Already, when she woke, the sun halfway
From his high noon had down the western slope
Of sky descended, and she hearkening heard
A rumorous noise without upon the ways,
The stir of movement, steps of many feet,
With sound, muffled, of many voices nigh,
That startled her from sweet forgetfulness
To sudden sad remembrance of the things
That had been, and that were, and were to be.
Instinctive up she sprang, for, "Lo," she said,
"They gather unto Stephen's funeral;
Behooves that I be ready with all speed."
Therewith upon her knees she sank and prayed
A prayer for Ruth and for Ruth's little ones,
Widowed and orphaned by so dear a death,
And for herself—and for her brother Saul!
Then her heart swelled to a capacious wish,
And, anguished in one swift vicarious throe
Of great desire for help and grace divine,
She embraced the total church of Jesus Christ—
Of such a guide, of such a stay, bereaved!
Then Rachel, with the Everlasting Arms
Invisibly, nigh visibly, around
Her to sustain her steps, came forth, as one
That meekly walks leaning on her beloved,
And begged of Ruth that she might sister be
To her, that day, and thenceforth ever, mourn
As sister with her in the eyes of all.
"For I am lonely," Rachel said, "O Ruth,
As thou art; lonely let us be, we twain,
Together, widows both, and mix our tears.
For also I am widow, as thou art,
Yet not as thou—since me a heavier stroke
Makes widow, who have never been a wife!"
Ruth answered, though she did not understand,
And kissed her friend in plight of sisterhood.
So they two, clad alike from out Ruth's store
Of raiment, clad in sad attire alike,
As sisters walked together side by side—
Ruth's children with them, grieved, not knowing why—
To where, from Mary's house and Martha's borne,
With grievous lamentation, by good men
Devout, the flower and choice of Israel,
Was laid the sacred dust of Stephen down
And sealed within a rock-hewn sepulchre.
Joseph of Arimathæa, he who sought
And gained from Pilate leave to take away
The body of Jesus crucified, had sent
To Bethany, betimes, before the hour
Of burial, rich spices, a great weight,
Aloes and myrrh, with linen pure and fine,
To wrap the body of Stephen for his tomb.
Mary, the mother of the Lord, with John
Beloved of Jesus, loving her as son,
Came to that feast of sorrow bringing tears,
To Ruth medicinal more than any, wept
By one who had so learned to weep. So there
With sackcloth worn and ashes on the head,
They wailed aloud, that Hebrew company,
Women and men, they beat the breast, they rent
Their raiment, until one stood forth who said:
"Enough already has to grief been given.
Us it befits not here, for Stephen dead,
To mourn as mourn others who have no hope.
He was a burning and a shining light,
And we a season in his beams were glad.
Glory to God who kindled him for us!
Glory to God who hath from us withdrawn
His shining, and now hides him in Himself!
We thought we could not spare him, but God knew.
Let all be as God wills Who knows. Amen!"
"Amen!" they solemnly responded all,
And he who spake these things went on and said:
"The Lord anointed Stephen with the oil
Of gladness in the gift of speech above
His fellows. How he flamed insufferably,
In words that leapt out of his mouth, like swords
Out of their sheaths, enkindled to devour
The wicked! When he spoke, flew seraphim
And bore from off the altar living coals
Of God which, laid upon his lips, purged them
To utter those pure words that purified.
What zeal, what wisdom, what fixed faith, what power!
He stood our bulwark, he advanced our sword,
And single seemed an insupportable host.
Yet this puissant soldier of the truth,
To disobedience so implacable,
How gentle and how placable he was
To all obedience! He was like his Lord,
That Lion of the tribe of Judah, named
Also the Lamb of God. No words had he
Save words of vivid flame, sudden and swift
And deadly like the lightning, for God's foes;
But for the little flock of Jesus, balm
His speech—into those lips such grace was poured!
"Nor less in him for mighty work than word
The Holy Ghost a fountain was of power.
From him or through him what a plenteous stream
Flowed like the river of God in miracle!
Signs, wonders, gifts of healing, heavenly powers,
Innumerable flocked about his hand,
Like doves unto their windows flying home,
Waiting there eager to perform his will.
"A prophet of the elder time, reborn
Into the spirit of this latter age,
Was Stephen. Thanking God for him, let us
Together and steadfastly pray that He
Who made the great Elijah live again
In John the Baptist, give us Stephen back
In resurrection from his tomb with power.
Thus shall we pray as himself prophesied—
For Stephen, you remember, glanced at this
In prophecy; unless not prophecy
It were, but only generous hope, with wish
To comfort Rachel, when he spake to her
Of grace to come upon her brother yet—
We shall so seek what seems it he foresaw,
If we ask Jesus to make captive Saul!"
That speaker ceased, and then a prophetess
Among the women there took up a wail,
Which triumphed into gladness as it grew:
"Is fallen, is fallen, a prince in Israel!
Woe, while it yet was day, his sun went down!
Daughters of Judah, mourn for Stephen slain!
"Mourn for a candle of the Lord put out,
A torch of noble witness quenched in blood;
Wear sackcloth of thick darkness and bewail!