The Epic of Saul

by William Cleaver Wilkinson

One churl among those councillors was found,
When Stephen gently bade his friends give way,
Even for his own sake, who could least endure
To see them suffer roughness, most unmeet
For such as they—one graceless churl was found
To raise his hand at Stephen speaking so
And smite him on the mouth. A wail at this
Broke from those women, and their hair they tore
In passion of compassion and of wrath
Holy as love. But Stephen was most meek,
And only in a shadowed look expressed
Pain at such painful sympathy with pain.
This seen by those, they soon responsively
Resumed composure like his own, and walked,
Following, molested not, at small remove
From the belovéd martyr, cheering him,
And cheered, with sense of some society.

So, on, with going less precipitate,
And less vociferous rage, but not less fell,
Moved the infatuate multitude, repressed
And maddened, both at once, to feel themselves
Only by sufferance masters of the fate
Of Stephen, and their very footsteps timed
To regular and slow behind those few
Austere, impassive, automatic men
Armed, who, though few they might be, yet meant Rome.

Arrived at length at the accurséd spot,
They stay. The ground about was strewn with stones,
Rejected fragments from the quarry cleft,
Flakes from the mason's chisel, interspersed
Dilapidations from the city walls
Twice overthrown and razed, or missiles thence
Once by defenders on assailants hurled.
They stay, and, Stephen stationed in the midst
Where, first, a circle of spectators round
Was ordered in disorderly array,
Prepare to act their dreadful blasphemy.

Within, opposed to Stephen, Saul stood, pale,
Blanched with resolve, anguished, and tremulous,
But in nerve shaken, not in will, to take
His part. Saul's part was only to consent.
Perhaps the eyes, the beautiful sad eyes,
Of Rachel, dark and liquid ever, now
Unfathomably deep with unshed tears—
Perhaps such eyes, his sister's, fixed on him,
He seeing not because he would not see,
Wrought yet some holy spell that charmed him back
Insensibly from part more active there.
But his consent Saul testified with sign
Open to all to see, and understood.
He held the outer robes thrown off of those
Who, disencumbered so, might, with main strength,
And aim made sure, the better speed to fling
At that meek heavenly man the murderous stone.

Those witnesses malign who had forsworn
Stephen to this, were first to cast at him
The stone to slay. There Stephen stood, his face,
His glory-smitten face, upturned to heaven,
And his arms thither raised as if to meet
The down-stretched arms of Jesus from on high.
It was a sight both beautiful to see
And piteous. The angels might have wept,
Who saw it, but that they more deeply saw,
And saw the pity in the beauty lost,
Like a few drops of water on a fire
That only serve to feed the flames more bright.

At the first shower of stones at him with cry
Of self-exciting execration flung,
Stephen, with answering cry, as if of one
Running to refuge and to sanctuary,
Betook him to the covert of the Wings
That trembled with desire to be outstretched
Once over doomed Jerusalem unfain,
And, "Jesus, Lord, receive my spirit!" said.
That his friends heard and echoing said "Amen!"
But they the flying stones saw not, nor saw
Alight the flying stones upon their friend;
For they too turned their faces upward all,
And, gazing unimaginable depths
Beyond the seen, beheld the glory there,
Wherein the scandal and the mystery
Of visible things vanished, like shadows plunged
In the exceeding brightness of the sun,
Or were transformed to make the glory more,
Like discords conquered heightening harmony.

With the next flight of stones, unwatched likewise,
Stephen, raised far above the fierce effect,
Stinging or stunning, of the cruel blows,
Spoke heavenward once again, not for himself
Petitioning now, but pleading for his foes.
His foes already had prevailed to bring
The martyr to his knees, and, on his knees,
With loud last voice from lips inviolate yet—
As if that angel chant at Bethlehem
Still sounded, "Peace on earth, good will to men,"
Or that diviner tone from Calvary,
"Forgive them, for they know not what they do"—
One ransomed pure and perfect human note
Threading the dissonant noise with melody—
He prayed, "Lord Jesus, lay not Thou this sin
To their account." Therewith he fell asleep.
That holy prayer exhaled his breath away,
And on his breath exhaled to heaven in prayer
His spirit thither aspired and was with Christ.

As Stephen fell asleep, the sun went down;
But over Olivet the great full moon
Rose brightening. 'So,' thought Stephen's friends of him,
'His life has been extinguished to our eyes,
Only elsewhere to shine, but while we wait
For the new day to dawn that lingers, lo,
His memory instead shall give us light,
Not splendid like the sun, yet like the moon
Lovely!'

Thus comforting themselves, they saw
The murderers of their friend above his corse
Build roughly of the stones that smote him dead
A kind of cairn in mockery of a tomb.
Melted away meanwhile the multitude
In silence, and, soon after, all were gone
Save the true lovers of the man. Then these
Gathered together round the accurséd spot,
Now hallowed, where he stood to suffer, where
He prayed, and where he fell, and whence he rose
Deathless, leaving the sacred body there,
Dead, desolate of the spirit, but still dear,
Most dear to them. And so, with many tears
Fast falling that nigh blinded them, they took
From off the body, one by one, the stones—
Almost as if they loved them, with such care!—
Until his face, his fair disfeatured face,
And his form marred and broken, open lay
To the mild moon that seemed to sympathize,
And touched and softened all with healing beams.

"Let us bear hence the sacred clay," they said,
"And wash it from the pool of Siloam."
Then Lazarus, with three fellow-helpers more—
Nathanael, Israelite indeed, was there,
Joseph of Arimathæa too had come,
Later, and Nicodemus, by nightfall,
These were the chosen four, with Lazarus—
Making a litter of their robes, took up
The noble form that lately Stephen wore,
And gently carried it to Siloam.
With soft lustration there at loving hands,
The dust and blood were wholly washed away;
The hair and beard then decently arranged,
With skill that hid the wounds on cheek or brow,
The eyelids closed on eyes that saw no more,
The scarce cold palms folded upon the breast,
Stephen it seemed indeed just fallen asleep.
Then they were glad that Ruth would see him so,
So peaceful and so beautiful asleep,
Expecting soon to waken satisfied!
"To-morrow will be time enough," they said,
"To tell Ruth—let her sleep to-night." But Ruth
Slept not, or if she slept, slept but to dream
Of Stephen and his last hands on her head.