Out of the depths of the long hush that then
Followed between those midnight travellers,
Emerging, like a diver of the sea
That brings up dripping pearl from sunken cave
And, gladdened, lifts it flashing to the sun,
So, to his young companion speaking, Paul—
Not turning while he spoke his countenance
Toward him, but fixed right forward keeping it,
Intent, as on an object not of sight,
Before him held with unmaterial hand,
An unmaterial treasure passing price,
Imagined fair by the creating soul—
Said, with such cheerful rally in the voice
As one invites with, some delight to share:
"Wilt thou hear, Stephen? I have been revolving
In form a kind of hymn concerning love,
Which, in a letter, some twelve months ago,
I wrote the church in Corinth. There was need,
For they were sore at strife among themselves,
Vying with one another to outdo
In divers showy gifts miraculous,
Or outward deeds that daze the eyes of men:
Tongues, prophecies, the keys of mysteries,
High knowledges, sublime degrees of faith,
Almsgivings to impoverishment, stout heart
To brave devouring flames in testimony—
All these things, but for lowly love small care!
"My soul was worn and anxious with my pain
At such distractions of the church of Christ;
I found my peace at last in this thought, 'How
Love would heal all, would gently join from schism,
And in one bind the body of the Lord!'
A wish ineffable seized me to make
Love lovely to those loveless ones. I had,
With the wish born, and of the wish perhaps,
A sudden vision that entranced me quite.
I saw love take a body beautiful
And live and act in most angelic wise;
It was as if a heavenly spectacle
Let down before me by a heavenly hand—
Not to be viewed with unanointed eyes;
I touched my eyes with eyesalve and beheld.
Then a Voice said, 'What thou beholdest, write.'
I took my pen and sought to catch the grace
Of being and behavior shown to me,
And fix it, as I could, in form and phrase,
For those Corinthians and all men to see.
A living picture, and a hymn, there grew.
"Hymn I may call my eulogy of love,
Then written, for indeed it seemed to sing
Within me, as I mused it, and the tune
Still to the hearing of my heart is sweet.
I felt, and feel, a kind of awe of it,
Myself that made it, for I did not make
It wholly, I myself, I know quite well;
A breath divine, breathed in me, purified
My will to will it, and my soul to sing.
"My Stephen will not think it strange that thus
Our talking of an hour ago on hate
Set me to dreaming counterwise of love.
I build of love a refuge for myself,
Whither to run for rest and sanctuary
From thoughts of hatred thirsting for my soul.
Love is my house, and there the air is love—
My shelter round about, the breath I draw.
No castle is there like my house of love,
Charmed not to let footstep of evil in;
And what will quench the Wicked's fiery darts
Like love drawn round one for an atmosphere?
Himself gasps breathless with but love to breathe;
Yea, I am safe from him if I can love.
And love I can, through Christ who strengthens me,
Whatever natural force I feel to hate.
I love to love, it is my chief delight;
I triumph by it over all my foes.
The harder these my triumph make to win,
The more, since I must win it still by love,
To love they drive me, and increase my joy.
My triumph is my love, and my love's joy.
But thou my poem hear in praise of love:
With men's tongues speaking, and with angels', yet,
Love lacking, I am sounding brass become,
Or clanging cymbal. Prophecy though mine,
And mysteries all to grasp, and knowledge all,
And mine though be all faith so as to move
Mountains, I yet, love lacking, nothing am.
And though I lavish all I own in alms,
And though I yield my body to be burned,
Yet I, love lacking, am naught profited.
Love suffers long, is kind, love envies not,
Love does not vaunt herself, is not puffed up,
Deports herself in no unseemly wise,
Seeks not her own, is not provoked, imputes
Not evil, at unrighteousness no joy
Feels, but her joy has with the truth, bears up
Against all things, all things believes, all things
Hopes, undergoes all things. Love never fails;
But whether there be prophecies, they will
Be done away, tongues whether, they will cease,
Whether there knowledge be, it will have end.
For we in part know, and we prophesy
In part; but when that which is perfect comes,
Then that which is in part will pass away.
When I a child was, as a child I talked,
I did my thinking as a child, I used
My reason as a child; since I a man
Have grown, the child's part I have put aside.
For now we darkly, through reflection, see,
But face to face then. Now I know in part,
But then shall I know fully, even as I
Also am fully known. And now these three
Bide, faith, hope, love; but of these chief is love.'
"Stephen, how little Shimei guesses," Paul
Said, having thus his hymn of love rehearsed,
"The secret triumph ever over him
I celebrate, in loving him, despite
His hating me, and seeking to destroy!
Who knows but God to love will win him yet?"
A certain gentle humor exquisite
Enlivened and commended this from Paul.
But Stephen answered not; indignant love
Swelled in his heart, and choked within his throat
The way of words, and dimmed his eyes with tears.
Thus at Antipatris arrived, they halt:
Here Stephen, nursing other purpose not
Disclosed, disclosed to Paul a wish he had
To go back with the infantry returning,
And reassure his mother that all was well.
Paul sped his nephew with his benison;
And, after rest had, and refreshment meet,
Himself thence, with the escort cavalry
Safeguarded, on to Cæsarea rode,
Not lonely, though alone, and prisoner.