The Epic of Paul

by William Cleaver Wilkinson

Thus Shimei, in his formless fantasy,
Which being nor word, nor thought, still less was will,
Mused, like a river lapsing to the sea;
So softly did an inner current draw
Him unresisting whither it desired.
It seemed to Shimei, in that strong access
And overflow of feeling new to him,
As if it would be easy to speak out.
Nay, but as if he must at once speak out,
Aloud, for those to hear toward whom he now
Felt this delicious love and longing; yet
He never did so speak, alas, but wronged
Himself, wronged them, refraining; more, the Spirit
Of grace nigh quenched with silence! So it fared
With Shimei then, self-shut from needful speech,
As might it with some tender plant denied
Its freedom of the sun and air, that peaks
And pines and cannot open into flower.
Perhaps the habit of his heart life-long
Was winter all too fast for any spring
To solve; perhaps he could not, if he would,
Unbind its cold constriction from himself
For welcome and exchange of sweet good-will
Such as he felt rife round him in the air,
Wooing him, like bland weather, toward full bloom
In frank affections and fair courtesies.
Sad, if indeed the faculty in him
Of finer feeling and the word to fit
Were lost through long disuse, or by abuse!

But it was much in Shimei that thenceforth
He never was bitter again with cynicism;
The fountains of his evil humor were dry;
He never vented blast of unbelief
To blight the region round him with black death
To every springing plant and opening flower
Of cheerful faith in human nobleness;
That mordant tongue refrained itself from sneer.
Yea—this with travail of will through enforced lips—
Shimei, in frugal phrase, but phrase sincere,
Gave, of his conscience, rather than his heart,
Thanks to them all that ministered to him.
More: after days of silence, passed in muse
And struggle in secret with himself, and prayer,
Once, having asked to speak with Paul apart
And easily won what he desired, he said:
"Behold, O Saul, I think that I have erred,
Mistaking thee, perhaps myself mistaking—
Yea, but I know that I mistook myself,
And mistook God, both what He was and wished;
Most wickedly mistook Him, honestly—
Honestly deeming Him other than He was,
Imputing honestly what was not His will—
Mistaking, with no heed not to mistake!
This was my wickedness, that lightly I
Misdeemed Him such an one as I myself.
And thee I wronged comparing thee with myself,
And hated thee for what, I now am sure,
Thou wast not. Saul, I need to be forgiven!"—
Wherewith his heavy head the old man bent low,
With his uplifted hands in manacles
Seeking to hide his face as if in shame;
Not shame that he had sinned, but that he now
Had spoken thus. Yet did that gesture naught
Diminish from his words, but only show
At cost how great he had wrung them from himself.

Paul understood the anguish of his mind,
And said to Shimei: "Nay, my brother, nay,
Forgiven thou art, nor needst to be forgiven,
Or at least I have nothing to forgive thee;
I long ago forgave thee all in all.
But I myself would be of thee forgiven!
I vexed thee once with high words spoken in pride;
I never have forgiven myself that pride.
Forgive me thou it, thou, that hadst thy hate
Needlessly blown to hotter flame thereby.
Let us forgive each other and love henceforth,
As God, for Christ's sake, will us both forgive!"
As Paul these last words spoke, he strongly yearned,
Even for Christ's sake, to throw himself in tears
On Shimei's neck and there weep out his love.
But he, for Shimei's sake, forbore; he saw
That Shimei, softened as he was, and changed,
Was not ripe for forgiveness so complete.
So Paul forbore, rejoiced that Shimei spoke
No word, and signified with silence naught,
In blasphemy of the Belovéd Name;
Name by himself in hope, not without fear,
Pronounced—like costliest pearl at venture flung
Before what under foot might trample it
And round to rend the largess-giver turn.

The chill obstruction never to the end
Was altogether thawed in Shimei's heart
To make him childlike placable and mild.
Perhaps more time, and vernal influence
Permitted longer to brood over him,
Had made it different; but the time was short
For Shimei in that air of Paradise.

The voyage long had been with froward winds;
At length those winds blew into tempest wild,
With winter lightnings strangely intermixed,
God thundering marvellously with His voice:
All on that ship were awed, and some appalled.

Shimei, hugging himself upon the deck
Where most were gathered, for to most it seemed
Better to stand beneath the open sky
Shelterless, than, though sheltered, not to see
God make himself thus terrible in storm—
Shimei, who, not more helpless than the rest,
Felt a degree more helpless through his chains,
Listened intently, with some power of calm
Communicated to him, while, in tones
Depressed unshaken into depths of awe,
Paul, meek inheritor of the universe,
As conscious child to God through Jesus Christ—
The spirit of adoption in his heart
That moment crying, "Abba Father!"—spoke
Of how those dwelling in the secret place
Of the Most High, beneath the shadow abode
Of the Almighty, safe from every harm.

Amid the booms of thunder bursting nigh
The dreadful forks of lightning flashed the while
And fell all round the ship into the sea,
Frequent, dividing pathways blinding bright
Between sheer walls of blackness built like stone,
So dense was piled the darkness of the night!
For it was night, no moon, no star, and cloud
Hung drooping in festoons from all the sky
Wind-swept along the bosom of the deep—
Sky only by the lightning flashes seen,
At intervals, yet every moment felt,
Oppressive, like a mighty incubus.
The lightning flashes thick and thicker fell,
Near, nearer, deadlier, as in conscious aim,
Like the fierce vengeful flames from heaven that once
Elijah prophet, on Mount Carmel, drew
Down on his altar trenched about with flood:
Those tongues of fire that circling trench lapped dry,
But these divided tongues of lightning seemed
Equal to lick the boundless ocean up!

The watchers huddling on the deck beheld
In silence—for now also Paul was dumb—
The imminent menace of the elements.
Then what might seem a frightful sign from heaven!
A leap of lightning and a rending roar
Of thunder at one selfsame moment broke,
Sudden, and nigh at hand—as if he, seen
Of John on Patmos isle, that angel dread
(Who, setting his right foot upon the sea
And his left foot upon the land, so cried
With a loud voice) now standing on this ship
Had once more cried and loosed the thunders seven,
So manifold the noise!—and therewith swayed
The sword of God in a descending stroke
On some one there select for punishment.
They looked, and, lo, the fearful stroke had fallen
On Shimei; he lay lifeless on the deck.
No motion, save of falling, and no voice—
Appalling silence and appalling calm!
Close at the foot of the tall mast he fell,
Against which with his shoulder he had leaned
To stay him where he stood and watched the storm.
The storm seemed broken with that burst of rage,
And quieted itself through slow degrees
Of sullenness to peace. But the tall mast
At top had been enkindled with the touch
Of the fell lightning, and it burned a while
Lifted amid the tempest and the night,
A beacon flaming from the Most High God.

Such was the end of Shimei, unforeshown;
To this he tended all those devious ways!
Next morning mid a weather pacified
They shrouded him for burial in the deep.
"Until the sea give up its dead!" said Paul
Solemnly, as the corse went weighted down.
Julius would not let free his hands from chains;
"Culprit he was and culprit he shall go,"
He said, "to Hades by this watery way.
Incenséd Jupiter despatched him hence,
And Neptune will convey him duly down
To where their brother Pluto will behold
Upon him the Olympian's thunderbrand,
And send to Rhadamanthus to be judged!"

But Paul said to his company apart:
"Let us not judge before the time; the Day,
The Day, that shall declare it. Let us hope;
The mercy of the Lord is measureless:
It is, even like His judgment, a great deep,
And it endures forever; as the psalm
Sings it, again and yet again, in long
Antiphony of praise that cannot end.
Think not, because the promise is no harm
Shall light on any one who dwells within
The secret place of the Most High, that thence,
Seeing this awful-seeming way of death
Has found out Shimei, he perforce has proved
Not to have fixed his dwelling ere he died
Safe in the shadow of the Almighty's throne.
The safety promised is not for the flesh,
But for the spirit. The outward perishes
In many ways that to the senses seem
Preclusive quite of hope for life to come.
But, so the inward bide untouched of harm,
The true self lives and is inviolate.
That lightning did not fall on Shimei's soul;
No certain sign was it of wrath divine:
Nay, even perhaps the opposite of such,
It may have been a fiery chariot
With fiery horses hither sent from heaven,
To bear him up Elijah-like to God.
Far be it to say that this indeed was so;
Yet often last is first, as first is last.
Ye saw how wrought upon our brother was
Of late to be how different from himself!
I trust he trusted in the atoning blood.
I shall have hope to see him yet endued
In shining robes of Jesus' righteousness,
Translucent shining robes wherethrough the soul
Herself shows shining in essential white!
God grant it, and farewell to Shimei!"