XXXVII
SAINT STEPHEN
I SEE that I must die.
O Christ, how shall I bear the cruel stones,
E’en though there be a place among the thrones
At thy right hand for me? Create again
The very sinews of my soul:
I ask not for an aureole,
But strength to brave the pain.
Help me, for life is dear:
The growing rapture of the summer morn,
The cedared hills, and soft-cheeked roses born
Within the cooling breath of Hermon’s snow,
The rare reluctant shaded streams,
The sea that sings, and weeps, and dreams;
I love them: Thou dost know.
I loved my father’s faith:
The synagogue with all its sacred gear,
The feasts that guard the march of every year,
The trumpets, lamps, and waving of the palms,
The azure fringe on robes like milk,
The yellow scrolls wrapped round with silk,
The triumph of the Psalms.
I loved to preach the truth,
To thrust and parry in a fair debate,
To trace God’s dayspring in His nation’s fate,
To lift up Christ, who dying broke death’s bands;
I loved to give men joy for sighs,
To win the thanks of widows’ eyes,
And children’s trustful hands.
“The truth.” Yes, I will die.
This chafing Sanhedrin shall not prevail
To check me. They shall see the truth full-sail;
They cannot sink truth, stone me though they can.
Lord, I am ready. By thy grace
No shade of fear shall cross my face,
And I will play the man.
XXXVIII
SAINT JOHN AT EPHESUS
Men ask why I am left alone:
My brother, James, and Peter, all are slain;
Brave men who met the surging crimson deep
With equal minds. And Mary fell asleep,
His mother whom He gave me for my own.
But I with anchored hope remain.
I loved Him. It is long ago
Since I with Mary stood upon the hill
Where His last breath rose up in Sacrifice,
While tears fell earthward from our burning eyes,
And Jews were gibing on the slope below.
And yet I know He loves me still.
He loved me. And whene’er I dream
Of sunsets changing into glassy gold
The waters of the Galilean lake,
Or see in thought the Temple portals take
A pearly softness from the moonlight gleam,
He speaks with me, as once of old.