The Epic of Saul

by William Cleaver Wilkinson

The ineffably serene steadfast regard
Of Rachel's eyes, that, out of liquid depths
Unsounded, looked angelic love and truth,
With pity mingled, equal measure—tears
Orbing them large, shot through and through with light
Of heavenly hope for Ruth—but, more than all
A subtly sweet insinuating tone,
Most musical, of softness in the voice,
That gently wound into the listener's heart—
These, with what else, who knows? of help from Heaven,
Wrought a bright miracle of change in Ruth.
She had been hard and dry, a desert rock;
The rock was smitten now with Moses' rod.
Ruth gushed in gracious tears, she veiled herself
With weeping, as sometimes a precipice
Veils itself dim with mist of cataract.
And Rachel wept with Ruth, until Ruth said:
"But where is Stephen, Rachel? It might be
They, meaning death, yet did not compass death.
Such things have been; haste, let us go and see.
Monstrous it were, if he should need me—I
The while here sitting weeping idle tears!"

"Come," Rachel said, and took her by the hand.
So hand in hand they went to Mary's house,
The elder guided as the younger led,
And neither speaking, stilled with solemn thought.
Mary and Martha met the twain, with mute,
Subdued, affectionate greeting, at the door,
And, understanding without word their wish,
Straight led them inward, with a quietude
Of gesture that spoke peace and peace infused,
To the place where in quietude reposed
That slumberer late so violently lulled
To this so placid sleep. The room was flushed
With hue of gold in hangings round the walls
And rugs of russet muffling deep the floor,
That made a kind of inner light diffused,
Like sunshine without sun and shadowless.
A golden-curtained window opened east,
And east the upturned face of Stephen looked,
Lying there motionless in that fast sleep—
So lying that, had he his eyelids raised,
He without moving might have seen the morn.
The rest, with one accord not entering, stood
About the door without, silent, and saw
While the wife sole went to the husband's side.
That instant, lo, from out the breaking dawn
A level sunbeam through the curtain slipped
And touched the fair translucent face with light.
Ruth marked it and she testified and said,
Falling upon her knees beside the couch:
"I take it as a token, Lord, from Thee;
Even so send Thou Thy light into my heart!
Lo, by the side of him made beautiful
In death, of whom I was unworthy, here
I give myself—alas, that it should be
Too late for him to have known it!—to his Lord.
I trust to be forgiven for my sin!
I thank Thee that I was not weight enough
Upon him to prevail against Thy might
Within him and prevent this sacrifice—
Accomplished all without my help, nay, all
In spite of my resistance! O my God,
How hast Thou humbled me! To have had no part,
Wife with her husband to have borne no part—
Save hindering what she could!—when such a deed
Of martyrdom for Christ was possible!
Behold, O Lord, thus late I take my part!
This now is also mine, as well as his,
This sacrifice. I have offered him to Thee!
And if my share be heavier even than his—
To live bereaved more grievous martyrdom
Than to have died—this too is my desert,
Accept the witness of my widowhood!"

Ruth ceased, but rose not from her knees, still fixed
In posture as if grown a pillar of prayer.
Then those three women came and knelt with her
Beside her dead, a silent fellowship
Of sympathy in sacrifice; but soon
Rachel and Mary, one on either side
Of Ruth, borne by the self-same impulse each,
Each at the self-same instant borne, unto
The self-same beautiful appeal, pure love's
Pure touch, stole softly each a hand in hers.
Each plighting hand so proffered Ruth upraised
Slowly and solemnly as with a kind
Of consecrating gesture to her lips,
And kissing seemed to seal a sacrament.
Then she arose, and all arose with her,
When Martha, not forgotten, likewise shared,
She too, with Ruth the kiss of sisterhood.
So, never a word between them spoken, all
Went backward and withdrew, Ruth last, who saw
That sunshine glorifying Stephen's brow,
And bore it thence, Shekinah in her heart.
Her countenance thus illumined from within,
The mother to her orphan children went,
And moved, a light, about her household ways.
She knew that others would with holy heed
Prepare that holy dust for burial.

But Rachel was more comfortless than Ruth.
Rest in her spirit found she none—until,
First having broken fast, but sparingly,
She hastened with winged footsteps to her home.
There her maid told her Saul went early forth
Leaving this message for his sister: "Here
Bide, if thou wilt; this house be still thy home.
But I go hence, whither I cannot tell,
Nor yet for how long absence; to what end—
Thou knowest. Cheer thee well!" The little maid
Looked rueful and perplexed, but nothing asked,
As nothing Rachel told her, save to say:
"Quick, bring thine elder sister, thou and she
Shall keep the house together for a time.
I also go, my little maid"—wherewith
Her little maid, now weeping, Rachel kissed—
"I also go, but weep not, I shall come
Again, I trust, in happier times. Farewell!"
Then Rachel straight to Ruth's abode returned.

"Glad am I thou hast come once more," said Ruth,
"For I have wished to ask thee many things.
How came his dreadful chance of martyrdom
On Stephen? I can bear to hear it all,
Since all is done and past and—'He is safe,'
As thou saidst, Rachel!"
Tenderly Ruth smiled,
With tears behind her smiles that did not fall.
Then Rachel said:
"I cannot tell thee all
As having all beheld, but this I heard,
That Stephen gave a noble testimony
Before the council who had cited him;
That there his face shone like an angel's, God
Himself so swearing for His servant, while
Against him swore false witnesses suborned
By Shimei; that his enemies could not bear
The fierceness of the love with which in wrath
He burned for God against their wickedness,
And so they rushed upon him violently
And thrust him forth without the city walls.
But God beheld their threatening, and He sent
His Romans to withstand them for a while.
Then we that loved and honored him drew nigh,
And would have spoken words of cheer to him,
But he—O Ruth, thou shouldst have seen him then!
I never can describe to thee how fair
Thy husband was to look upon, while he,
As steadfast as a star and as serene,
And not less lovely-luminous to our eyes,
Stood there amid the angry Sanhedrim
And to us spake such heavenly words of cheer!
He spake of thee, Ruth, and I think God gave
His spirit comfort in good hope for thee.
For, 'God will give all to our prayers,' said he,
And added, 'Husband He will be to her,
And Father to the fatherless.'"
Thereat
Ruth's tears as from a fresh-oped fountain flowed,
And eased her aching heart, too full before
Of love, remorseful love, for perfect peace.
Rachel with Ruth wept tears of sympathy;
But with the sweet and wholesome in her tears
Mixed salt and bitter, for she thought of Saul.
Ruth at length ceased to weep and yearning said:
"And then those Romans let them work their will!"

"On Stephen's body, yea, Ruth," Rachel said,
"But on his spirit they could have no power."
"The stones," said Ruth—

"The stones, Ruth," Rachel said,
"God gave His angels charge concerning them—
So verily I believe—and strictly bade,
'Lo, let these slay, but see ye that they do
No harm unto My prophet.' So the stones,
They slew, but hurt not. God translated him;
He rose triumphant in meek majesty.
I should have told thee, Ruth, that while he stood
Before the council, he looked up and saw
Jesus in heaven on the right hand of God—
There standing; this he testified to all.
It was as if his faithful Lord had risen
To side with Stephen in his agony.
So, when they stoned him, Stephen upward spoke,
'Lord Jesus, take my spirit'; then once more,
'Lord, lay not Thou this sin unto their charge.'
This he said kneeling and so fell asleep."

The two some space sat musing silently;
Then Ruth:
"I feel that thou hast told me all
Most truly, Rachel, as most tenderly.
Thus, then, God giveth His belovéd sleep,
Thus also! And He doeth all things well!
Amen!"
Silence once more, that seemed surcharged
With deepening inarticulate amen
From both, and Ruth, regarding Rachel, said:
"Even so! But, Rachel, us not yet doth God
Will thus to sleep. Still, otherwise to sleep—
For His belovéd are not also we?—
May be God's gift to us. Thou surely needest,
Body and spirit, rest."
And Rachel said:
"The words of Stephen leap unto my lips
For answering thee; and these were Stephen's words:
'God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!'
And this makes me remember that one thing
Done yesterday I missed to tell thee of.
For Martha, faithful heart, forecasting well,
Brought food for Stephen that might hearten him
To bear whatever he had need to bear,
A cake of barley and a honeycomb.
'God bless thee, Martha, for thy loving thought!'
Said Stephen, and so took the food from her,
And ate it giving thanks before us all.
He ate it with such look of appetite,
It cheered us with a sense of freedom his
From any discomposure of the mind.
O Ruth, in His pavilion God did hide
Thy husband, and his soul had perfect peace!"

"Was it not done like Martha?" Ruth replied;
"And done like Stephen too. For courtesy
Bloomed like a flower to grace his daily life.
I used to wonder at it—and I now
Wonder I did not see where such a flower,
Where, and where only, such a flower could find
Rooting to flourish in a world like this!
He always told me that the heart of Christ
Nourished what good in him, or beautiful,
I found—or fancied, as he smiled and said.
But I—Oh, holden heart!—I did not see.
And now it is too late, too late, for him
To have known! It may be that he knows it, yea,
But now to know it is not wholly such
As to have known it then, to have known it then!
Alas, there is not any chance of hope
Behind us, Rachel; hope is all before.
Let us look onward; we in hope were saved,
So Stephen used to say, and, 'I go hence
In comfort of some hope,' were his last words,
Or of his last, to me—concerning me,
Spoken with a sad cheerfulness that now
Breaks me with such a surge of memory!
But this is endless, let it here have end.
Come, Rachel, see, the sun rides high, come thou,
And I will bring thee to a quiet room,
Safe from the sun, where thou shalt rest a while."

So Rachel followed Ruth, not ill content
To be alone for thought if not for sleep.
Her will was not to sleep; but weariness,
With youth and health, was stronger, and she slept.