To Saul, wrapt in his gloomy contemplations, Rachel unobtrusively presents herself. Conversation ensues between them, and Saul confides to his sister his own most secret purposes and hopes, dashed now so cruelly. The fact, however, at length comes out that Rachel was herself converted to Christianity as a result of Stephen's reply to Saul. Saul instantly hereon experiences a violent revulsion of feeling. He breaks away from Rachel, spurning her, and breathing out threatening and slaughter against the Christian church.
Saul thus forlorn, a voice smote on his ear,Voice other than of Shimei, clear and sweet;The very sound was balsam to his pain.Rachel's the voice was, who, with deep distaste,As jealous for her brother, had perceivedThe entering in to Saul of his late guestIll-favored, and through all his stay had still,Impatiently awaiting, wished him sped.He now some moments gone, she issued forthFrom out her curtained chamber glimpsing gayBehind her, through the hangings, as she passed,With color—stuff of scarlet, linen fineEmbroidered, weft of purple tapestry,Her handiwork—and sending after herSweet scent of herb and flower, her husbandry—Forth issued, and across the inner courtOpen to heaven—small close of paradise,A tall palm by a fountain, bloomy shrubs,And vines that clad with green the enclosing walls—Stepped lightly to Saul's side. Saul sat beneathA tent-cloth canopy outspread, his ownTent-making skill—the high noon of the sunTo fend, if place perchance one then might wishIn which free air to breathe safe from the heat—There sat relapsed, deep brooding gloomy thoughts,When now his sister pausing stood by him.A lovely vision! Moving, or at rest,Ever a rapture Rachel seemed of graceWhich but that moment that felicityOf posture or of gesture had attained,By accident, yet kept it, through all change,Inalienably hers, by right divineOf inward rhythm that swayed her heart in tune.The sister had, with love's observance, watchedSome days the phases of her brother's mood,Biding her time to speak; and now she spoke."Brother," she murmured softly, "thou art sad.Thy brow is written over like a scrollWith lines of trouble that I try to read.Unbind thy heart, I pray, to me, who grieveTo see thee grieve, and fain at least would shareSuch brother's sorrow as I may not soothe."This suave appeal of sister's sympathyWon upon Saul to wean him from himself—A moment, and that moment he partookComfort of love, nepenthe to his pain,While thus he answered Rachel:"Nay, but thou,My sister, thou thyself art to me restAnd solace. Sit thee down, I pray, besideThy brother. But to have thee nigh as nowRefreshes like the dew. I bathe my heartIn thee as in a fountain. Ask me notTo ease its aching otherwise than so.Pillow me on thy love and let me restIn silence from the sound of my own voice.I hate myself, Rachel.""But I love thee,My own dear, noble brother," Rachel said;"I love thee, and I will not let thee hateThyself. Brother and sister should be oneIn love and hate. Hate what I hate, and whatI love, love thou—that is true brotherhood.""Safe law of brotherhood indeed for me,With thee for sister, Rachel," Saul replied,With fondness and self-pity, as he kissedThe pure young brow upturned toward him; "but me,Thou dost not know me as I know myself.""O nay, but better, brother," Rachel said;"Right hate is good, as good as love. So, hate,But not thyself, Saul. Shall I tell thee oneTo hate? I hate him, and I counsel thee,Hate, Saul, that evil man I saw but nowSteal from his too long privilege at thine ear.""Him, Rachel," Saul replied, "I cannot hate;Hatred is made impossible by scorn.""Thou scornest him," she said, "but not too muchTo have been disturbed by him. The cloudy brow,So unlike my brother—I have brought it back,I see, dear Saul, by only mentioning him.Hate him well, Saul, and be at peace again.To hate is safer, better, than to scorn.We scorn with pride, we must with conscience hate,Such hating as I mean. Thou art too proud, Saul."Saul answered, "For my pride I hate myself."But she: "Were it not wiselier done to hateOne's pride, than for one's pride to hate one's self?Whoever hates himself for his own prideStill keeps the pride for which he hates himself.Hate and abjure thy pride, and love thyself.""Easy to say, O Rachel, hard to do,"Sighed Saul,—"at least for such as I, who amToo proud, too proud! Thou seest that after allThou and myself know Saul alike, too proud,Albeit the too proud man we treat unlike,Thou loving and I hating him.""O Saul,"Thus spoke she, gazing steadfastly at him,But sudden-starting tears swam in her eyes,"O Saul, Saul, Saul, my brother, whence is this?Thou wert not wont to talk thus. Changed art thouSince when I heard thee speak in that disputeWith Stephen—""Thou heard'st me?" asked Saul."Yea, Saul,"Rachel replied, "I heard both thee and him."(Saul proudly hid an answering hurt of pride.)"I heard thee, brother, and was proud for thee;I never knew more masterful high speechFall from thy lips. My heart leaped up for joyTo listen. When those men of IsraelShouted, I shouted with them, silently,Louder than all. God heard the secret noise,Like thunder, of the beating of my heartIn sister's pride for brother's victory.I crowned thee, I anointed thee my king,So glorious wast thou in thy conquering might!And that effulgent pride upon thy brow!""But when," said Saul, forestalling ruefullyThe expected and the dreaded change and fallFrom such a chanted pæan to his praise—"But when"—"But when, O Saul," she said, "when he,Stephen, stood forth to answer thee, there was—Didst thou not feel it?—""Sister, yea, I felt,More than my sister even could feel, that IWas baffled, put to shame.""Nay, nay," she said;"Not that, O Saul, dear Saul, it was not that.""What, then? For I felt nothing else," said Saul;"That feeling filled me, as sometimes the soundAnd stir of whirlwind fill the firmament.My mind was one mad vortex swallowing upAll other thought than this, 'Saul, thou art shamed!'""Why, Saul," cried she, "what canst thou mean? Thou shamed?How shamed?""Rachel, I lost, and Stephen won.""What didst thou lose?" said Rachel, wonderingly;"And what did Stephen win, that also thouWon'st not? I cannot understand thee, Saul."Such crystal clearness of simplicityBecame a mirror, wherein gazing, SaulBeheld himself a double-minded man.How should he deal with questioner like this?"Why, Rachel, canst thou then not understand,"He said, "how I should wish to conquer?""Yea,"Said she, "for truth's sake, Saul. And still, if truthConquered, though not by thee, thou wouldst be glad,Wouldst thou not, Saul? Here sad I see thee now,As if truth's cause were fallen—which could not be,Since truth is God's—and yet thou sayest not that,But, 'Saul is shamed!' and, 'Saul has lost!' Not truth,But Saul. I cannot understand. Thou hadstPerhaps, unknown to me, some other endThan only truth, which also thou wouldst gain?"It was his sister's single-heartednessThat helped her see so true and aim so fair.Saul was too noble not to meet her trustIn him with trust in her as absolute."Rachel," he said, his reverence almost awe,"Never did burnished metal give me backMyself more truly, outer face and form,Than the pure tranquil mirror of thy soulShows me the image of my inner self.The truth I see by thee is justly thine,And thou likewise shalt see it all in all."The law of God was ever my delight,As thou knowest, sister, who hast seen me poreDaily from boyhood on the sacred scrollOf Scripture, eager to transfer it wholeUnto the living tablets of my heart.And I have sought, how earnestly thou knowestTo make my life a copy of the law.No jot or tittle of it was too smallFor me to heed with scruple and obey.With all my heart was I a Pharisee,Born such, bred such, and such by deep belief."But more, my sister. Musing on the world,I saw one nation among nations, oneAlone, no fellow, worshipper of God,The True, the Only, and by Him electTo be His people and receive His law;That nation was my nation. My heart burned,Beholding in the visions of my head,The glory that should be, and was not, ours.Think of it, sister, God Himself our King,And bondmen we of the uncircumcised!I brooded on the shame and mysteryWith anguish in the silences of night.I saw the image of a mighty stateLoom possible before me. Her augustAnd beautiful proportions, builded tallAnd noble, rested on foundation-stonesOf sapphire, and in colors fair they rose;Her pinnacles were rubies, and her gatesCarbuncles—I beheld Jerusalem,The city of Isaiah's prophecy;Her borders round about were pleasant stones.She sat the queen and empress of the earth;The tributary nations, of their store,Poured wealth into her lap, and vassal kingsHasted in long procession to her feet.The throne and majesty of God in herHeld capital seat, or his vicegerent ChristReigned with reflected splendor scarce less bright.Such, sister, was the dream in which I lived,Dream call it, but it is the will of God,More solid than the pillared firmament."Was it a fault of foolish pride in me,Did I aspire audaciously, to hopeThat I, by doing and by daring much,Beyond my equals, might beyond them shareFulfilments such as these? I heard a voiceSaying, 'Prepare the Lord His way.' I thoughtThe Lord was near, and what I could, I wouldDo to make wide and smooth and straight His wayBefore Him, ere He came. I trusted HimThat, when He came, He in His hands would bringLarge recompense for servants faithful found,And not forget even Saul, should haply SaulNot utterly in vain prove to have striven,Removing from the path of His approachThe stone of stumbling."Sister, these are thoughtsSuch as men have, but cherish secretly,Even from themselves, and never speak aloudTo any; I have now not spoken theseTo thee; thou hast but heard a few heart-beatsRendered articulate breath by grace of rightThine own to know the truth, who hast the truthRevealed to me."O other conscience mine,Wherein have I gone wrong? I felt the power,Asleep within me, stirring half awake,To take possession of the minds of menAnd sway their wills; the world was not too wideTo be the empire I could rule aright,As chiefest minister, were such His will,Of God's Messiah. Some one needs must sitAt His right hand to hear and executeHis pleasure—why not Saul? Who worthier?But now, alas! less worthy who, or whoLess likely? I am fallen, am shamed—past hope,Past hope! I who aspired to greatest thingsAm to least things by proof unequal found!How shall Inothate Stephen, who has wroughtOn me this great despite—besides what heWrought on the suffering cause of truth divine?"Rachel's heart heaved, but in what words to speakShe did not find. Saul into his dark moodRetired, and sat in silence for a while.Returning, then, for torture of himself,To that which Rachel brokenly beganTo say, and left unsaid, Saul asked of her:"What was it, sister, thou beganst to tell,When, not thy brother, but thy brother's spleen,Broke thy words off with interruption rude?Something it seemed of how, at Stephen's words,A change fell on thee, from thy first applauseOf me—""O Saul! A chasm of difference,"So to her brother, Rachel sad burst forth,"Yawns betwixt thee and me this day, how wide,How wide! I feel the bond of sisterhood,Stretching across, not strained to break—for thatShall never, never be, in any world,O brother, truest, noblest, best beloved!—But strained to draw thee to me where I amFrom where thou art, far off, albeit so near!""A tragic riddle which I fail to read,Rachel," said Saul, perplexed; "solve thou it me.""Brother, I fear I cannot," Rachel said;"But loyally I will try. When Stephen stoodTo answer thee that day, a power not heOppressed my spirit with a sense of weight,Gentle but insupportable, which grewInstantly greater and greater, until it seemedReady to crush, unless I yielded; Saul,I yielded, and that weight became as mightWhich passed to underneath me and upbore.""Rachel, be simpler," Saul severely said;"My soul refuses to be teased with words.Meanest thou this, that Stephen mastered thee?""Nay, Saul, my brother," meekly Rachel said,Meekly and firmly; "Stephen not, but God.No man could master me away from Saul.Proudly I was thy vassal sister, Saul,Until God summoned me with voice that IMight not resist; God's vassal am I now,But sister still to thee, and loyal, Saul,Beyond all measure of that loyaltyI held before, which made me proud of thee,And glad of thee, and spurred me on to praiseMy brother as the paragon of men.O Saul—""Nay, Rachel," Saul said, with a toneRepressive more than the repressive words,"I will not hear thee further in this vein.Thou art a woman, and I must not blameThy weakness; sister too to me thou art,And I will not misdoubt thy love; but thouHast added the last drop of bitternessTo the crowned cup of grief and shame poured outFor me to drink. Go, Rachel, muse on this:A brother leaned an aching, aching heartUpon a sister's bosom to be eased,And that one pillow out of all the worldTo me, that trusted downy softness, hidThe cruelest subtle unsuspected thorn.Saul's sister a disciple and a dupeOf those that preach the son of Joseph, Christ!And this, forsooth, the fruit that was to beOf Saul's aspiring trust to strike the strokeThat in one day should crush the wretched creed!Rachel, methinks thou mightst have spared me this!But nay, my sister, better is it so.Haply no barb less keen had stung me backTo my old self and made me Saul again—The weakling that I was, to pule and weep,As if the cause were lost and all were lost!I thank thee, sister, thou hast done me good,Like medicine—like bitter medicine!Tell me true, Rachel, thou didst feign me this,To rouse me from my late unmanly swoon.That is past now; I rise refreshed and strong,I see my path before me, stretching straight,I enter it to tread it to the end.Doubt not but I shall feel the wholesome hurtOf the shrewd spur my sister, with wise heartOf hardness, plunged full deep into my sideBetimes, when I was drooping nigh to sink.Peace to thee, sister, cheer thee with this thought,'I saved my brother from the last disgraceBy a disgrace next to the last—it wasA hard way, but the only, and it sped!'"Such cruel irony from her brother cutThe tender heart of Rachel like a knife.But more for Saul she grieved than for herself;She knew that naught but anguish of chagrinThe sharpest could have tortured out from him,So noble and so gentle, any taunt.From sheer compassion of his misery,She wept, and said:"O Saul, Saul, Saul—"But he:"Rachel, no more; already deep enough,I judge, for present use, the iron has gone;I shall not falter; thou mayst safely spareTo drive it deeper now—it rankles home.And surely, if hereafter I should feel,At some weak woman's moment, any touchOf foolish tenderness to make me pauseRelaxing and relenting from my course—A sad course, Rachel, traced in blood and tears!—Should ever such a softness steal on me,Surely I should but need remember thee,Thou younger playmate of my boyhood! thee,Mirror, that was, of saintly sisterhood!Loveliest among the daughters of thy raceOnce, to thy brother! fountain flowing freeOf gladness, never sadness, unto him!—Never of sadness until now, but now—O Rachel, Rachel, sister, changed this dayFrom all thou wert to what I will not name—Surely I shall but need bring back this hour,And let the image of my sister pass—O broken image of all loveliness,Distained and broken!—pass before my eyes,As here I see her, separate from meForever, and outcast from God—that thought,That image, shall make brass the heart of Saul,And his nerve iron, to smite and smite again,Until no wily Stephen shall remainFor any silly Rachel to obey!"Fierce so outbreathing threat and slaughter, SaulIn bitterness of spirit broke away.
Saul thus forlorn, a voice smote on his ear,Voice other than of Shimei, clear and sweet;The very sound was balsam to his pain.Rachel's the voice was, who, with deep distaste,As jealous for her brother, had perceivedThe entering in to Saul of his late guestIll-favored, and through all his stay had still,Impatiently awaiting, wished him sped.He now some moments gone, she issued forthFrom out her curtained chamber glimpsing gayBehind her, through the hangings, as she passed,With color—stuff of scarlet, linen fineEmbroidered, weft of purple tapestry,Her handiwork—and sending after herSweet scent of herb and flower, her husbandry—Forth issued, and across the inner courtOpen to heaven—small close of paradise,A tall palm by a fountain, bloomy shrubs,And vines that clad with green the enclosing walls—Stepped lightly to Saul's side. Saul sat beneathA tent-cloth canopy outspread, his ownTent-making skill—the high noon of the sunTo fend, if place perchance one then might wishIn which free air to breathe safe from the heat—There sat relapsed, deep brooding gloomy thoughts,When now his sister pausing stood by him.A lovely vision! Moving, or at rest,Ever a rapture Rachel seemed of graceWhich but that moment that felicityOf posture or of gesture had attained,By accident, yet kept it, through all change,Inalienably hers, by right divineOf inward rhythm that swayed her heart in tune.
The sister had, with love's observance, watchedSome days the phases of her brother's mood,Biding her time to speak; and now she spoke."Brother," she murmured softly, "thou art sad.Thy brow is written over like a scrollWith lines of trouble that I try to read.Unbind thy heart, I pray, to me, who grieveTo see thee grieve, and fain at least would shareSuch brother's sorrow as I may not soothe."
This suave appeal of sister's sympathyWon upon Saul to wean him from himself—A moment, and that moment he partookComfort of love, nepenthe to his pain,While thus he answered Rachel:"Nay, but thou,My sister, thou thyself art to me restAnd solace. Sit thee down, I pray, besideThy brother. But to have thee nigh as nowRefreshes like the dew. I bathe my heartIn thee as in a fountain. Ask me notTo ease its aching otherwise than so.Pillow me on thy love and let me restIn silence from the sound of my own voice.I hate myself, Rachel.""But I love thee,My own dear, noble brother," Rachel said;"I love thee, and I will not let thee hateThyself. Brother and sister should be oneIn love and hate. Hate what I hate, and whatI love, love thou—that is true brotherhood."
"Safe law of brotherhood indeed for me,With thee for sister, Rachel," Saul replied,With fondness and self-pity, as he kissedThe pure young brow upturned toward him; "but me,Thou dost not know me as I know myself."
"O nay, but better, brother," Rachel said;"Right hate is good, as good as love. So, hate,But not thyself, Saul. Shall I tell thee oneTo hate? I hate him, and I counsel thee,Hate, Saul, that evil man I saw but nowSteal from his too long privilege at thine ear."
"Him, Rachel," Saul replied, "I cannot hate;Hatred is made impossible by scorn."
"Thou scornest him," she said, "but not too muchTo have been disturbed by him. The cloudy brow,So unlike my brother—I have brought it back,I see, dear Saul, by only mentioning him.Hate him well, Saul, and be at peace again.To hate is safer, better, than to scorn.We scorn with pride, we must with conscience hate,Such hating as I mean. Thou art too proud, Saul."
Saul answered, "For my pride I hate myself."
But she: "Were it not wiselier done to hateOne's pride, than for one's pride to hate one's self?Whoever hates himself for his own prideStill keeps the pride for which he hates himself.Hate and abjure thy pride, and love thyself."
"Easy to say, O Rachel, hard to do,"Sighed Saul,—"at least for such as I, who amToo proud, too proud! Thou seest that after allThou and myself know Saul alike, too proud,Albeit the too proud man we treat unlike,Thou loving and I hating him."
"O Saul,"Thus spoke she, gazing steadfastly at him,But sudden-starting tears swam in her eyes,"O Saul, Saul, Saul, my brother, whence is this?Thou wert not wont to talk thus. Changed art thouSince when I heard thee speak in that disputeWith Stephen—"
"Thou heard'st me?" asked Saul.
"Yea, Saul,"Rachel replied, "I heard both thee and him."(Saul proudly hid an answering hurt of pride.)"I heard thee, brother, and was proud for thee;I never knew more masterful high speechFall from thy lips. My heart leaped up for joyTo listen. When those men of IsraelShouted, I shouted with them, silently,Louder than all. God heard the secret noise,Like thunder, of the beating of my heartIn sister's pride for brother's victory.I crowned thee, I anointed thee my king,So glorious wast thou in thy conquering might!And that effulgent pride upon thy brow!"
"But when," said Saul, forestalling ruefullyThe expected and the dreaded change and fallFrom such a chanted pæan to his praise—"But when"—
"But when, O Saul," she said, "when he,Stephen, stood forth to answer thee, there was—Didst thou not feel it?—"
"Sister, yea, I felt,More than my sister even could feel, that IWas baffled, put to shame."
"Nay, nay," she said;"Not that, O Saul, dear Saul, it was not that."
"What, then? For I felt nothing else," said Saul;"That feeling filled me, as sometimes the soundAnd stir of whirlwind fill the firmament.My mind was one mad vortex swallowing upAll other thought than this, 'Saul, thou art shamed!'"
"Why, Saul," cried she, "what canst thou mean? Thou shamed?How shamed?"
"Rachel, I lost, and Stephen won."
"What didst thou lose?" said Rachel, wonderingly;"And what did Stephen win, that also thouWon'st not? I cannot understand thee, Saul."
Such crystal clearness of simplicityBecame a mirror, wherein gazing, SaulBeheld himself a double-minded man.How should he deal with questioner like this?
"Why, Rachel, canst thou then not understand,"He said, "how I should wish to conquer?"
"Yea,"Said she, "for truth's sake, Saul. And still, if truthConquered, though not by thee, thou wouldst be glad,Wouldst thou not, Saul? Here sad I see thee now,As if truth's cause were fallen—which could not be,Since truth is God's—and yet thou sayest not that,But, 'Saul is shamed!' and, 'Saul has lost!' Not truth,But Saul. I cannot understand. Thou hadstPerhaps, unknown to me, some other endThan only truth, which also thou wouldst gain?"
It was his sister's single-heartednessThat helped her see so true and aim so fair.Saul was too noble not to meet her trustIn him with trust in her as absolute.
"Rachel," he said, his reverence almost awe,"Never did burnished metal give me backMyself more truly, outer face and form,Than the pure tranquil mirror of thy soulShows me the image of my inner self.The truth I see by thee is justly thine,And thou likewise shalt see it all in all.
"The law of God was ever my delight,As thou knowest, sister, who hast seen me poreDaily from boyhood on the sacred scrollOf Scripture, eager to transfer it wholeUnto the living tablets of my heart.And I have sought, how earnestly thou knowestTo make my life a copy of the law.No jot or tittle of it was too smallFor me to heed with scruple and obey.With all my heart was I a Pharisee,Born such, bred such, and such by deep belief.
"But more, my sister. Musing on the world,I saw one nation among nations, oneAlone, no fellow, worshipper of God,The True, the Only, and by Him electTo be His people and receive His law;That nation was my nation. My heart burned,Beholding in the visions of my head,The glory that should be, and was not, ours.Think of it, sister, God Himself our King,And bondmen we of the uncircumcised!I brooded on the shame and mysteryWith anguish in the silences of night.I saw the image of a mighty stateLoom possible before me. Her augustAnd beautiful proportions, builded tallAnd noble, rested on foundation-stonesOf sapphire, and in colors fair they rose;Her pinnacles were rubies, and her gatesCarbuncles—I beheld Jerusalem,The city of Isaiah's prophecy;Her borders round about were pleasant stones.She sat the queen and empress of the earth;The tributary nations, of their store,Poured wealth into her lap, and vassal kingsHasted in long procession to her feet.The throne and majesty of God in herHeld capital seat, or his vicegerent ChristReigned with reflected splendor scarce less bright.Such, sister, was the dream in which I lived,Dream call it, but it is the will of God,More solid than the pillared firmament.
"Was it a fault of foolish pride in me,Did I aspire audaciously, to hopeThat I, by doing and by daring much,Beyond my equals, might beyond them shareFulfilments such as these? I heard a voiceSaying, 'Prepare the Lord His way.' I thoughtThe Lord was near, and what I could, I wouldDo to make wide and smooth and straight His wayBefore Him, ere He came. I trusted HimThat, when He came, He in His hands would bringLarge recompense for servants faithful found,And not forget even Saul, should haply SaulNot utterly in vain prove to have striven,Removing from the path of His approachThe stone of stumbling."Sister, these are thoughtsSuch as men have, but cherish secretly,Even from themselves, and never speak aloudTo any; I have now not spoken theseTo thee; thou hast but heard a few heart-beatsRendered articulate breath by grace of rightThine own to know the truth, who hast the truthRevealed to me."O other conscience mine,Wherein have I gone wrong? I felt the power,Asleep within me, stirring half awake,To take possession of the minds of menAnd sway their wills; the world was not too wideTo be the empire I could rule aright,As chiefest minister, were such His will,Of God's Messiah. Some one needs must sitAt His right hand to hear and executeHis pleasure—why not Saul? Who worthier?But now, alas! less worthy who, or whoLess likely? I am fallen, am shamed—past hope,Past hope! I who aspired to greatest thingsAm to least things by proof unequal found!How shall Inothate Stephen, who has wroughtOn me this great despite—besides what heWrought on the suffering cause of truth divine?"
Rachel's heart heaved, but in what words to speakShe did not find. Saul into his dark moodRetired, and sat in silence for a while.Returning, then, for torture of himself,To that which Rachel brokenly beganTo say, and left unsaid, Saul asked of her:"What was it, sister, thou beganst to tell,When, not thy brother, but thy brother's spleen,Broke thy words off with interruption rude?Something it seemed of how, at Stephen's words,A change fell on thee, from thy first applauseOf me—"
"O Saul! A chasm of difference,"So to her brother, Rachel sad burst forth,"Yawns betwixt thee and me this day, how wide,How wide! I feel the bond of sisterhood,Stretching across, not strained to break—for thatShall never, never be, in any world,O brother, truest, noblest, best beloved!—But strained to draw thee to me where I amFrom where thou art, far off, albeit so near!"
"A tragic riddle which I fail to read,Rachel," said Saul, perplexed; "solve thou it me."
"Brother, I fear I cannot," Rachel said;"But loyally I will try. When Stephen stoodTo answer thee that day, a power not heOppressed my spirit with a sense of weight,Gentle but insupportable, which grewInstantly greater and greater, until it seemedReady to crush, unless I yielded; Saul,I yielded, and that weight became as mightWhich passed to underneath me and upbore."
"Rachel, be simpler," Saul severely said;"My soul refuses to be teased with words.Meanest thou this, that Stephen mastered thee?"
"Nay, Saul, my brother," meekly Rachel said,Meekly and firmly; "Stephen not, but God.No man could master me away from Saul.Proudly I was thy vassal sister, Saul,Until God summoned me with voice that IMight not resist; God's vassal am I now,But sister still to thee, and loyal, Saul,Beyond all measure of that loyaltyI held before, which made me proud of thee,And glad of thee, and spurred me on to praiseMy brother as the paragon of men.O Saul—"
"Nay, Rachel," Saul said, with a toneRepressive more than the repressive words,"I will not hear thee further in this vein.Thou art a woman, and I must not blameThy weakness; sister too to me thou art,And I will not misdoubt thy love; but thouHast added the last drop of bitternessTo the crowned cup of grief and shame poured outFor me to drink. Go, Rachel, muse on this:A brother leaned an aching, aching heartUpon a sister's bosom to be eased,And that one pillow out of all the worldTo me, that trusted downy softness, hidThe cruelest subtle unsuspected thorn.Saul's sister a disciple and a dupeOf those that preach the son of Joseph, Christ!And this, forsooth, the fruit that was to beOf Saul's aspiring trust to strike the strokeThat in one day should crush the wretched creed!Rachel, methinks thou mightst have spared me this!But nay, my sister, better is it so.Haply no barb less keen had stung me backTo my old self and made me Saul again—The weakling that I was, to pule and weep,As if the cause were lost and all were lost!I thank thee, sister, thou hast done me good,Like medicine—like bitter medicine!Tell me true, Rachel, thou didst feign me this,To rouse me from my late unmanly swoon.That is past now; I rise refreshed and strong,I see my path before me, stretching straight,I enter it to tread it to the end.Doubt not but I shall feel the wholesome hurtOf the shrewd spur my sister, with wise heartOf hardness, plunged full deep into my sideBetimes, when I was drooping nigh to sink.Peace to thee, sister, cheer thee with this thought,'I saved my brother from the last disgraceBy a disgrace next to the last—it wasA hard way, but the only, and it sped!'"
Such cruel irony from her brother cutThe tender heart of Rachel like a knife.But more for Saul she grieved than for herself;She knew that naught but anguish of chagrinThe sharpest could have tortured out from him,So noble and so gentle, any taunt.From sheer compassion of his misery,She wept, and said:
"O Saul, Saul, Saul—"
But he:"Rachel, no more; already deep enough,I judge, for present use, the iron has gone;I shall not falter; thou mayst safely spareTo drive it deeper now—it rankles home.And surely, if hereafter I should feel,At some weak woman's moment, any touchOf foolish tenderness to make me pauseRelaxing and relenting from my course—A sad course, Rachel, traced in blood and tears!—Should ever such a softness steal on me,Surely I should but need remember thee,Thou younger playmate of my boyhood! thee,Mirror, that was, of saintly sisterhood!Loveliest among the daughters of thy raceOnce, to thy brother! fountain flowing freeOf gladness, never sadness, unto him!—Never of sadness until now, but now—O Rachel, Rachel, sister, changed this dayFrom all thou wert to what I will not name—Surely I shall but need bring back this hour,And let the image of my sister pass—O broken image of all loveliness,Distained and broken!—pass before my eyes,As here I see her, separate from meForever, and outcast from God—that thought,That image, shall make brass the heart of Saul,And his nerve iron, to smite and smite again,Until no wily Stephen shall remainFor any silly Rachel to obey!"
Fierce so outbreathing threat and slaughter, SaulIn bitterness of spirit broke away.
Rachel in dismay soliloquizes. She at length resolves on conveying to Stephen, through Ruth, his wife, a warning of his danger. Ruth, not a Christian, expostulates with her husband, attempting to dissuade him from his course—a course certain, she says, to end fatally for him. After a gentle, long, anguished effort on his part to bring Ruth to sympathy with himself in his Christian faith, Stephen parts from her with presentiment that it is never to return. Under the power of the Holy Spirit, he takes his way from Bethany, where his home is, to Jerusalem. His friends. Martha and Mary, with their brother Lazarus, see him going, and follow.
Rudely thus parted from his sister, SaulStraightway sought certain of his synagogue—The synagogue of the Cilicians—menLess alien from himself than Shimei wasIn spirit, while compatriot too by birthAs was not Shimei, an Asian he—And these made privy to his changed resolve.They, glad of such adhesion, opened freeTheir counsel to him, telling, with grimaceAdded, and shrug of shoulder, to attestTheir scorn of Shimei, Shimei's scheme, which theySourly, as from compulsion, now took up.Saul, swallowing a great throe of innermostRevolt that well-nigh mastered him, subscribedHimself, by silence, partner of their deed.Rachel, spurned from him by her brother, satMoveless a while, the image of dismay,Her two ears caves of roaring sound, her mindA whirling void of sheer astonishment.When presently the storm a little calmedWithin her, and she knew herself once more,She cleared her thought by settling it in words—Words which through fluent mood and mood changed swiftFrom passionate soliloquy to prayer,And from prayer back to soft soliloquy:"My brother shall not excommunicateHis sister! While I love him he is mine,And I shallnotbe 'separate' from him'Forever'—let him hate me as he will,Who hates himself, and otherwise amissHates liberally. Why did I let him go?I should have held him, should have told him IAm of one blood with him, as high as heIn spirit; though a 'woman,' not to bePut down; he gave me right, with speech like that,To equal him in stinging word for word.I could have done it. Woman am I? Yea,And Deborah was a woman, Miriam too.I feel my blood a-tingle in my veinsWith lust to have him back, and make him knowThe lion with the lamb lies down in meTogether; and I showed him but the lamb!The lion rouses late, occasion gone!Did he cow me? So tamely I enduredHis contumely! Anger none till now,Nor shame not to be angry at such speechFrom him; but now—anger with burning shameTurns inward and incenses me like fire.I scorn myself for that, reed-like, my headI bowed before the tempest of his scorn,When blast for blast I should have blown him backHis tempest."Rachel's indignation soLike a sea wrought and was tempestuous.But the recoil of her own violent speechFirst gave her pause, then pierced her with remorse.Daily, from when she, hearing Stephen speak,Heard God through Stephen speaking, and obeyed,Rachel, first having in baptism testifiedHer death to sin, her birth to righteousness—Never her absent brother dreaming it—Gladsome had broken bread of fellowshipWith the disciples of the Lord, and learned,Both from their lips and from their lives beheld,Deep lessons in the lore of Jesus, aptBy the tuition of the Holy Ghost.The better spirit, for a moment lost,So lately made her own, came back to her.Sadly she mused, recalling her hot wordsOf passion:"'Tempest'? Tempest sure just nowHummed in me. 'Scorn myself'? What word was that?Rachel forsooth forbade Saul saying, 'I hateMyself'—and scorn herself does she, yea, hereSit impotently brooding scorn for scornTo rival him? Surely I missed my way.'Scorn,' 'hate,' one spirit both these speak, such scornSuch hate, in him, in me. One spirit both,And that the spirit of this world, not His,Not Christ's, no spirit of Thine, O Crucified,Thou meek and lowly holy Lamb of God!Forgive, forgive me, from Thy cross of shameAnd passion, O Thou suffering Son of God!Once prayedst Thou thence for those that murdered Thee,'Father, forgive them, for they know not whatThey do.' I knew not what I did when soI crucified Thee afresh through shameful pride.My heart breaks with my sorrow for my sin,A broken and a contrite heart, O Lord,Thou never wilt despise."And now yet moreMy heart breaks with forgiveness poured on me.O sweet and blessed flood, pour on me still!Deliciously I tremble and rejoice.To be thus broken is bliss more to meThan to be whole. I love to lie dissolved,Dissolving, under this soft fall of peaceDistilled like dew from out Thy bleeding heart!Lo, here I wholly, wholly, wholly yieldTo Thee, O Christ, am fluid utterly,To take whatever shape Thee best may please.Remake me after Thine own image, Lord!"I pray Thee for my brother. Suffer notThat he act out his purposed madness. Save,O save him from that dreadful sin he meansAgainst Thee and against Thy holy cause.I cannot bear it, that my brother rageAgainst Thee like the heathen. Thou art strong,O Christ! I pray Thee—Thee I pray, O Christ,Thee only, for none other can—meet ThouAnd master Saul! His sister pleads with Thee;I plead for his sake, he being dear to me,But more for Thine own name and glory's sake,And for Thy suffering cause!I thank Thee, Lord,With joyful tears, I thank Thee, gracious Lord,That Thou restrainedst me dumb with silence thenWhen Saul spake evil of me—for Thy sake.Through Thee, Who, when reviled, reviledst notAgain, through Thee, through Thee, I, also I,Proud foolish Rachel, then refrained from words!No taunt retorted, no reproach, no blame,Stung him from me to sin; I thank Thee, Lord,For that!"Now is there naught that I may do?May I not warn that prophet Stephen? SaulWildly foreshadowed harm himself might wreakOn him; and what meant Shimei's visit here?Mischief, no doubt of that; collusion strange,Incredible, impossible, such twain,That Shimei and my brother! I will goAnd talk with Stephen's wife, her, what I can,Without disloyalty to Saul, stir upTo fear for Stephen's safety; he need not,Surely, dauntless high prophet of the LordAlthough he be, still ready-girt to die,Rush blindfold into danger unforewarned."So to the house of Stephen Rachel wentWith haste, and there, in darkened words to Ruth,Perturbed her woman's breast with vague alarms:'Her husband must of stratagem beware,And even of violence, aimed against his life.'Stephen, by Ruth his wife, of all advised,Armed him his heart to face what must befall.Ruth shook him to the centre of his soulWith storms of wife's complaints and love and tears:"Nay, Stephen, many a time, bear witness thou,My heart before she came misgave me sore;But now, since Rachel's words, no peace I findConcerning thee, in this thy wilful wayWherein thou goest—whither, I know not, whence,Too well I know, for from a home thou goestOnce happy, ere this madness came on thee!"Sharply so Stephen's wife upbraided him.Gravely and gently he admonished her:"Name it not madness, woman, lest therebyThou sin that sin against the Holy Ghost.No madness is it when the soul of manIs sovereignly usurped by the Most HighTo be the organ of Almighty Will.I yield myself, nay, Ruth, I join myself,To God—no blind unsharing instrument,But joyful partner of His purposes."Solemnly chided so, Ruth quick replied:"And what if of His purposes one beTo let thee plunge, as headstrong, so headlong,Thy way to bloody death, thou stiff-necked man?Thou hearest what Rachel brings us, doubtful hintIndeed, but therefore in itself to meOnly more fearful; and how fearful joinedTo what thyself confessest thou of late,With thine own ears, hast, from the public mouth,Heard—instigated whisper, Shimei's brew,Accusing thee of treason to the hopeOf Israel, and purpose to destroyThe temple, and the customs do awayWhich Moses left us! Stephen, all these signsSingly, much more together, point one way—They threaten death to thee, if thou persistTo preach things hateful to the wise and good."Ruth intermitted, and her husband said:"The danger, Ruth, I know, but I must not,For danger, slack obedience to my Lord."Then Ruth said:"But I only ask that thouNow, for a little, prudently abideIn hiding till this storm be overpast."He, with a glance of irony, replied:"And always run to covert at the firstBluster of opposition? Yea, to someThat is permitted; but to other some,Whereof am I, only to stand foursquareAnd take the buffet of whatever storm.And the best prudence is obeying, Ruth."High answered Stephen thus, but Ruth rejoined:"Stephen, thou ever wert a stubborn will,And overweening of the wisdom thine,Hard-hearted and unloving never yet,Never, till now. How canst thou bide thus calm,And I, thine erst loved wife, beheld by theeSo tossed with tempest and not comforted?"Wherewith self-pity broke her words to sobs:She fell on Stephen's neck and wept aloud.With both his arms he folded her about,While his heart, hugely swelling in his breast,Forced to his eye the slow, large, rounding tear.It was as if a cloud that wished to rainStrongly held back its drooping weight of shower.His melting voice at last he fixed in words:"What meanest thou to weep and break my heart,O thou, mine own, most loving and most lovedOf women? Flesh cries out to flesh in meAgainst the purpose of my spirit setTo crucify the flesh with its desires!"Ruth caught her sobs and held them while she spoke:"Flesh of thy flesh am I; thou slayest meIn slaying thyself; I will not have it so.Not ready yet am I to die in thee;And thee God surely needs alive, not dead:The dead cannot praise God nor serve His cause.Who will so preach that gospel that thou lovestWhen thou art gone? Who then will silence Saul?I tell thee, Stephen, this is Satan's guile—To get thee slain—and overmatch mightst thouThe arch-deceiver, easily, if thou wouldst,So easily—only live."Conclusive seemedHer argument to Ruth and stanched her tears.She gently disengaged the fond embraceThat held her to her husband's heart, and, drawnA little backward from his face her face,She smiled on him like sunshine after rain.Smiling pathetically back, he kissed,With kisses that she felt like sacraments,Then, and forever after till she died,His wife's brow beautiful with hope, and said:"Ruth, thou hast said; it is, be sure, his guile,Satan's, whereby I presently shall die;If so to die indeed be mine, who feelToo young still, and too strong, too full of hope,Too full of—shall I name it, Ruth?—too fullOf God Himself, the Holy Ghost, to die!For He within me lives such life and power,Death seems impossible, all weakness seemsFar off, an alien thing, and not for me;I am immortal and omnipotent.That, Ruth, is when I stand to speak for God,Preaching to men the gospel of His Son."But when, as now, I sit with thee and talk,Or when my children cluster round my knees,And I hear husband, father, from fond lipsPressed to these lips so oft, and with such joy,When all the dearness that is meant by home,And all the drawing lodged in kindred blood,And all that sense, unutterably deep,Of oneness, soul in soul, with those we love—O Ruth!—but, Ruth, our tears commingled flow,'Tis our hearts flow together in those tears!O wife and life, when all that I have said,And that far more which never tongue could say,Surges upon me, surge on surge of thoughtAnd feeling, like an overflowing flood,Belovéd, then, how weak I am, how frail,How low and like to die! I lean toward thee,As if the oak should lean upon his vine."Ruth took his word from him and made reply:"So lean on me, my love, and be at rest;Lean, and make proof how vines at need are strong.In me no faltering purpose weakens will.Thou speakest of flesh within thee crying outTo flesh against the spirit—warfare strangeOf elements that dwell in me at one.My nature moves straightforward all one way.Rebellion none, no mutiny, I findOnly resolve to thwart thy mad resolve,Thy half resolve, say rather, half and mad—So proved by these compunctious visitingsThou hast, these gracious sweet remorses wise,Relentings toward thy children and toward me;Divine presages, Stephen, scorn them not,Sent to forewarn thee ere it be too late!"Bethink thee, Stephen, when didst thou before,Ever, thus will and straight unwill, thus halt,Thus parley with thyself, thus stand in doubtLike a reed shaken with the wind, as nowI see thee here? Thou art not like thyself;Not like that Stephen, ready, combative,Thy stature still elastically tallTo tower and overtop and overfrownWhatever front of menace challenged thee.By thy changed state, I pray thee, be advised.God teaches thee hereby. He does not wishThy will with thy desire to be at war.Give up thy heady will, and let desire,Divinely wise, the wisdom of the heart,Guide thee; her ways are ways of pleasantness,And all her paths are peace."Again well pleasedWith her own argument, Ruth tearful smiledA smile that, tenfold tender through those tears,Was argument to Stephen more than words.From deep within he heaved a sigh and said:"Oh! Woman! Woman! Ruth, thou teachest meHow Adam could, by Eve's enticement drawn,Be even beguiled to die. And now, to live,Not die, my Eve entices me. O Ruth,I feel, I feel, doubt not but that I feel,The sweet, the subtly sweet, dissolving spellOf wish infused by thee, with thee to live,With thee and for thee, nay, in thee, as thouIn me—this twain one life, how dear, how dear!O wife, what is there that I could not bearAnd dare of hard and high, wert thou, with smilesAnd tears and love, for Christ but eloquent,As all too well I feel thee eloquentFor our sweet selves?"Ruth's heart sank, but she said:"O Stephen, for our children!" Then she threwHer head upon his bosom, there in tears,With passionate sobs and throbs, poured out her heart.He mightily a mighty swell that yearnedTo be a storm within him, ruled, and said:"Nay, Ruth, but we forget. Life beyond lifeRemains to us and to our children. We,Forgetfully, desire and hope and fearAs if death bounded all. A little whileAnd Christ will come again. Then they that sleepIn Him will wake to Him, and they that stillWake when He comes, but love Him, will, with thoseLate sleeping in Him now awake, ascendTo meet the Lord descending, in the air:Thenceforward all that love Him, loved of Him,Will be forever with Him where He is,Beholding there His glory. Blessed state!No tears, no fears, no hearts that break, no heartsThat will not break, although they ache the more,Perhaps, God knows, not breaking—naught of these,And naught of any ill, but only peace,Joy, love, security of peace and joyAnd love, and fellowship in peace and joyAnd love, forever, perfect, more and more,With vision beatific still of HimWho washed us in His blood and made us kingsAnd priests to God. Ruth, here is hope indeedFor us that will not make ashamed."But RuthUnhearing heard and was not comforted.She raised her head from Stephen's breast, with actAs if to part herself in hope from him,And, with regard made almost alien, said:"Hug thou thy hope, thy hope is not for me.He could not save himself, thy Christ, but diedAs the fool dieth—and as die wilt thou,If thou despise my counsel! Stephen, IWould rather take my lot a little less,Less large, less perfect, and less durable,Than that thou figurest in thy fantasy,So I might have it something differentFrom that, real, substantial, palpableTo sense, something whereof one could be sure.I am no visionary. Take, say I,With thanks the good God gives us now and here;Not spurn His bounty back into His face,And reach out emptied hands of wanton greedTo grasp at more He has not offered us.We have no right to throw our life away!—In hope of life hereafter, only oursThen when with patience our appointed time—'All' our appointed time, Stephen—we wait,Till our change come."Ruth's chill repellent tone,Her mask of manner hard, could not deceiveHer husband, who, through such disguise with painPut on, well recognized a new deviceOf wife's love, versatile as resolute,Constraining tenderness to play severe.Yet not the less for that, more rather, heFelt at her words a dull weight of despairOppress his spirit; he could only pray,In silent sorrow not to be expressed,"O Holy Ghost of God, pity and save!"A hundred times so praying for his wife,In anguished iteration o'er and o'er,Stephen not speaking sat, and speechless she.At last, as if one bound with green withes roseRending the withes to rise, rose Stephen, sweatOf supreme agony victoriousAt dreadful cost dewing his brow; he tookHis wife's hand solemnly and tenderly,His port majestical compelling awe,And, with tense speech, in tones that strangely mixedThe husband with the prophet, slowly said:"Farewell, Ruth, for the hour is fully comeThat I must hence. The burden of the LordIs instant and oppresses me. I go,Whither I know not, but He knows, to bearWitness once more to His most worthy name.I thought that I should never preach againHis gospel in those temple courts, but nowPerhaps He wills even that; whatever beHis purpose, unforeshown, I welcome it."Lo, Ruth, this is the last time, for full wellI know I never shall come back to thee!Come thou to me, I charge thee that, and bringOur children to their father. Always thinkHereafter, 'He, that last time, charged me that!'I think my God in this has heard my prayer,And I go hence in comfort of some hope.Our children! Oh! My children! God in heaven,Have mercy! How a father pitiethHis children, think of that, and pity me!A father lays them on a Father's heart;Father, I charge Thee, by Thy father's-heart,Not one be plucked from out His Father's hand!Lord Christ, see Thou to this, in session thereForever, interceding for Thine own!"Ruth, give their father's blessing to our babes;I trust that they will cheer their mother well,When I am gone, and cheer thee to the end.Their sweet unconscious voices now I hearIn laugh and prattle of pathetic glee!I fain would see their faces once again,Kiss them once more, and take a last caress!But nay, I spare myself one pang; sweet babes,They are too young to know! But by and by,When they are older and will understand,Then tell them thou what I now cannot, say,'Your father loved you, loves you, and will loveForever—that was his last word to meFor you.' So, Ruth, farewell!"With first his hands,Both, placed in solemn blessing on her head,She kneeling by his knees, forth from his houseTherewith went Stephen all as in a trance.With open eyes that saw not, yet with stepsGuided—how, he well knew, but whither not—In simple rapt obedience, he his wayTook absently like one that walks in sleep.Stephen his home had fixed in Bethany—Sequestered hamlet on the slope behindThe Mount of Olives from Jerusalem.Mary and Martha, here, and Lazarus,He knew and loved; and with them oft, their guest,Held converse sweet of what He said and did,And was, the Friend Who wept when Lazarus died,The Lord of life through Whom he lived again:But Ruth, self-sundered from this fellowship,Abode apart, or only with them boundIn bonds of kindly common neighborhood.These marked when Stephen, marking not, passed by,That day, steps toward the holy city bent,And to each other said: 'He goes once moreBound in the spirit to JerusalemTo preach the gospel of the grace of God.Behold the lit look on the forward face!Behold the gait half-buoyed as if with wings!It is like Jesus hastening to His cross!Lo, let us follow!' and they followed him.But he went ever onward, slacking notHis steps, nor heeding when the brow he reachedOf Olivet and thence, across the deepRavine of Kedron worn with rushing floods,Before him and beneath him saw outspreadThe city of David with its palaces.
Rudely thus parted from his sister, SaulStraightway sought certain of his synagogue—The synagogue of the Cilicians—menLess alien from himself than Shimei wasIn spirit, while compatriot too by birthAs was not Shimei, an Asian he—And these made privy to his changed resolve.They, glad of such adhesion, opened freeTheir counsel to him, telling, with grimaceAdded, and shrug of shoulder, to attestTheir scorn of Shimei, Shimei's scheme, which theySourly, as from compulsion, now took up.Saul, swallowing a great throe of innermostRevolt that well-nigh mastered him, subscribedHimself, by silence, partner of their deed.
Rachel, spurned from him by her brother, satMoveless a while, the image of dismay,Her two ears caves of roaring sound, her mindA whirling void of sheer astonishment.When presently the storm a little calmedWithin her, and she knew herself once more,She cleared her thought by settling it in words—Words which through fluent mood and mood changed swiftFrom passionate soliloquy to prayer,And from prayer back to soft soliloquy:"My brother shall not excommunicateHis sister! While I love him he is mine,And I shallnotbe 'separate' from him'Forever'—let him hate me as he will,Who hates himself, and otherwise amissHates liberally. Why did I let him go?I should have held him, should have told him IAm of one blood with him, as high as heIn spirit; though a 'woman,' not to bePut down; he gave me right, with speech like that,To equal him in stinging word for word.I could have done it. Woman am I? Yea,And Deborah was a woman, Miriam too.I feel my blood a-tingle in my veinsWith lust to have him back, and make him knowThe lion with the lamb lies down in meTogether; and I showed him but the lamb!The lion rouses late, occasion gone!Did he cow me? So tamely I enduredHis contumely! Anger none till now,Nor shame not to be angry at such speechFrom him; but now—anger with burning shameTurns inward and incenses me like fire.I scorn myself for that, reed-like, my headI bowed before the tempest of his scorn,When blast for blast I should have blown him backHis tempest."
Rachel's indignation soLike a sea wrought and was tempestuous.But the recoil of her own violent speechFirst gave her pause, then pierced her with remorse.Daily, from when she, hearing Stephen speak,Heard God through Stephen speaking, and obeyed,Rachel, first having in baptism testifiedHer death to sin, her birth to righteousness—Never her absent brother dreaming it—Gladsome had broken bread of fellowshipWith the disciples of the Lord, and learned,Both from their lips and from their lives beheld,Deep lessons in the lore of Jesus, aptBy the tuition of the Holy Ghost.The better spirit, for a moment lost,So lately made her own, came back to her.Sadly she mused, recalling her hot wordsOf passion:"'Tempest'? Tempest sure just nowHummed in me. 'Scorn myself'? What word was that?Rachel forsooth forbade Saul saying, 'I hateMyself'—and scorn herself does she, yea, hereSit impotently brooding scorn for scornTo rival him? Surely I missed my way.'Scorn,' 'hate,' one spirit both these speak, such scornSuch hate, in him, in me. One spirit both,And that the spirit of this world, not His,Not Christ's, no spirit of Thine, O Crucified,Thou meek and lowly holy Lamb of God!Forgive, forgive me, from Thy cross of shameAnd passion, O Thou suffering Son of God!Once prayedst Thou thence for those that murdered Thee,'Father, forgive them, for they know not whatThey do.' I knew not what I did when soI crucified Thee afresh through shameful pride.My heart breaks with my sorrow for my sin,A broken and a contrite heart, O Lord,Thou never wilt despise."And now yet moreMy heart breaks with forgiveness poured on me.O sweet and blessed flood, pour on me still!Deliciously I tremble and rejoice.To be thus broken is bliss more to meThan to be whole. I love to lie dissolved,Dissolving, under this soft fall of peaceDistilled like dew from out Thy bleeding heart!Lo, here I wholly, wholly, wholly yieldTo Thee, O Christ, am fluid utterly,To take whatever shape Thee best may please.Remake me after Thine own image, Lord!
"I pray Thee for my brother. Suffer notThat he act out his purposed madness. Save,O save him from that dreadful sin he meansAgainst Thee and against Thy holy cause.I cannot bear it, that my brother rageAgainst Thee like the heathen. Thou art strong,O Christ! I pray Thee—Thee I pray, O Christ,Thee only, for none other can—meet ThouAnd master Saul! His sister pleads with Thee;I plead for his sake, he being dear to me,But more for Thine own name and glory's sake,And for Thy suffering cause!I thank Thee, Lord,With joyful tears, I thank Thee, gracious Lord,That Thou restrainedst me dumb with silence thenWhen Saul spake evil of me—for Thy sake.Through Thee, Who, when reviled, reviledst notAgain, through Thee, through Thee, I, also I,Proud foolish Rachel, then refrained from words!No taunt retorted, no reproach, no blame,Stung him from me to sin; I thank Thee, Lord,For that!"Now is there naught that I may do?May I not warn that prophet Stephen? SaulWildly foreshadowed harm himself might wreakOn him; and what meant Shimei's visit here?Mischief, no doubt of that; collusion strange,Incredible, impossible, such twain,That Shimei and my brother! I will goAnd talk with Stephen's wife, her, what I can,Without disloyalty to Saul, stir upTo fear for Stephen's safety; he need not,Surely, dauntless high prophet of the LordAlthough he be, still ready-girt to die,Rush blindfold into danger unforewarned."
So to the house of Stephen Rachel wentWith haste, and there, in darkened words to Ruth,Perturbed her woman's breast with vague alarms:'Her husband must of stratagem beware,And even of violence, aimed against his life.'Stephen, by Ruth his wife, of all advised,Armed him his heart to face what must befall.
Ruth shook him to the centre of his soulWith storms of wife's complaints and love and tears:"Nay, Stephen, many a time, bear witness thou,My heart before she came misgave me sore;But now, since Rachel's words, no peace I findConcerning thee, in this thy wilful wayWherein thou goest—whither, I know not, whence,Too well I know, for from a home thou goestOnce happy, ere this madness came on thee!"Sharply so Stephen's wife upbraided him.Gravely and gently he admonished her:"Name it not madness, woman, lest therebyThou sin that sin against the Holy Ghost.No madness is it when the soul of manIs sovereignly usurped by the Most HighTo be the organ of Almighty Will.I yield myself, nay, Ruth, I join myself,To God—no blind unsharing instrument,But joyful partner of His purposes."
Solemnly chided so, Ruth quick replied:"And what if of His purposes one beTo let thee plunge, as headstrong, so headlong,Thy way to bloody death, thou stiff-necked man?Thou hearest what Rachel brings us, doubtful hintIndeed, but therefore in itself to meOnly more fearful; and how fearful joinedTo what thyself confessest thou of late,With thine own ears, hast, from the public mouth,Heard—instigated whisper, Shimei's brew,Accusing thee of treason to the hopeOf Israel, and purpose to destroyThe temple, and the customs do awayWhich Moses left us! Stephen, all these signsSingly, much more together, point one way—They threaten death to thee, if thou persistTo preach things hateful to the wise and good."
Ruth intermitted, and her husband said:"The danger, Ruth, I know, but I must not,For danger, slack obedience to my Lord."
Then Ruth said:"But I only ask that thouNow, for a little, prudently abideIn hiding till this storm be overpast."
He, with a glance of irony, replied:"And always run to covert at the firstBluster of opposition? Yea, to someThat is permitted; but to other some,Whereof am I, only to stand foursquareAnd take the buffet of whatever storm.And the best prudence is obeying, Ruth."
High answered Stephen thus, but Ruth rejoined:"Stephen, thou ever wert a stubborn will,And overweening of the wisdom thine,Hard-hearted and unloving never yet,Never, till now. How canst thou bide thus calm,And I, thine erst loved wife, beheld by theeSo tossed with tempest and not comforted?"
Wherewith self-pity broke her words to sobs:She fell on Stephen's neck and wept aloud.With both his arms he folded her about,While his heart, hugely swelling in his breast,Forced to his eye the slow, large, rounding tear.It was as if a cloud that wished to rainStrongly held back its drooping weight of shower.His melting voice at last he fixed in words:"What meanest thou to weep and break my heart,O thou, mine own, most loving and most lovedOf women? Flesh cries out to flesh in meAgainst the purpose of my spirit setTo crucify the flesh with its desires!"
Ruth caught her sobs and held them while she spoke:"Flesh of thy flesh am I; thou slayest meIn slaying thyself; I will not have it so.Not ready yet am I to die in thee;And thee God surely needs alive, not dead:The dead cannot praise God nor serve His cause.Who will so preach that gospel that thou lovestWhen thou art gone? Who then will silence Saul?I tell thee, Stephen, this is Satan's guile—To get thee slain—and overmatch mightst thouThe arch-deceiver, easily, if thou wouldst,So easily—only live."
Conclusive seemedHer argument to Ruth and stanched her tears.She gently disengaged the fond embraceThat held her to her husband's heart, and, drawnA little backward from his face her face,She smiled on him like sunshine after rain.Smiling pathetically back, he kissed,With kisses that she felt like sacraments,Then, and forever after till she died,His wife's brow beautiful with hope, and said:"Ruth, thou hast said; it is, be sure, his guile,Satan's, whereby I presently shall die;If so to die indeed be mine, who feelToo young still, and too strong, too full of hope,Too full of—shall I name it, Ruth?—too fullOf God Himself, the Holy Ghost, to die!For He within me lives such life and power,Death seems impossible, all weakness seemsFar off, an alien thing, and not for me;I am immortal and omnipotent.That, Ruth, is when I stand to speak for God,Preaching to men the gospel of His Son.
"But when, as now, I sit with thee and talk,Or when my children cluster round my knees,And I hear husband, father, from fond lipsPressed to these lips so oft, and with such joy,When all the dearness that is meant by home,And all the drawing lodged in kindred blood,And all that sense, unutterably deep,Of oneness, soul in soul, with those we love—O Ruth!—but, Ruth, our tears commingled flow,'Tis our hearts flow together in those tears!O wife and life, when all that I have said,And that far more which never tongue could say,Surges upon me, surge on surge of thoughtAnd feeling, like an overflowing flood,Belovéd, then, how weak I am, how frail,How low and like to die! I lean toward thee,As if the oak should lean upon his vine."
Ruth took his word from him and made reply:"So lean on me, my love, and be at rest;Lean, and make proof how vines at need are strong.In me no faltering purpose weakens will.Thou speakest of flesh within thee crying outTo flesh against the spirit—warfare strangeOf elements that dwell in me at one.My nature moves straightforward all one way.Rebellion none, no mutiny, I findOnly resolve to thwart thy mad resolve,Thy half resolve, say rather, half and mad—So proved by these compunctious visitingsThou hast, these gracious sweet remorses wise,Relentings toward thy children and toward me;Divine presages, Stephen, scorn them not,Sent to forewarn thee ere it be too late!
"Bethink thee, Stephen, when didst thou before,Ever, thus will and straight unwill, thus halt,Thus parley with thyself, thus stand in doubtLike a reed shaken with the wind, as nowI see thee here? Thou art not like thyself;Not like that Stephen, ready, combative,Thy stature still elastically tallTo tower and overtop and overfrownWhatever front of menace challenged thee.By thy changed state, I pray thee, be advised.God teaches thee hereby. He does not wishThy will with thy desire to be at war.Give up thy heady will, and let desire,Divinely wise, the wisdom of the heart,Guide thee; her ways are ways of pleasantness,And all her paths are peace."
Again well pleasedWith her own argument, Ruth tearful smiledA smile that, tenfold tender through those tears,Was argument to Stephen more than words.From deep within he heaved a sigh and said:"Oh! Woman! Woman! Ruth, thou teachest meHow Adam could, by Eve's enticement drawn,Be even beguiled to die. And now, to live,Not die, my Eve entices me. O Ruth,I feel, I feel, doubt not but that I feel,The sweet, the subtly sweet, dissolving spellOf wish infused by thee, with thee to live,With thee and for thee, nay, in thee, as thouIn me—this twain one life, how dear, how dear!O wife, what is there that I could not bearAnd dare of hard and high, wert thou, with smilesAnd tears and love, for Christ but eloquent,As all too well I feel thee eloquentFor our sweet selves?"
Ruth's heart sank, but she said:"O Stephen, for our children!" Then she threwHer head upon his bosom, there in tears,With passionate sobs and throbs, poured out her heart.
He mightily a mighty swell that yearnedTo be a storm within him, ruled, and said:"Nay, Ruth, but we forget. Life beyond lifeRemains to us and to our children. We,Forgetfully, desire and hope and fearAs if death bounded all. A little whileAnd Christ will come again. Then they that sleepIn Him will wake to Him, and they that stillWake when He comes, but love Him, will, with thoseLate sleeping in Him now awake, ascendTo meet the Lord descending, in the air:Thenceforward all that love Him, loved of Him,Will be forever with Him where He is,Beholding there His glory. Blessed state!No tears, no fears, no hearts that break, no heartsThat will not break, although they ache the more,Perhaps, God knows, not breaking—naught of these,And naught of any ill, but only peace,Joy, love, security of peace and joyAnd love, and fellowship in peace and joyAnd love, forever, perfect, more and more,With vision beatific still of HimWho washed us in His blood and made us kingsAnd priests to God. Ruth, here is hope indeedFor us that will not make ashamed."
But RuthUnhearing heard and was not comforted.She raised her head from Stephen's breast, with actAs if to part herself in hope from him,And, with regard made almost alien, said:"Hug thou thy hope, thy hope is not for me.He could not save himself, thy Christ, but diedAs the fool dieth—and as die wilt thou,If thou despise my counsel! Stephen, IWould rather take my lot a little less,Less large, less perfect, and less durable,Than that thou figurest in thy fantasy,So I might have it something differentFrom that, real, substantial, palpableTo sense, something whereof one could be sure.I am no visionary. Take, say I,With thanks the good God gives us now and here;Not spurn His bounty back into His face,And reach out emptied hands of wanton greedTo grasp at more He has not offered us.We have no right to throw our life away!—In hope of life hereafter, only oursThen when with patience our appointed time—'All' our appointed time, Stephen—we wait,Till our change come."
Ruth's chill repellent tone,Her mask of manner hard, could not deceiveHer husband, who, through such disguise with painPut on, well recognized a new deviceOf wife's love, versatile as resolute,Constraining tenderness to play severe.Yet not the less for that, more rather, heFelt at her words a dull weight of despairOppress his spirit; he could only pray,In silent sorrow not to be expressed,"O Holy Ghost of God, pity and save!"A hundred times so praying for his wife,In anguished iteration o'er and o'er,Stephen not speaking sat, and speechless she.
At last, as if one bound with green withes roseRending the withes to rise, rose Stephen, sweatOf supreme agony victoriousAt dreadful cost dewing his brow; he tookHis wife's hand solemnly and tenderly,His port majestical compelling awe,And, with tense speech, in tones that strangely mixedThe husband with the prophet, slowly said:"Farewell, Ruth, for the hour is fully comeThat I must hence. The burden of the LordIs instant and oppresses me. I go,Whither I know not, but He knows, to bearWitness once more to His most worthy name.I thought that I should never preach againHis gospel in those temple courts, but nowPerhaps He wills even that; whatever beHis purpose, unforeshown, I welcome it.
"Lo, Ruth, this is the last time, for full wellI know I never shall come back to thee!Come thou to me, I charge thee that, and bringOur children to their father. Always thinkHereafter, 'He, that last time, charged me that!'I think my God in this has heard my prayer,And I go hence in comfort of some hope.Our children! Oh! My children! God in heaven,Have mercy! How a father pitiethHis children, think of that, and pity me!A father lays them on a Father's heart;Father, I charge Thee, by Thy father's-heart,Not one be plucked from out His Father's hand!Lord Christ, see Thou to this, in session thereForever, interceding for Thine own!
"Ruth, give their father's blessing to our babes;I trust that they will cheer their mother well,When I am gone, and cheer thee to the end.Their sweet unconscious voices now I hearIn laugh and prattle of pathetic glee!I fain would see their faces once again,Kiss them once more, and take a last caress!But nay, I spare myself one pang; sweet babes,They are too young to know! But by and by,When they are older and will understand,Then tell them thou what I now cannot, say,'Your father loved you, loves you, and will loveForever—that was his last word to meFor you.' So, Ruth, farewell!"
With first his hands,Both, placed in solemn blessing on her head,She kneeling by his knees, forth from his houseTherewith went Stephen all as in a trance.With open eyes that saw not, yet with stepsGuided—how, he well knew, but whither not—In simple rapt obedience, he his wayTook absently like one that walks in sleep.
Stephen his home had fixed in Bethany—Sequestered hamlet on the slope behindThe Mount of Olives from Jerusalem.Mary and Martha, here, and Lazarus,He knew and loved; and with them oft, their guest,Held converse sweet of what He said and did,And was, the Friend Who wept when Lazarus died,The Lord of life through Whom he lived again:But Ruth, self-sundered from this fellowship,Abode apart, or only with them boundIn bonds of kindly common neighborhood.These marked when Stephen, marking not, passed by,That day, steps toward the holy city bent,And to each other said: 'He goes once moreBound in the spirit to JerusalemTo preach the gospel of the grace of God.Behold the lit look on the forward face!Behold the gait half-buoyed as if with wings!It is like Jesus hastening to His cross!Lo, let us follow!' and they followed him.But he went ever onward, slacking notHis steps, nor heeding when the brow he reachedOf Olivet and thence, across the deepRavine of Kedron worn with rushing floods,Before him and beneath him saw outspreadThe city of David with its palaces.
As Stephen approaches the temple, he is suddenly arrested and brought before the Sanhedrim. There making his defence, he is interrupted with hostile demonstrations, instigated by Shimei. On this, he bursts out with noble indignation, which furnishes the desired occasion for a cry against him of "Blasphemy!" from all, and for a violent hurrying forth of the prisoner without the walls to be stoned. A file of Roman soldiers confronts and stays the tumultuous crowd; but, after parley conducted by Shimei with the centurion, their leader, the rout is suffered to proceed. Meantime, however, a little company of sympathizing Christians, including Rachel with the three from Bethany, have gathered round Stephen and listened to cheerful, tranquillizing words from him. After the stoning, these friends carry the body of Stephen for laving to the pool of Siloam, whence by moonlight up Olivet to Bethany. Here they lay it in a room of Martha and Mary's house until morning.