‘Lieblich wie der Iris Farbenfeuer
Auf der Donnerwolke duft’gem Thau
Schlimmert durch der Wehmuth düstern Schleier
Hier der Ruhe heitres Blau.’—Schiller.
After his first defence, the Apostle Paul had lived on in his narrow prison, indomitably cheerful though death stood almost visibly beside him. Himself undaunted, he strove to kindle the same faith and courage in those whom he loved. He had heard that Timothy was sad and despondent, and had not got over the grief of being separated from him. The Apostle had a deep human yearning to see once again the dear companion of his earlier conflicts. He wrote to him the beautiful, pathetic letter which contains for us his last words. He exhorted him to strenuous cheerfulness, and urged him to face the shame of the Gospel at Rome, and to come and share his sufferings. ‘Come, my child’—such was the burden of his message—‘come before winter; come quickly; come, or it will be too late.’ And when he comes let him send to Carpus at Troas for the large cloak which Paul had left at his house in the hurry and tumult of his arrest, and the books, especially the parchments. It is often cold in his prison, and that old ‘dreadnought,’ which he had woven with his own hands out of the black goat’s-hair of his native province, old as it was, and often whitened with the dust of the long Roman roads, and drenched in the water-torrents of the Taurus, and stained with the brine of Adria, would yet be a comfort to him as he sat on the rocky floor. And the papyrus books and the parchments—few and worn as they were—would help to while away the monotonous hours, and were very dear to him. With some of them he had been familiar ever since he was a happy boy in the dear old Tarsian home. So when Timothy comes to shed the last rays of life’s sunshine on Paul’s prison, let him bring the old cloak and the books—poor inventory of a saint’s possessions after unequalled labours for mankind! And let him, if possible, bring Mark the Evangelist with him; for Peter, with whom Mark had travelled, had now sealed his testimony by martyrdom, and Mark’s knowledge of Latin might be serviceable, and his personal tendence would be very dear. The immediate danger of arrest would not be great, for the rage of the informers had now been glutted to repletion, and the State and the Emperor had more than enough to occupy their thoughts. Pudens and Claudia had written to him with all affection from their British home, and had sent to minister to his necessities. He gives to Timothy the greetings which they had sent supposing him to be at Rome. Linus had also sent greetings, in a letter dictated from his bed of death. As for himself, he was more than ready to die. He had finished his course; he had kept the faith; henceforth there was laid up for him the crown of righteousness. Thinking, perhaps, how Pætus Thrasea and Seneca had sprinkled their blood as a libation to Jupiter the Liberator, he wrote the striking words, ‘I am being already poured out in libation, and the time of my setting sail is close at hand.’ Was he heavy at the thought? Not so. He quotes a fragment of a fine early Christian hymn which had consoled many a martyrdom:—
‘If we died, we shall also live with Him;
If we endure, we shall also reign with Him;
If we deny Him, He will deny us.
If we are faithless, He abideth faithful.
He is not able to deny Himself.’