The Epic of Paul

by William Cleaver Wilkinson

'But, O, the streams of men that blinded go,
One secular procession perishing,
Endlessly on and on, from age to age,
In every race and clime—that blinded go
In sadness or with madcap songs of mirth
Frightfully toward the brink and precipice
Beetling sheer over the abyss profound
Of hopeless utter last despair and death—
For whom Christ died! Shall He have died in vain?
Forbid it God! Was it not promised Him
That he should of the travail of His soul
See and be satisfied? My soul with His
Travails in infinite desire to save;
Give Thou me children in my bonds at Rome!
O God, my God, hear me herein I pray!'

Enlarged in heart with such desire and prayer
And lifted high in hope of what would be,
Paul walked as one with feet above the ground
Unconsciously buoyed up to tread the air.
But God had further cheer in store for him.
At Appii Forum and the Taverns Three,
Two several stations on the Appian Way,
There met him out of Rome two companies
Of brethren who, while he abode those days
Guest at Puteoli, had heard of him
As Romeward faring, and had come thus far
To bring him greeting and good cheer. They vied
With one another, those two companies,
In joyful rivalry of love to see
Which should speed faster farther forth, and come
First with their plight of loyalty to Paul.
Divided thus, their welcome doubled was
In worth and in effect to him who now
Thanked God and took fresh heart. So on to Rome.

The city, from the summit of a hill
Surmounted, of the Alban range, hill hung
With villas and with villages, was seen,
A huge agglomerate of building heaved
Above the level campagna, circuit wide
By the blue Sabine mountains bounded north
With lone Soracte in Etruria shown—
Streets of bright suburbs, gardens, aqueducts
Confused about the walls on every side.
Between long rows of stately sepulchers
Illustrious with memorial names inscribed,
The Scipios, the Metelli, many more—
Each name a magic spell to summon up
The image of the greatness of the Rome
That had been—ranged along the Appian Way,
Slowly they passed, Paul with his train, unmarked.
Through throngs of frequence serried ever dense
And denser with the confluence of the tides
Of travel and of traffic intermixed,
Pedestrian, and equestrian, and what rolled
In chariots, splendid equipage, or mean,
Entering and issuing at the city gate—
Slowly, thus hindered, on they urged their way.

At last they—passing by the Capene port
Under an arch of stone forever dewed
And dripping through its grudging pores with ooze
As of cold sweat wrung out by agony
To bear the great weight of the aqueduct
Above it—were within the Servian Wall.
On their left hand the Aventine, they wound
About the Cœlian by its base; traversed
A droop of hollow to the Palatine;
Over the gentle undulation named
Velia next passing (where, ere many years,
The arch of Titus would erect its pride
To glory over Jerusalem destroyed!);
Hence down the Sacred Way into the famed
Forum, where stood that milestone golden called
Which rayed out roads to all the provinces,
And was as if the navel of the world.

All round them here great architecture rose,
Temples, basilicas, long colonnades,
Triumphal arches, amphitheaters,
Aqueducts vaulting with colossal spring
As if in huge Cyclopean sport across
From pier to pier of massive masonry;
Stupendous spectacle! but over all,
To Paul's eye, one sole legend written large,
Not Rome's majestic history and power,
But her abjectness in idolatry;
Rome's captive pitied her, and would have saved!

Crowning the summit of the Capitoline,
The palace of the Cæsars wide outspread,
A wilderness of building, hung in view.
To Burrus, the prætorian prefect, here
In due course Julius gave his prisoners up;
But ere he deemed himself acquitted quite
Of his debt due to Paul he gained for him
From Burrus, a just man, the privilege
Of living as in free captivity
In quarters of his own, at small remove
From the prætorium yet in privacy.
With Paul abode his sister and her son;
Ruth nigh at hand with her Eunicé lodged—
Protected, for again from these not far
The faithful Luke and Aristarchus dwelt.
A season the disciples of the Lord
In Rome supplied to all their frugal needs;
But each one had some handicraft or skill
Which soon found chance and scope to exercise
Itself to purpose; and with cheerful toil
In thankfulness they earned their daily bread.

Two years long here, as late in Cæsarea,
Paul waited on the wanton whim of power;
A prisoner in chains, accused of crime,
And even the right of trial still denied.
Yet, though both night and day, asleep, awake,
Bound to a ruthless Roman soldier arm
To arm, he, the great heart, the spacious mind,
Was not uncomforted, not void of joy:
He had at full his fellowship of love,
And, better, he could freely preach his Lord.
Besides, whatever soldier guarded him,
That soldier, if his heart was capable
At all of gentleness for any cause
Toward any one, was softened toward this man
Whom he felt ever strangely toward himself
As toward one not so happy in his lot
Considerate, regardful, pitiful;
And whom not seldom, with a sweet constraint
Persuaded or compelled, he listened to
Telling him of a Savior that could save
Even to the uttermost, therefore also him.

As loyal lover of his nation, Paul
Invited to give audience to his cause
First his compatriots judged the chief in Rome.
He told them that, albeit he had appealed
To Cæsar from his fellow-countrymen,
Yet had he naught to accuse his nation of.
Paul's hearers on their part had had, they said,
No word against him from Jerusalem.
They added: "We would hear thee speak thy mind;
As for this party of the Nazarene,
That everywhere we know is spoken against."
So they appointed Paul a day to speak,
And in full frequence to his lodgings came.
All the day long from morn to evenfall
He held discourse to them, and testified
The kingdom come on earth of God, and Him,
The King, Christ Jesus; with persuasions drawn
From Moses and from all the prophets old.
Divided were his hearers; some elect
Believed, but others disbelieved. To these
Paul solemnly denounced the prophecy
Of sad Isaiah to his countrymen
That seeing they should see and not perceive;
Then added: "Witness now, I make you know
That the salvation sent by God in vain
To you turns to the Gentiles; they will hear."
Thenceforward daily, streams of concourse flowed
Unhindered, bondmen, freemen, to Paul's doors,
And heard while God's ambassador in chains
Besought them to be reconciled to God.

The million slaves of the metropolis
Were as a subterranean city Rome,
Substruction to the mighty capital.
Here undercurrent rumor to and fro
From mouth to mouth or haply in dumb sign
Transmitted—cipher unintelligible
Save to the dwellers of that underworld—
Ran swift and secret as by telegraph
And everywhither messages conveyed.
Onesimus thus learned where Paul abode,
And what a tide set daily toward him there
Of eager audience for the things he taught:
The bondman threw himself upon the tide,
And was borne by it whither he would go.
Hearing good tidings meant for such as he,
Decree of manumission for the slave,
He joyful freeman of the Lord became.
Freeman and bondman both at once was he—
Free from the hateful service of himself,
And bond of love to serve his Savior Lord.

This his new loyalty Paul put to proof
Extreme, proposing to the runaway
Return to his Colossian servitude;
Paul would test also the obedient faith
Of the wronged master of the fugitive.
When Syrus learned this from Onesimus,
He, wary, with a much-importing shrug
Of shoulder, warned his friend betimes beware.
The young disciple by such whispered fears
Was somewhat shaken in his faithful mind;
He failed a moment from his first good will
To do as prompted his new heart and Paul.
But at the last he was persuaded quite;
Yet rather by the spectacle itself
Of that apostle willingly in chains
For Jesus than by any words he spoke:
He fixed to go back to his master. Paul
Gave him a letter for that master, sealed.
Now Paul well knew the master, but of this
He wisely to Onesimus said naught.
Philemon was his name; he had by Paul
Been won to be a brother in the Lord.