The narrative returns to Paul riding with young Stephen, under escort of Roman soldiers, toward Cæsarea. The uncle and nephew (at sufficient remove from the cavalry before them and the infantry behind them) after an interval of silence, engage in conversation on a subject suggested by young Stephen's quoting against Shimei one of the imprecatory psalms. This conversation is prolonged till Antipatris is reached, from which point young Stephen comes back to Jerusalem with the returning foot-soldiers, while Paul goes on with the horse to Cæsarea.
BY NIGHT FOR CÆSAREA.
Clanging their armor and their arms alight
In doubtful glimmer from the torches blown,
Forward into the silence and the dark,
Through the strait street, out from the city gate,
Along the ringing highway stretched in stone
To Cæsarea from Jerusalem,
Rode vanguard in that order of array
The turm of horse—in count three score and ten,
But many fold to seeming multiplied
Under the shadowy light that showed them half,
Half hid them, and amid the numerous noise
And movement of their massive martial tread.
The centuries of foot the rear composed,
While midst, between the horse and infantry,
And double-guarded so from every fear—
Before, behind, commodious interval—
Those Hebrew kinsmen, Paul and Stephen, rode.
A league now measured under the still heaven—
Quiet, they twain, as the beholding stars—
And Stephen heard the silence at his side
Softly become the sound of a low voice.
As when the ground parts and a buried seed—
Quickened already in that genial womb,
But viewless—steals from darkness into light,
So, with such unperceived transition, now,
Melodious meditation in Paul's heart
Grew out of secret silence into song.
Stephen, who, from his very cradle taught,
The holy lore of Scripture had by heart,
Knew the subdued preamble that he heard
For echo from the music of a psalm.
'Mine uncle of Gamaliel muses!' he
Felt from the moment that thus Paul began:
"Yea, so He giveth His belovéd sleep!
Blesséd be God, who such a gift gave him!
Blesséd be God, who yet such gift from me
Withholds, gift longed for, but awaited still
With patience—till His pleasure to bestow!
Blesséd be God! He doeth all things well!
It may be I shall wake until He come!
But if I sleep, I still shall sleep in Him,
For so He giveth His belovéd sleep!
Sweet gift, and sure the way of giving sweet,
Since it will be in Him, in Him, in Him—
However long hence, and however harsh,
The lullaby may be that brings the sleep,
At last, at last, the sleep will be in Him!
To wake to Jesus, or in Him to sleep,
Whichever lot for me He choose, I choose.
His choice I do not know, but He knows mine;
My will, he knows, is His, for Him in me
To choose with, or His will is mine, for me
In Him to choose with, now and evermore."
"Amen!" Paul murmured, with such voice as if
The prayer he uttered turned to sacrament.
Stephen a little lingered, and then said:
"Thou and thy voice, O honored kinsman mine,
Commend to me whatever thou mayst say
Or sing; that inner-sounding melody,
Most sweet, which never other makes save thee,
But oft thou makest as to thyself alone
When thou alone art, or, as now, with whom
Thou lovest, and so trustest, utterly,
It seems—this I have heard my mother say,
Who loves it, as I love it, taught by her—
It seems to pass the hearing sense unheard;
The deeper, if I hear it not, I feel;
My heart feeds on it with her inner ear.
Yet, and however so commended, yet
Thy choice awakens no desire in me.
Sleep, to thy nephew, uncle, seems not sweet,
Or less sweet seems than waking is to him.
To lie, like reverend dear Gamaliel there,
Still, stirless still; cold, marble cold; deaf, dumb;
Calm, yea, too calm, for ever, ever calm;
No pain, no fret, but joy, but pleasure none;
Nor action, nor endeavor, nor attempt,
Nor strife, nor aspiration, nor desire;
No glorious exultation in emprise,
Or rally of reaction from defeat;
Fear none indeed, but never, never hope;
No change, no chance of any change, the same,
The same, continuance without end prolonged;
Of life—nothing, but only dull, dull death
And apathy—O uncle, such a state,
And though thou call it sleep in Jesus, yet—
Shall I confess it, uncle, to my shame?—
It has no charm for me, I wish to live;
I love life, motion, and the sense of power.
Hebrew I am, in spirit as in blood,
Yet Greek withal enough, if Greek it be,
To dread the drear, dark, sunless underworld,
Hades or Sheol, and to choose instead
This cheerful upper air and joyousness,
The brightness of this sun-enlightened earth.
And I should like to see what I with life
Can do; something, I trust, besides to live,
Some worthy, noble, arduous end to serve,
To wrestle with the world and overthrow!"
Paul thought within himself: 'Along this road,
This very road, some score of years ago,
Saul, in the early dawn of that spring day,
Rode for Damascus from Jerusalem,
Nursing such thoughts—fair thoughts they seemed to him!
And I was then nigh double my Stephen's age—
Ah, and not half his bright young innocence!'
"It is thy youth," to Stephen Paul replied,
"Thy youth and health, the fountain fresh of life
Unwasted, springing up for flow in thee;
Life is the secret of the love of life.
My song of sleep I did not sing for thee,
But for a weary older man than thou,
Who has already lived, already seen
What he could do with life! Weary am I—
With living weary, though of living not—
And, God so willing, I should gladly rest."
The sweetness of the pensiveness of this,
From such an one as Paul the aged, smote
On Stephen with a stroke as of reproof—
Unmeant, to him the less resistible—
And touched to recollection and remorse.
He said: "O uncle, be my fault forgiven,
That I so lightly thought but of myself!
This ride to thee is added weariness,
Which to me were exhilaration pure,
Could I forget again, as I cannot,
The need my uncle has of rest instead.
I slept, while thou wert waking, through that long
Farewell talk with thy friend, and I am fresh
From slumber, as thou art with waking worn—
Besides that I am young and thou art old."
"Nay, thou wert right, my lad," said Paul to him;
"'Rejoice thou,' so that ancient preacher cried,
And so cries God Himself within the blood,
'Rejoice thou, O young man, in thy fair youth,
And let thy heart in thy young days cheer thee.'
I were myself the egotist thou blamest,
Were I to hang my heavy age on thee
And with it weigh thy blithesome spirits down;
Besides that I should suffer loss deserved,
Who, in the midmost of my spirit, spring
With answering pulse to pulse of youth from thee.
Go on, my Stephen, for Paul's sake be glad,
Thou canst not be more glad than gladdens me.
Now glad we both are surely in one thing,
That thou hast saved thine uncle from that death.
Let us together sing a gladsome psalm."