant, she at homeUrged by importunate cares which for her wroughtSome present respite from the strain and painOf that farewell with Stephen—vexing thought!Too certain to return insistently,In waking and in sleeping vision, soon,At night upon her bed, unbidden guest,And haunt her bosom with sad memories,And vague, unhappy, beckoning shapes of fears!—Ruth, so precluded, nothing knew of all.

Rachel, with other women of the WayLike-minded with herself, pathetic group!Drew timorous nigh the ragged rushing rimOf that confusion pouring toward the gateWhich northward opened on Damascus road.

The self-same path it was whereby had walkedA little while before, bearing His cross,The Saviour of mankind toward Calvary.Stephen remembered, and, remembering, wentBoth meekly more, and more triumphantly,To suffer like his Lord without the gate.He said within himself, 'I follow Him;I feel His footprints underneath my feet.'Those women watched the martyr every step,And with hands waved signalled him sympathy.Such helpless help was help the more to him—Who had no need, but gave them back againTheir sympathy in looks of strength and cheerWhich bade them too be faithful unto death,As they saw him that day. The peace of God,Lodged in his heart—a trust from Christ, Whose wordWas, "Peace I leave with you, My peace to youI give; not as the world gives give I you:Let not your heart be troubled, neither letIt be afraid"—that peace steadfast he boreAmid the tumult round him, the one thingNot shaken in a shaken universe,Like the earth's axle sleeping and the earthWhirling from centre to circumference!

Not yet the rout had reached the city gate,When, lo! a sudden halt, a sudden hush,Arrested and becalmed the multitude.A file of Roman soldiers from the fort,With swift, straight, sure lock-step, steel-clad, that clanged,Flowed like a rill of flowing mercury,Heavy yet nimble, through a street that crossedThe course of that mad progress, and, athwartIts head abutting, stayed; the clang of pauseRang sharper than the clang of the advance.The leader, a centurion, sternly spoke:"What means this uproar? Seek ye to provokeYour rulers? Love ye, then, your yoke so wellYe fain would feel it heavier on your necks?Sedition into insurrection growsFull easily, and this sedition seems.Speak, who can tell, and say, What would ye?"Prompt,Then, Shimei, of the foremost, stepping forthSaid;"This is no sedition as might seem;A crushing of sedition rather. We,The Sanhedrim"—wherewith a smirk and bowFrom Shimei, with wave of hand swept roundUpon his colleagues in their sorry plightDishevelled, seemed, in sneering cynic sort,To introduce them with mock dignity—"We Sanhedrim this fellow caught employedIn stirring up sedition, and our zealFor peace and order under Roman ruleInflamed us, following our forefathers' way,To visit death on him without the gate.We beg you will allow us to proceedAnd put to proof of act our loyalty"—Hot breath, half hiss, from Mattathias here—"This script perhaps will help determine you."

And Shimei handed up a tablet writ.The Roman read:"Let this disorder pass;It may be useful. Watch it well."The sealOnce more with care examined, parley hadWith Shimei, whose crafty answers meetEach wary scruple of the officer,And sign is given to let the rout proceed.

Meantime a different scene has quietlyBeen passing unperceived. That companyOf ministering women Rachel found,Salomé, and the Marys, blessed name!With others who had followed and bewailedWhen Jesus suffered—these, joined now by thoseFrom Bethany, with Lazarus, prevailedTo edge their way ungrudged through the close ranksOf idle gazers round not undisposedThemselves to sympathize, until they stoodNigh Stephen, and in undertones could speakWith him, and hear his words."Weep not for me,"He said, "ye blesséd! I am well content.I think how short the way is, not how sharp,To Jesus where just now I saw Him. ThereHe stood in heaven on the right hand of God.He seemed to lean toward me with arms outstretchedAs if at once to take me to Himself!I spring toward Him with joy unutterable.I shall not feel the pain, which will but speedMe thither. He hath overcome the world.Be of good cheer, belovéd, ye who waitA little longer to behold His face.For you too He hath overcome the world.Be strong, be faithful, be obedient,A little while—and we shall meet againSafe, happy, in the New Jerusalem,Forever and forever with the Lord.

"But Ruth, my wife, yet unbelieving—careFor her and for my children! God will giveAll to our prayers. And Husband He will beTo her, and Father to the fatherless."

Rachel to Lazarus whispered:"Tell him I,Rachel, Saul's sister, would do something. AskWhat I may do for Ruth, to testifyA sister's sorrow for a brother's fault.And let him not think hardly, not too hardly,Of Saul who wrongs him so!"

And LazarusTold Stephen, who, with look benign addressedTo Rachel, said:"Thou, Rachel, thou thyself,No other, shalt to Ruth my wife conveyHer husband's very last farewell; good-nightCall it, and bid her meet me there to sayGood-morning. Comfort her with words. To SaulSay—when the time comes he will hear, not now—That all is well, is wholly well. I go—And that is well—perhaps in part through him,Which seems not well, but is, by grace of Christ,Who thus, in part through me—and surely thatLikewise is well—erelong will make of Saul,In Stephen's room, a more than Stephen bothTo preach and suffer for His name. This hopeBe thine, Rachel, and God be with thee, child!"

Martha, her hand as ready as her heart,Had other cheer provided than of words.'The willing spirit, if the flesh be weak,May faint,' she thought, 'and angels strengthening HimBrought Jesus succor in Gethsemane.May I not be his angel, Stephen's, now,And his flesh brace to bear his agony?'She said to Stephen:"I have brought thee hereA cake of barley and a honeycomb.I pray thee eat and cheer therewith thy heart.""God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!"Said Stephen; and he took the food from herAnd ate it, giving thanks before them all.And all with him gave thanks, for nothing elseCould so have cheered them in their sad estateAs thus to see their friend at such an hourCheering himself with food, his appetiteNot troubled by least trouble of the mind,And he approved superior to his lot,Not by a strain of high heroic pride,Not by access of transient ecstasy,But simply by the sober confidence,Well-grounded, of the soul enduring allAs seeing Him Who is invisible.Besides, had any deemed that Martha erred,Inopportunely ministering to the flesh,When spirit unsupported by the fleshAs well had conquered, and more gloriously,Haply, too, letting this their thought escape,Unmeant, in look or gesture, to her pain—Such might, in Stephen's gracious act, have heardAs if a silent echo of those words—Ineffably persuasive sweet reproofAt once and soft assuagement of unease—"Why trouble ye the woman? She hath wroughtA good work for Me."But the Sanhedrim,Permitted by the Roman to resumeTheir way with Stephen, now to him once moreTheir notice turned. Within their heart enraged,First, to have met with such a check, and then,Scarce less,soto have had the check removed—Both this and that their sense of bondage chafed—Ill brooked it they to see what now they saw,Their prisoner in calm converse with his friends.

"Begone!" to these they cried. "For shame to showUntimely softness thus to whom ye seeYour rulers judge worthy of death. Begone!"

One churl among those councillors was found,When Stephen gently bade his friends give way,Even for his own sake, who could least endureTo see them suffer roughness, most unmeetFor such as they—one graceless churl was foundTo raise his hand at Stephen speaking soAnd smite him on the mouth. A wail at thisBroke from those women, and their hair they toreIn passion of compassion and of wrathHoly as love. But Stephen was most meek,And only in a shadowed look expressedPain at such painful sympathy with pain.This seen by those, they soon responsivelyResumed composure like his own, and walked,Following, molested not, at small removeFrom the belovéd martyr, cheering him,And cheered, with sense of some society.

So, on, with going less precipitate,And less vociferous rage, but not less fell,Moved the infatuate multitude, repressedAnd maddened, both at once, to feel themselvesOnly by sufferance masters of the fateOf Stephen, and their very footsteps timedTo regular and slow behind those fewAustere, impassive, automatic menArmed, who, though few they might be, yet meant Rome.

Arrived at length at the accurséd spot,They stay. The ground about was strewn with stones,Rejected fragments from the quarry cleft,Flakes from the mason's chisel, interspersedDilapidations from the city wallsTwice overthrown and razed, or missiles thenceOnce by defenders on assailants hurled.They stay, and, Stephen stationed in the midstWhere, first, a circle of spectators roundWas ordered in disorderly array,Prepare to act their dreadful blasphemy.

Within, opposed to Stephen, Saul stood, pale,Blanched with resolve, anguished, and tremulous,But in nerve shaken, not in will, to takeHis part. Saul's part was only to consent.Perhaps the eyes, the beautiful sad eyes,Of Rachel, dark and liquid ever, nowUnfathomably deep with unshed tears—Perhaps such eyes, his sister's, fixed on him,He seeing not because he would not see,Wrought yet some holy spell that charmed him backInsensibly from part more active there.But his consent Saul testified with signOpen to all to see, and understood.He held the outer robes thrown off of thoseWho, disencumbered so, might, with main strength,And aim made sure, the better speed to flingAt that meek heavenly man the murderous stone.

Those witnesses malign who had forswornStephen to this, were first to cast at himThe stone to slay. There Stephen stood, his face,His glory-smitten face, upturned to heaven,And his arms thither raised as if to meetThe down-stretched arms of Jesus from on high.It was a sight both beautiful to seeAnd piteous. The angels might have wept,Who saw it, but that they more deeply saw,And saw the pity in the beauty lost,Like a few drops of water on a fireThat only serve to feed the flames more bright.

At the first shower of stones at him with cryOf self-exciting execration flung,Stephen, with answering cry, as if of oneRunning to refuge and to sanctuary,Betook him to the covert of the WingsThat trembled with desire to be outstretchedOnce over doomed Jerusalem unfain,And, "Jesus, Lord, receive my spirit!" said.That his friends heard and echoing said "Amen!"But they the flying stones saw not, nor sawAlight the flying stones upon their friend;For they too turned their faces upward all,And, gazing unimaginable depthsBeyond the seen, beheld the glory there,Wherein the scandal and the mysteryOf visible things vanished, like shadows plungedIn the exceeding brightness of the sun,Or were transformed to make the glory more,Like discords conquered heightening harmony.

With the next flight of stones, unwatched likewise,Stephen, raised far above the fierce effect,Stinging or stunning, of the cruel blows,Spoke heavenward once again, not for himselfPetitioning now, but pleading for his foes.His foes already had prevailed to bringThe martyr to his knees, and, on his knees,With loud last voice from lips inviolate yet—As if that angel chant at BethlehemStill sounded, "Peace on earth, good will to men,"Or that diviner tone from Calvary,"Forgive them, for they know not what they do"—One ransomed pure and perfect human noteThreading the dissonant noise with melody—He prayed, "Lord Jesus, lay not Thou this sinTo their account." Therewith he fell asleep.That holy prayer exhaled his breath away,And on his breath exhaled to heaven in prayerHis spirit thither aspired and was with Christ.

As Stephen fell asleep, the sun went down;But over Olivet the great full moonRose brightening. 'So,' thought Stephen's friends of him,'His life has been extinguished to our eyes,Only elsewhere to shine, but while we waitFor the new day to dawn that lingers, lo,His memory instead shall give us light,Not splendid like the sun, yet like the moonLovely!'

Thus comforting themselves, they sawThe murderers of their friend above his corseBuild roughly of the stones that smote him deadA kind of cairn in mockery of a tomb.Melted away meanwhile the multitudeIn silence, and, soon after, all were goneSave the true lovers of the man. Then theseGathered together round the accurséd spot,Now hallowed, where he stood to suffer, whereHe prayed, and where he fell, and whence he roseDeathless, leaving the sacred body there,Dead, desolate of the spirit, but still dear,Most dear to them. And so, with many tearsFast falling that nigh blinded them, they tookFrom off the body, one by one, the stones—Almost as if they loved them, with such care!—Until his face, his fair disfeatured face,And his form marred and broken, open layTo the mild moon that seemed to sympathize,And touched and softened all with healing beams.

"Let us bear hence the sacred clay," they said,"And wash it from the pool of Siloam."Then Lazarus, with three fellow-helpers more—Nathanael, Israelite indeed, was there,Joseph of Arimathæa too had come,Later, and Nicodemus, by nightfall,These were the chosen four, with Lazarus—Making a litter of their robes, took upThe noble form that lately Stephen wore,And gently carried it to Siloam.With soft lustration there at loving hands,The dust and blood were wholly washed away;The hair and beard then decently arranged,With skill that hid the wounds on cheek or brow,The eyelids closed on eyes that saw no more,The scarce cold palms folded upon the breast,Stephen it seemed indeed just fallen asleep.Then they were glad that Ruth would see him so,So peaceful and so beautiful asleep,Expecting soon to waken satisfied!"To-morrow will be time enough," they said,"To tell Ruth—let her sleep to-night." But RuthSlept not, or if she slept, slept but to dreamOf Stephen and his last hands on her head.

Under the balmy moon, up OlivetTo Bethany they bore the holy dust,And there, beneath the roof that sheltered oftThe Man who had not where to rest His head,They laid the body down to dreamless sleep;And slept themselves until the morrow morn.

Very early in the morning, Rachel, charged with this office by Stephen, breaks to Ruth the news of her husband's death. The two then go together to the place where the body of Stephen is laid. There, Ruth, kneeling in prayer beside her martyred husband, repentantly accepts his Lord for hers, becoming a Christian. Rachel, having hastily visited her home, to find Saul gone thence with purpose not to return, leaves the house in her maid's care and goes back to Ruth, to whom, being requested to do so, she tells the story of Stephen's stoning. Then the funeral of Stephen takes place, with a memorial discourse pronounced, and an elegy recited, at the tomb.

The morrow morn broke fair in Bethany,And Ruth rose early from unquiet sleep;Rachel likewise, who slept in Mary's house.The sun had not yet risen, but in the westThe moon hung whitening opposite the dawn,When Ruth, her children left asleep, went forthTo feel the freshness of the morning airWithout, and water from the village wellTo draw, both for the slaking of her thirstAnd for the cooling of her brow that burnedAnd of her throbbing temples. At the wellRachel she met who earlier still was forthOn the like errand. The two women hailedAnd kissed each other. Ruth to Rachel thenSaid: "Thou art not, I trow, this morning comeHither the long way from Jerusalem?""Nay, Ruth," said Rachel, "here the yesternightWith Mary and Martha I abode a guest.""How fresh the wind is," Ruth said, "hither blownFrom off the western sea! Us, underneathThe crest of Olivet, it lights uponDescending, broken, like a breath from heaven.What a delicious balm!""About my brow,"Said Rachel, "gratefully I feel the air,Attempered so, soft flowing, as if oneThat loved me like a mother gently strokedMy temples to undo a band of painBound round them.""And, in sooth," the other said,Now looking narrowly at Rachel's face,"Thou seemest sad of favor, Rachel. Thou,Thou too, so young, hast then thy cause to grieve!It is a sad world and a weary. But—Forgive me if such quick instinctive fearsBe selfish, I am wife and mother—aughtOf evil tidings bringest thou me? Spare notTo speak. Thou wilt but answer to the dreamsI had this night, portending nameless ill.Stephen—I fear for him. He yesterdayLeft me beyond his wont oppressed in spirit,And has not since returned. Strange—yet not strange;Sometimes the livelong night he spends in prayerAlone upon the top of OlivetOr in the shadows of Gethsemane.""Ruth," Rachel said, "the Angel of the LordRound His belovéd, like the mountains roundJerusalem, encampeth ever; heOf God's belovéd is, and guarded well!"But Ruth scarce listened; she insisting said:"Perhaps of Stephen some report thou bringest,Hint doubtless of new danger threatening him!""Nay, Ruth, no longer danger threatens nowThy husband; that is past, and he is safe.""Thank God," said Ruth; "but stay, I dare not yetThank God. Tell me, have then our rulers ceasedTo frown on Stephen preaching Jesus Christ?Or Stephen, will he cease and preach no more?This cannot be, for Stephen is such stuffAs never yet did bend to mortal beck;And that—our rulers surely have not changedThus suddenly their mind. Thou art deceived,They have deceived thee—Stephen is not safe;It is their guile to make us think him safe,He off his guard will fall an easier preyInto their hands. Rachel, it was not kind,Not faithful in thee so to be deceived.More love had made thee more suspicious. ISuspect forever everybody; theeNow I suspect. Thou keepest something back,Or haply palterest with a double sense.Rachel, I charge thee, I adjure thee, speakAnd tell me all. Stephen is dead! Say that—Is dead! Thou meantest that by, 'He is safe.'They have stoned him, stoned my husband, stoned the manThat was the truest Hebrew of them all!"Though by her words Ruth challenged frank reply,Yet by her tones and by her eager looksShe deprecated more what she invoked.This Rachel saw, and answered not a word.Then Ruth gainsaid what Rachel would not say:"They have not done it, could not do it, he—Rachel, it is not true, unsay it, quick,It was a cruel jest to tease me so,Thou art not a wife, thou art not a mother, elseThou never hadst conceived so ill a jest!"Rachel was tortured, but she could not speak,And Ruth, secure in sense of respite yet,Went on invoking what she would not hear:"Why art thou silent? Speak, and keep not backThe truth, whatever it may be; there's naughtSo soothing and so healing as the truth.But I will not believe that he is dead.Thou didst not know my husband. Dead! dead! dead!I tell thee, Rachel,thatis something pastImagining dreadful, hopeless. To be deadIs—not to love, and not to speak to thoseWho loved and love thee, not to hear them speak,Saying they loved and love thee and lamentThey ever gave thee cause of grief and nowAre different and would die a thousand deathsTo have been different then when thou couldst know—Death, Rachel,—but of death what canst thou learn,For thou art but a child and never wast,Never, to such a husband such a wife—To vex the noblest heart that ever broke!"Rachel at first had listened with dismay,And nothing found to answer to Ruth's words,Whose words indeed flowed on and made no pauseFor answer, as if she in truest truthSought not the answer that she seemed to seek,Would fain postpone it rather, or avert.But when at length the utterance of Ruth's thoughtFrom converse passed into soliloquyAnd the deep secret of her soul revealed,Then Rachel caught a welcome gleam of hope.A sign of grace she saw or seemed to seeAt work for Ruth within her heart of grief,Transmuting human sorrow to divineRepentance, and for pain preparing peace."Let us go in together," Rachel said,For they by this were nigh to Ruth's abode,"Let us go in where we may be withdrawnFrom note of such as here might mark our speechOr action; I have word from him to thee."Then they went in, and Ruth bestirred herselfTo make a cheer of welcome for her guest.That momentary truce to troubled thoughtFor Ruth, and interspace of quietnessFrom her own words which could not choose but flowWith helpless importunity till then,Gave Rachel needed chance to speak. She said:"O Ruth, thy husband fell asleep last night,And slept a sweeter sleep than thine or mine,A deep sweet sleep, a happy sleep, a blest.Thou wouldst not wake him thence for worlds on worlds.He felt before he slept that he should sleep,And me, whom God our Father let be nigh,Stephen bade bear a last good-night to thee.He did not think the night was very longBefore him for his sleeping, and his wishWas thou shouldst meet him presently to sayGood-morning. This was his true message, Ruth."The ineffably serene steadfast regardOf Rachel's eyes, that, out of liquid depthsUnsounded, looked angelic love and truth,With pity mingled, equal measure—tearsOrbing them large, shot through and through with lightOf heavenly hope for Ruth—but, more than allA subtly sweet insinuating tone,Most musical, of softness in the voice,That gently wound into the listener's heart—These, with what else, who knows? of help from Heaven,Wrought a bright miracle of change in Ruth.She had been hard and dry, a desert rock;The rock was smitten now with Moses' rod.Ruth gushed in gracious tears, she veiled herselfWith weeping, as sometimes a precipiceVeils itself dim with mist of cataract.And Rachel wept with Ruth, until Ruth said:"But where is Stephen, Rachel? It might beThey, meaning death, yet did not compass death.Such things have been; haste, let us go and see.Monstrous it were, if he should need me—IThe while here sitting weeping idle tears!""Come," Rachel said, and took her by the hand.So hand in hand they went to Mary's house,The elder guided as the younger led,And neither speaking, stilled with solemn thought.Mary and Martha met the twain, with mute,Subdued, affectionate greeting, at the door,And, understanding without word their wish,Straight led them inward, with a quietudeOf gesture that spoke peace and peace infused,To the place where in quietude reposedThat slumberer late so violently lulledTo this so placid sleep. The room was flushedWith hue of gold in hangings round the wallsAnd rugs of russet muffling deep the floor,That made a kind of inner light diffused,Like sunshine without sun and shadowless.A golden-curtained window opened east,And east the upturned face of Stephen looked,Lying there motionless in that fast sleep—So lying that, had he his eyelids raised,He without moving might have seen the morn.The rest, with one accord not entering, stoodAbout the door without, silent, and sawWhile the wife sole went to the husband's side.That instant, lo, from out the breaking dawnA level sunbeam through the curtain slippedAnd touched the fair translucent face with light.Ruth marked it and she testified and said,Falling upon her knees beside the couch:"I take it as a token, Lord, from Thee;Even so send Thou Thy light into my heart!Lo, by the side of him made beautifulIn death, of whom I was unworthy, hereI give myself—alas, that it should beToo late for him to have known it!—to his Lord.I trust to be forgiven for my sin!I thank Thee that I was not weight enoughUpon him to prevail against Thy mightWithin him and prevent this sacrifice—Accomplished all without my help, nay, allIn spite of my resistance! O my God,How hast Thou humbled me! To have had no part,Wife with her husband to have borne no part—Save hindering what she could!—when such a deedOf martyrdom for Christ was possible!Behold, O Lord, thus late I take my part!This now is also mine, as well as his,This sacrifice. I have offered him to Thee!And if my share be heavier even than his—To live bereaved more grievous martyrdomThan to have died—this too is my desert,Accept the witness of my widowhood!"Ruth ceased, but rose not from her knees, still fixedIn posture as if grown a pillar of prayer.Then those three women came and knelt with herBeside her dead, a silent fellowshipOf sympathy in sacrifice; but soonRachel and Mary, one on either sideOf Ruth, borne by the self-same impulse each,Each at the self-same instant borne, untoThe self-same beautiful appeal, pure love'sPure touch, stole softly each a hand in hers.Each plighting hand so proffered Ruth upraisedSlowly and solemnly as with a kindOf consecrating gesture to her lips,And kissing seemed to seal a sacrament.Then she arose, and all arose with her,When Martha, not forgotten, likewise shared,She too, with Ruth the kiss of sisterhood.So, never a word between them spoken, allWent backward and withdrew, Ruth last, who sawThat sunshine glorifying Stephen's brow,And bore it thence, Shekinah in her heart.Her countenance thus illumined from within,The mother to her orphan children went,And moved, a light, about her household ways.She knew that others would with holy heedPrepare that holy dust for burial.But Rachel was more comfortless than Ruth.Rest in her spirit found she none—until,First having broken fast, but sparingly,She hastened with winged footsteps to her home.There her maid told her Saul went early forthLeaving this message for his sister: "HereBide, if thou wilt; this house be still thy home.But I go hence, whither I cannot tell,Nor yet for how long absence; to what end—Thou knowest. Cheer thee well!" The little maidLooked rueful and perplexed, but nothing asked,As nothing Rachel told her, save to say:"Quick, bring thine elder sister, thou and sheShall keep the house together for a time.I also go, my little maid"—wherewithHer little maid, now weeping, Rachel kissed—"I also go, but weep not, I shall comeAgain, I trust, in happier times. Farewell!"Then Rachel straight to Ruth's abode returned."Glad am I thou hast come once more," said Ruth,"For I have wished to ask thee many things.How came his dreadful chance of martyrdomOn Stephen? I can bear to hear it all,Since all is done and past and—'He is safe,'As thou saidst, Rachel!"Tenderly Ruth smiled,With tears behind her smiles that did not fall.Then Rachel said:"I cannot tell thee allAs having all beheld, but this I heard,That Stephen gave a noble testimonyBefore the council who had cited him;That there his face shone like an angel's, GodHimself so swearing for His servant, whileAgainst him swore false witnesses subornedBy Shimei; that his enemies could not bearThe fierceness of the love with which in wrathHe burned for God against their wickedness,And so they rushed upon him violentlyAnd thrust him forth without the city walls.But God beheld their threatening, and He sentHis Romans to withstand them for a while.Then we that loved and honored him drew nigh,And would have spoken words of cheer to him,But he—O Ruth, thou shouldst have seen him then!I never can describe to thee how fairThy husband was to look upon, while he,As steadfast as a star and as serene,And not less lovely-luminous to our eyes,Stood there amid the angry SanhedrimAnd to us spake such heavenly words of cheer!He spake of thee, Ruth, and I think God gaveHis spirit comfort in good hope for thee.For, 'God will give all to our prayers,' said he,And added, 'Husband He will be to her,And Father to the fatherless.'"ThereatRuth's tears as from a fresh-oped fountain flowed,And eased her aching heart, too full beforeOf love, remorseful love, for perfect peace.Rachel with Ruth wept tears of sympathy;But with the sweet and wholesome in her tearsMixed salt and bitter, for she thought of Saul.Ruth at length ceased to weep and yearning said:"And then those Romans let them work their will!""On Stephen's body, yea, Ruth," Rachel said,"But on his spirit they could have no power.""The stones," said Ruth—"The stones, Ruth," Rachel said,"God gave His angels charge concerning them—So verily I believe—and strictly bade,'Lo, let these slay, but see ye that they doNo harm unto My prophet.' So the stones,They slew, but hurt not. God translated him;He rose triumphant in meek majesty.I should have told thee, Ruth, that while he stoodBefore the council, he looked up and sawJesus in heaven on the right hand of God—There standing; this he testified to all.It was as if his faithful Lord had risenTo side with Stephen in his agony.So, when they stoned him, Stephen upward spoke,'Lord Jesus, take my spirit'; then once more,'Lord, lay not Thou this sin unto their charge.'This he said kneeling and so fell asleep."The two some space sat musing silently;Then Ruth:"I feel that thou hast told me allMost truly, Rachel, as most tenderly.Thus, then, God giveth His belovéd sleep,Thus also! And He doeth all things well!Amen!"Silence once more, that seemed surchargedWith deepening inarticulate amenFrom both, and Ruth, regarding Rachel, said:"Even so! But, Rachel, us not yet doth GodWill thus to sleep. Still, otherwise to sleep—For His belovéd are not also we?—May be God's gift to us. Thou surely needest,Body and spirit, rest."And Rachel said:"The words of Stephen leap unto my lipsFor answering thee; and these were Stephen's words:'God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!'And this makes me remember that one thingDone yesterday I missed to tell thee of.For Martha, faithful heart, forecasting well,Brought food for Stephen that might hearten himTo bear whatever he had need to bear,A cake of barley and a honeycomb.'God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!'Said Stephen, and so took the food from her,And ate it giving thanks before us all.He ate it with such look of appetite,It cheered us with a sense of freedom hisFrom any discomposure of the mind.O Ruth, in His pavilion God did hideThy husband, and his soul had perfect peace!""Was it not done like Martha?" Ruth replied;"And done like Stephen too. For courtesyBloomed like a flower to grace his daily life.I used to wonder at it—and I nowWonder I did not see where such a flower,Where, and where only, such a flower could findRooting to flourish in a world like this!He always told me that the heart of ChristNourished what good in him, or beautiful,I found—or fancied, as he smiled and said.But I—Oh, holden heart!—I did not see.And now it is too late, too late, for himTo have known! It may be that he knows it, yea,But now to know it is not wholly suchAs to have known it then, to have known it then!Alas, there is not any chance of hopeBehind us, Rachel; hope is all before.Let us look onward; we in hope were saved,So Stephen used to say, and, 'I go henceIn comfort of some hope,' were his last words,Or of his last, to me—concerning me,Spoken with a sad cheerfulness that nowBreaks me with such a surge of memory!But this is endless, let it here have end.Come, Rachel, see, the sun rides high, come thou,And I will bring thee to a quiet room,Safe from the sun, where thou shalt rest a while."So Rachel followed Ruth, not ill contentTo be alone for thought if not for sleep.Her will was not to sleep; but weariness,With youth and health, was stronger, and she slept.Already, when she woke, the sun halfwayFrom his high noon had down the western slopeOf sky descended, and she hearkening heardA rumorous noise without upon the ways,The stir of movement, steps of many feet,With sound, muffled, of many voices nigh,That startled her from sweet forgetfulnessTo sudden sad remembrance of the thingsThat had been, and that were, and were to be.Instinctive up she sprang, for, "Lo," she said,"They gather unto Stephen's funeral;Behooves that I be ready with all speed."Therewith upon her knees she sank and prayedA prayer for Ruth and for Ruth's little ones,Widowed and orphaned by so dear a death,And for herself—and for her brother Saul!Then her heart swelled to a capacious wish,And, anguished in one swift vicarious throeOf great desire for help and grace divine,She embraced the total church of Jesus Christ—Of such a guide, of such a stay, bereaved!Then Rachel, with the Everlasting ArmsInvisibly, nigh visibly, aroundHer to sustain her steps, came forth, as oneThat meekly walks leaning on her beloved,And begged of Ruth that she might sister beTo her, that day, and thenceforth ever, mournAs sister with her in the eyes of all."For I am lonely," Rachel said, "O Ruth,As thou art; lonely let us be, we twain,Together, widows both, and mix our tears.For also I am widow, as thou art,Yet not as thou—since me a heavier strokeMakes widow, who have never been a wife!"Ruth answered, though she did not understand,And kissed her friend in plight of sisterhood.So they two, clad alike from out Ruth's storeOf raiment, clad in sad attire alike,As sisters walked together side by side—Ruth's children with them, grieved, not knowing why—To where, from Mary's house and Martha's borne,With grievous lamentation, by good menDevout, the flower and choice of Israel,Was laid the sacred dust of Stephen downAnd sealed within a rock-hewn sepulchre.Joseph of Arimathæa, he who soughtAnd gained from Pilate leave to take awayThe body of Jesus crucified, had sentTo Bethany, betimes, before the hourOf burial, rich spices, a great weight,Aloes and myrrh, with linen pure and fine,To wrap the body of Stephen for his tomb.Mary, the mother of the Lord, with JohnBeloved of Jesus, loving her as son,Came to that feast of sorrow bringing tears,To Ruth medicinal more than any, weptBy one who had so learned to weep. So thereWith sackcloth worn and ashes on the head,They wailed aloud, that Hebrew company,Women and men, they beat the breast, they rentTheir raiment, until one stood forth who said:"Enough already has to grief been given.Us it befits not here, for Stephen dead,To mourn as mourn others who have no hope.He was a burning and a shining light,And we a season in his beams were glad.Glory to God who kindled him for us!Glory to God who hath from us withdrawnHis shining, and now hides him in Himself!We thought we could not spare him, but God knew.Let all be as God wills Who knows. Amen!""Amen!" they solemnly responded all,And he who spake these things went on and said:"The Lord anointed Stephen with the oilOf gladness in the gift of speech aboveHis fellows. How he flamed insufferably,In words that leapt out of his mouth, like swordsOut of their sheaths, enkindled to devourThe wicked! When he spoke, flew seraphimAnd bore from off the altar living coalsOf God which, laid upon his lips, purged themTo utter those pure words that purified.What zeal, what wisdom, what fixed faith, what power!He stood our bulwark, he advanced our sword,And single seemed an insupportable host.Yet this puissant soldier of the truth,To disobedience so implacable,How gentle and how placable he wasTo all obedience! He was like his Lord,That Lion of the tribe of Judah, namedAlso the Lamb of God. No words had heSave words of vivid flame, sudden and swiftAnd deadly like the lightning, for God's foes;But for the little flock of Jesus, balmHis speech—into those lips such grace was poured!"Nor less in him for mighty work than wordThe Holy Ghost a fountain was of power.From him or through him what a plenteous streamFlowed like the river of God in miracle!Signs, wonders, gifts of healing, heavenly powers,Innumerable flocked about his hand,Like doves unto their windows flying home,Waiting there eager to perform his will."A prophet of the elder time, rebornInto the spirit of this latter age,Was Stephen. Thanking God for him, let usTogether and steadfastly pray that HeWho made the great Elijah live againIn John the Baptist, give us Stephen backIn resurrection from his tomb with power.Thus shall we pray as himself prophesied—For Stephen, you remember, glanced at thisIn prophecy; unless not prophecyIt were, but only generous hope, with wishTo comfort Rachel, when he spake to herOf grace to come upon her brother yet—We shall so seek what seems it he foresaw,If we ask Jesus to make captive Saul!"That speaker ceased, and then a prophetessAmong the women there took up a wail,Which triumphed into gladness as it grew:"Is fallen, is fallen, a prince in Israel!Woe, while it yet was day, his sun went down!Daughters of Judah, mourn for Stephen slain!"Mourn for a candle of the Lord put out,A torch of noble witness quenched in blood;Wear sackcloth of thick darkness and bewail!"Repent, O daughters of Jerusalem,Repent, forsake your wickedness of woe;Look up, look up, the quenched torch burns a star!"Is risen, is risen; behold, at the right handOn high sits he of his ascended Lord;Rejoice, rejoice, for Stephen could not die!"Comfort ye Ruth; thrice among women sheLives blesséd, who, from wife to him, became,Widowed, partaker of his martyrdom!"Hosanna to the Son of David, Who,Beheld of Stephen standing in the heavens,Received His servant's spirit to Himself!"The Resurrection and the Life is He;He will not leave this body in its tomb;Stephen and we shall meet Him in the air."Descending with the sound that wakes the dead,Ten thousand of His saints attending Him,He comes! He comes! Even so, Lord Jesus, come!"Salvation, worship, blessing, glory, power,Forever and forever unto God,Our God; He never will forsake His own."Uplifted high in heart, they went away.

The morrow morn broke fair in Bethany,And Ruth rose early from unquiet sleep;Rachel likewise, who slept in Mary's house.The sun had not yet risen, but in the westThe moon hung whitening opposite the dawn,When Ruth, her children left asleep, went forthTo feel the freshness of the morning airWithout, and water from the village wellTo draw, both for the slaking of her thirstAnd for the cooling of her brow that burnedAnd of her throbbing temples. At the wellRachel she met who earlier still was forthOn the like errand. The two women hailedAnd kissed each other. Ruth to Rachel thenSaid: "Thou art not, I trow, this morning comeHither the long way from Jerusalem?"

"Nay, Ruth," said Rachel, "here the yesternightWith Mary and Martha I abode a guest."

"How fresh the wind is," Ruth said, "hither blownFrom off the western sea! Us, underneathThe crest of Olivet, it lights uponDescending, broken, like a breath from heaven.What a delicious balm!""About my brow,"Said Rachel, "gratefully I feel the air,Attempered so, soft flowing, as if oneThat loved me like a mother gently strokedMy temples to undo a band of painBound round them.""And, in sooth," the other said,Now looking narrowly at Rachel's face,"Thou seemest sad of favor, Rachel. Thou,Thou too, so young, hast then thy cause to grieve!It is a sad world and a weary. But—Forgive me if such quick instinctive fearsBe selfish, I am wife and mother—aughtOf evil tidings bringest thou me? Spare notTo speak. Thou wilt but answer to the dreamsI had this night, portending nameless ill.Stephen—I fear for him. He yesterdayLeft me beyond his wont oppressed in spirit,And has not since returned. Strange—yet not strange;Sometimes the livelong night he spends in prayerAlone upon the top of OlivetOr in the shadows of Gethsemane."

"Ruth," Rachel said, "the Angel of the LordRound His belovéd, like the mountains roundJerusalem, encampeth ever; heOf God's belovéd is, and guarded well!"

But Ruth scarce listened; she insisting said:"Perhaps of Stephen some report thou bringest,Hint doubtless of new danger threatening him!"

"Nay, Ruth, no longer danger threatens nowThy husband; that is past, and he is safe."

"Thank God," said Ruth; "but stay, I dare not yetThank God. Tell me, have then our rulers ceasedTo frown on Stephen preaching Jesus Christ?Or Stephen, will he cease and preach no more?This cannot be, for Stephen is such stuffAs never yet did bend to mortal beck;And that—our rulers surely have not changedThus suddenly their mind. Thou art deceived,They have deceived thee—Stephen is not safe;It is their guile to make us think him safe,He off his guard will fall an easier preyInto their hands. Rachel, it was not kind,Not faithful in thee so to be deceived.More love had made thee more suspicious. ISuspect forever everybody; theeNow I suspect. Thou keepest something back,Or haply palterest with a double sense.Rachel, I charge thee, I adjure thee, speakAnd tell me all. Stephen is dead! Say that—Is dead! Thou meantest that by, 'He is safe.'They have stoned him, stoned my husband, stoned the manThat was the truest Hebrew of them all!"

Though by her words Ruth challenged frank reply,Yet by her tones and by her eager looksShe deprecated more what she invoked.This Rachel saw, and answered not a word.Then Ruth gainsaid what Rachel would not say:"They have not done it, could not do it, he—Rachel, it is not true, unsay it, quick,It was a cruel jest to tease me so,Thou art not a wife, thou art not a mother, elseThou never hadst conceived so ill a jest!"

Rachel was tortured, but she could not speak,And Ruth, secure in sense of respite yet,Went on invoking what she would not hear:"Why art thou silent? Speak, and keep not backThe truth, whatever it may be; there's naughtSo soothing and so healing as the truth.But I will not believe that he is dead.Thou didst not know my husband. Dead! dead! dead!I tell thee, Rachel,thatis something pastImagining dreadful, hopeless. To be deadIs—not to love, and not to speak to thoseWho loved and love thee, not to hear them speak,Saying they loved and love thee and lamentThey ever gave thee cause of grief and nowAre different and would die a thousand deathsTo have been different then when thou couldst know—Death, Rachel,—but of death what canst thou learn,For thou art but a child and never wast,Never, to such a husband such a wife—To vex the noblest heart that ever broke!"

Rachel at first had listened with dismay,And nothing found to answer to Ruth's words,Whose words indeed flowed on and made no pauseFor answer, as if she in truest truthSought not the answer that she seemed to seek,Would fain postpone it rather, or avert.But when at length the utterance of Ruth's thoughtFrom converse passed into soliloquyAnd the deep secret of her soul revealed,Then Rachel caught a welcome gleam of hope.A sign of grace she saw or seemed to seeAt work for Ruth within her heart of grief,Transmuting human sorrow to divineRepentance, and for pain preparing peace.

"Let us go in together," Rachel said,For they by this were nigh to Ruth's abode,"Let us go in where we may be withdrawnFrom note of such as here might mark our speechOr action; I have word from him to thee."Then they went in, and Ruth bestirred herselfTo make a cheer of welcome for her guest.That momentary truce to troubled thoughtFor Ruth, and interspace of quietnessFrom her own words which could not choose but flowWith helpless importunity till then,Gave Rachel needed chance to speak. She said:"O Ruth, thy husband fell asleep last night,And slept a sweeter sleep than thine or mine,A deep sweet sleep, a happy sleep, a blest.Thou wouldst not wake him thence for worlds on worlds.He felt before he slept that he should sleep,And me, whom God our Father let be nigh,Stephen bade bear a last good-night to thee.He did not think the night was very longBefore him for his sleeping, and his wishWas thou shouldst meet him presently to sayGood-morning. This was his true message, Ruth."

The ineffably serene steadfast regardOf Rachel's eyes, that, out of liquid depthsUnsounded, looked angelic love and truth,With pity mingled, equal measure—tearsOrbing them large, shot through and through with lightOf heavenly hope for Ruth—but, more than allA subtly sweet insinuating tone,Most musical, of softness in the voice,That gently wound into the listener's heart—These, with what else, who knows? of help from Heaven,Wrought a bright miracle of change in Ruth.She had been hard and dry, a desert rock;The rock was smitten now with Moses' rod.Ruth gushed in gracious tears, she veiled herselfWith weeping, as sometimes a precipiceVeils itself dim with mist of cataract.And Rachel wept with Ruth, until Ruth said:"But where is Stephen, Rachel? It might beThey, meaning death, yet did not compass death.Such things have been; haste, let us go and see.Monstrous it were, if he should need me—IThe while here sitting weeping idle tears!"

"Come," Rachel said, and took her by the hand.So hand in hand they went to Mary's house,The elder guided as the younger led,And neither speaking, stilled with solemn thought.Mary and Martha met the twain, with mute,Subdued, affectionate greeting, at the door,And, understanding without word their wish,Straight led them inward, with a quietudeOf gesture that spoke peace and peace infused,To the place where in quietude reposedThat slumberer late so violently lulledTo this so placid sleep. The room was flushedWith hue of gold in hangings round the wallsAnd rugs of russet muffling deep the floor,That made a kind of inner light diffused,Like sunshine without sun and shadowless.A golden-curtained window opened east,And east the upturned face of Stephen looked,Lying there motionless in that fast sleep—So lying that, had he his eyelids raised,He without moving might have seen the morn.The rest, with one accord not entering, stoodAbout the door without, silent, and sawWhile the wife sole went to the husband's side.That instant, lo, from out the breaking dawnA level sunbeam through the curtain slippedAnd touched the fair translucent face with light.Ruth marked it and she testified and said,Falling upon her knees beside the couch:"I take it as a token, Lord, from Thee;Even so send Thou Thy light into my heart!Lo, by the side of him made beautifulIn death, of whom I was unworthy, hereI give myself—alas, that it should beToo late for him to have known it!—to his Lord.I trust to be forgiven for my sin!I thank Thee that I was not weight enoughUpon him to prevail against Thy mightWithin him and prevent this sacrifice—Accomplished all without my help, nay, allIn spite of my resistance! O my God,How hast Thou humbled me! To have had no part,Wife with her husband to have borne no part—Save hindering what she could!—when such a deedOf martyrdom for Christ was possible!Behold, O Lord, thus late I take my part!This now is also mine, as well as his,This sacrifice. I have offered him to Thee!And if my share be heavier even than his—To live bereaved more grievous martyrdomThan to have died—this too is my desert,Accept the witness of my widowhood!"

Ruth ceased, but rose not from her knees, still fixedIn posture as if grown a pillar of prayer.Then those three women came and knelt with herBeside her dead, a silent fellowshipOf sympathy in sacrifice; but soonRachel and Mary, one on either sideOf Ruth, borne by the self-same impulse each,Each at the self-same instant borne, untoThe self-same beautiful appeal, pure love'sPure touch, stole softly each a hand in hers.Each plighting hand so proffered Ruth upraisedSlowly and solemnly as with a kindOf consecrating gesture to her lips,And kissing seemed to seal a sacrament.Then she arose, and all arose with her,When Martha, not forgotten, likewise shared,She too, with Ruth the kiss of sisterhood.So, never a word between them spoken, allWent backward and withdrew, Ruth last, who sawThat sunshine glorifying Stephen's brow,And bore it thence, Shekinah in her heart.Her countenance thus illumined from within,The mother to her orphan children went,And moved, a light, about her household ways.She knew that others would with holy heedPrepare that holy dust for burial.

But Rachel was more comfortless than Ruth.Rest in her spirit found she none—until,First having broken fast, but sparingly,She hastened with winged footsteps to her home.There her maid told her Saul went early forthLeaving this message for his sister: "HereBide, if thou wilt; this house be still thy home.But I go hence, whither I cannot tell,Nor yet for how long absence; to what end—Thou knowest. Cheer thee well!" The little maidLooked rueful and perplexed, but nothing asked,As nothing Rachel told her, save to say:"Quick, bring thine elder sister, thou and sheShall keep the house together for a time.I also go, my little maid"—wherewithHer little maid, now weeping, Rachel kissed—"I also go, but weep not, I shall comeAgain, I trust, in happier times. Farewell!"Then Rachel straight to Ruth's abode returned.

"Glad am I thou hast come once more," said Ruth,"For I have wished to ask thee many things.How came his dreadful chance of martyrdomOn Stephen? I can bear to hear it all,Since all is done and past and—'He is safe,'As thou saidst, Rachel!"Tenderly Ruth smiled,With tears behind her smiles that did not fall.Then Rachel said:"I cannot tell thee allAs having all beheld, but this I heard,That Stephen gave a noble testimonyBefore the council who had cited him;That there his face shone like an angel's, GodHimself so swearing for His servant, whileAgainst him swore false witnesses subornedBy Shimei; that his enemies could not bearThe fierceness of the love with which in wrathHe burned for God against their wickedness,And so they rushed upon him violentlyAnd thrust him forth without the city walls.But God beheld their threatening, and He sentHis Romans to withstand them for a while.Then we that loved and honored him drew nigh,And would have spoken words of cheer to him,But he—O Ruth, thou shouldst have seen him then!I never can describe to thee how fairThy husband was to look upon, while he,As steadfast as a star and as serene,And not less lovely-luminous to our eyes,Stood there amid the angry SanhedrimAnd to us spake such heavenly words of cheer!He spake of thee, Ruth, and I think God gaveHis spirit comfort in good hope for thee.For, 'God will give all to our prayers,' said he,And added, 'Husband He will be to her,And Father to the fatherless.'"ThereatRuth's tears as from a fresh-oped fountain flowed,And eased her aching heart, too full beforeOf love, remorseful love, for perfect peace.Rachel with Ruth wept tears of sympathy;But with the sweet and wholesome in her tearsMixed salt and bitter, for she thought of Saul.Ruth at length ceased to weep and yearning said:"And then those Romans let them work their will!"

"On Stephen's body, yea, Ruth," Rachel said,"But on his spirit they could have no power.""The stones," said Ruth—

"The stones, Ruth," Rachel said,"God gave His angels charge concerning them—So verily I believe—and strictly bade,'Lo, let these slay, but see ye that they doNo harm unto My prophet.' So the stones,They slew, but hurt not. God translated him;He rose triumphant in meek majesty.I should have told thee, Ruth, that while he stoodBefore the council, he looked up and sawJesus in heaven on the right hand of God—There standing; this he testified to all.It was as if his faithful Lord had risenTo side with Stephen in his agony.So, when they stoned him, Stephen upward spoke,'Lord Jesus, take my spirit'; then once more,'Lord, lay not Thou this sin unto their charge.'This he said kneeling and so fell asleep."

The two some space sat musing silently;Then Ruth:"I feel that thou hast told me allMost truly, Rachel, as most tenderly.Thus, then, God giveth His belovéd sleep,Thus also! And He doeth all things well!Amen!"Silence once more, that seemed surchargedWith deepening inarticulate amenFrom both, and Ruth, regarding Rachel, said:"Even so! But, Rachel, us not yet doth GodWill thus to sleep. Still, otherwise to sleep—For His belovéd are not also we?—May be God's gift to us. Thou surely needest,Body and spirit, rest."And Rachel said:"The words of Stephen leap unto my lipsFor answering thee; and these were Stephen's words:'God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!'And this makes me remember that one thingDone yesterday I missed to tell thee of.For Martha, faithful heart, forecasting well,Brought food for Stephen that might hearten himTo bear whatever he had need to bear,A cake of barley and a honeycomb.'God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!'Said Stephen, and so took the food from her,And ate it giving thanks before us all.He ate it with such look of appetite,It cheered us with a sense of freedom hisFrom any discomposure of the mind.O Ruth, in His pavilion God did hideThy husband, and his soul had perfect peace!"

"Was it not done like Martha?" Ruth replied;"And done like Stephen too. For courtesyBloomed like a flower to grace his daily life.I used to wonder at it—and I nowWonder I did not see where such a flower,Where, and where only, such a flower could findRooting to flourish in a world like this!He always told me that the heart of ChristNourished what good in him, or beautiful,I found—or fancied, as he smiled and said.But I—Oh, holden heart!—I did not see.And now it is too late, too late, for himTo have known! It may be that he knows it, yea,But now to know it is not wholly suchAs to have known it then, to have known it then!Alas, there is not any chance of hopeBehind us, Rachel; hope is all before.Let us look onward; we in hope were saved,So Stephen used to say, and, 'I go henceIn comfort of some hope,' were his last words,Or of his last, to me—concerning me,Spoken with a sad cheerfulness that nowBreaks me with such a surge of memory!But this is endless, let it here have end.Come, Rachel, see, the sun rides high, come thou,And I will bring thee to a quiet room,Safe from the sun, where thou shalt rest a while."

So Rachel followed Ruth, not ill contentTo be alone for thought if not for sleep.Her will was not to sleep; but weariness,With youth and health, was stronger, and she slept.

Already, when she woke, the sun halfwayFrom his high noon had down the western slopeOf sky descended, and she hearkening heardA rumorous noise without upon the ways,The stir of movement, steps of many feet,With sound, muffled, of many voices nigh,That startled her from sweet forgetfulnessTo sudden sad remembrance of the thingsThat had been, and that were, and were to be.Instinctive up she sprang, for, "Lo," she said,"They gather unto Stephen's funeral;Behooves that I be ready with all speed."Therewith upon her knees she sank and prayedA prayer for Ruth and for Ruth's little ones,Widowed and orphaned by so dear a death,And for herself—and for her brother Saul!Then her heart swelled to a capacious wish,And, anguished in one swift vicarious throeOf great desire for help and grace divine,She embraced the total church of Jesus Christ—Of such a guide, of such a stay, bereaved!Then Rachel, with the Everlasting ArmsInvisibly, nigh visibly, aroundHer to sustain her steps, came forth, as oneThat meekly walks leaning on her beloved,And begged of Ruth that she might sister beTo her, that day, and thenceforth ever, mournAs sister with her in the eyes of all."For I am lonely," Rachel said, "O Ruth,As thou art; lonely let us be, we twain,Together, widows both, and mix our tears.For also I am widow, as thou art,Yet not as thou—since me a heavier strokeMakes widow, who have never been a wife!"

Ruth answered, though she did not understand,And kissed her friend in plight of sisterhood.

So they two, clad alike from out Ruth's storeOf raiment, clad in sad attire alike,As sisters walked together side by side—Ruth's children with them, grieved, not knowing why—To where, from Mary's house and Martha's borne,With grievous lamentation, by good menDevout, the flower and choice of Israel,Was laid the sacred dust of Stephen downAnd sealed within a rock-hewn sepulchre.

Joseph of Arimathæa, he who soughtAnd gained from Pilate leave to take awayThe body of Jesus crucified, had sentTo Bethany, betimes, before the hourOf burial, rich spices, a great weight,Aloes and myrrh, with linen pure and fine,To wrap the body of Stephen for his tomb.Mary, the mother of the Lord, with JohnBeloved of Jesus, loving her as son,Came to that feast of sorrow bringing tears,To Ruth medicinal more than any, weptBy one who had so learned to weep. So thereWith sackcloth worn and ashes on the head,They wailed aloud, that Hebrew company,Women and men, they beat the breast, they rentTheir raiment, until one stood forth who said:"Enough already has to grief been given.Us it befits not here, for Stephen dead,To mourn as mourn others who have no hope.He was a burning and a shining light,And we a season in his beams were glad.Glory to God who kindled him for us!Glory to God who hath from us withdrawnHis shining, and now hides him in Himself!We thought we could not spare him, but God knew.Let all be as God wills Who knows. Amen!"

"Amen!" they solemnly responded all,And he who spake these things went on and said:"The Lord anointed Stephen with the oilOf gladness in the gift of speech aboveHis fellows. How he flamed insufferably,In words that leapt out of his mouth, like swordsOut of their sheaths, enkindled to devourThe wicked! When he spoke, flew seraphimAnd bore from off the altar living coalsOf God which, laid upon his lips, purged themTo utter those pure words that purified.What zeal, what wisdom, what fixed faith, what power!He stood our bulwark, he advanced our sword,And single seemed an insupportable host.Yet this puissant soldier of the truth,To disobedience so implacable,How gentle and how placable he wasTo all obedience! He was like his Lord,That Lion of the tribe of Judah, namedAlso the Lamb of God. No words had heSave words of vivid flame, sudden and swiftAnd deadly like the lightning, for God's foes;But for the little flock of Jesus, balmHis speech—into those lips such grace was poured!

"Nor less in him for mighty work than wordThe Holy Ghost a fountain was of power.From him or through him what a plenteous streamFlowed like the river of God in miracle!Signs, wonders, gifts of healing, heavenly powers,Innumerable flocked about his hand,Like doves unto their windows flying home,Waiting there eager to perform his will.

"A prophet of the elder time, rebornInto the spirit of this latter age,Was Stephen. Thanking God for him, let usTogether and steadfastly pray that HeWho made the great Elijah live againIn John the Baptist, give us Stephen backIn resurrection from his tomb with power.Thus shall we pray as himself prophesied—For Stephen, you remember, glanced at thisIn prophecy; unless not prophecyIt were, but only generous hope, with wishTo comfort Rachel, when he spake to herOf grace to come upon her brother yet—We shall so seek what seems it he foresaw,If we ask Jesus to make captive Saul!"

That speaker ceased, and then a prophetessAmong the women there took up a wail,Which triumphed into gladness as it grew:

"Is fallen, is fallen, a prince in Israel!Woe, while it yet was day, his sun went down!Daughters of Judah, mourn for Stephen slain!

"Mourn for a candle of the Lord put out,A torch of noble witness quenched in blood;Wear sackcloth of thick darkness and bewail!

"Repent, O daughters of Jerusalem,Repent, forsake your wickedness of woe;Look up, look up, the quenched torch burns a star!

"Is risen, is risen; behold, at the right handOn high sits he of his ascended Lord;Rejoice, rejoice, for Stephen could not die!

"Comfort ye Ruth; thrice among women sheLives blesséd, who, from wife to him, became,Widowed, partaker of his martyrdom!

"Hosanna to the Son of David, Who,Beheld of Stephen standing in the heavens,Received His servant's spirit to Himself!

"The Resurrection and the Life is He;He will not leave this body in its tomb;Stephen and we shall meet Him in the air.

"Descending with the sound that wakes the dead,Ten thousand of His saints attending Him,He comes! He comes! Even so, Lord Jesus, come!

"Salvation, worship, blessing, glory, power,Forever and forever unto God,Our God; He never will forsake His own."

Uplifted high in heart, they went away.

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