EUTHANASY.

The stars that with the setting of the sun

Rose in the east had climbed the highest heaven

And from their top of culmination now

With steadfast gaze were looking steeply down

Through spaces pure, or lucid depths of sky

Pure as pure spaces, blanched to perfect blue,

When Mary, waking, softly spoke to Ruth.

They in one chamber lodged, and were so nigh

Each other in their couches side by side

( With Rachel also in close neighborhood )

That they could trust themselves to mutual speech

If need were in the night or if the wish

Prompted, nor hazard to disturb the rest

Wherein Eunicé, nigh them both bestowed,

Lay locked securely in those faster bonds

Which bind the young and innocent asleep.

“Ruth,” Mary said, so softly that the sound

Was like a pulse of silence, “art asleep?”

“Nay, all awake to hear what thou wouldst say,”

Ruth answered, in a murmur soft as hers.

She had slept, but she instantly awoke

When Mary scarcely more than thought her name.

This was the wont between them; for Ruth knew

That her kinswoman Mary bore her life

But as a dewdrop trembling on a leaf

That any little waft of wind may scatter;

And so she held herself even when she slept

Still in a kind of vigil not to miss

A breath from Mary that might call for her.

“Thou wilt not sorrow should I leave thee soon,”

Said Mary, with the tone of one who soothed

Far rather than of one who soothed would be.

“I have a premonition that the end

To me of things upon the earth is nigh.

Thou knowest how frail the hold whereby I hold

To life here and how ready I am to go

Hence whensoever He shall call my name,

As once He called it I remember well,

So call it yet again, bidding me come.

I have wavered between this and that in thought;

Now thinking:‘ He will surely hither soon

Return, so as we saw Him forty days

After His resurrection wrapt in cloud

Ascending from the mount in Galilee —

Return, and take us all unto Himself;’

But then again I think:‘ Perhaps for me

He will anticipate that destined hour

And call me on a sudden thither hence.’

Let not mine ear be heavy if He call!

“O Ruth, I think I have within my heart

Foretokening sent that He will call to-day;

A fluttering in my blood admonishes me.

I should be thankful if I might once more

Ere going bear some witness to His name!

For Krishna's sake, too; ever a soul sincere

He seemed to me, but he would listen now

With other ear, eager to drink the truth.”

“Yea, and that may be,” Ruth said, “not once more

But often if the will of God be so.

God grant it! For indeed I could but grieve

To lose thee from my side; grieve, though I saw

Heaven open to receive thee, as to Stephen,

My Stephen, it opened — with the glory of God

Full shown Him in the face of Christ the Lord!

“Yet so the weather promises this night

The morning will, I think, be heavenly fair

And mild, and haply thou indeed shalt greet

Full soon thy wished-for chance of testimony.

Thou wilt remember we were all to meet

On such a morning as this sure will be

And hear thee tell thy story of the Lord's

Victorious resurrection from the dead

Just then when day is glorying over night.”

Those women with each other communing so,

The morning hastened, and — now nigh to break

Full splendor but with brilliance soft and chaste

Over the welcoming world both land and sea —

Mary and Ruth, with Rachel at the sign

Awakening and Eunicé fresh as dawn,

Heard from without a matin signal sound

Blown with the breath of Stephen on his reed —

Token of tryst by all well understood,

While secretly entrusted with a thrill

To one heart that the others knew not of.

The Indian joyful to his host had said:

“I shall forestall thee, O my Publius,

I know it by my heart within me wise,

In hailing the selectest dawn to break,

And fittest, for our meeting on the shore

To hear from Hebrew Mary what she yet

Reserves to tell us of her rising Lord:

So, if thou please, I will myself betimes

Awake thee when the hour I wait for comes.”

Publius thus roused, he in his turn awaked

Stephen, who rallied with his pipe the rest;

But Paul, with Stephen in one chamber sleeping

Woke, as his nephew woke, when Publius called.

The new wine of the vernal weather filled

The golden cup of morning to the brim,

And those blithe wakers drank deep draughts of it;

But other morning bathed their souls with light.

They to a hill of gentle rise repaired

That sloped its eastern side into the main

Thence rippling up in spiral terraces

By playful Nature round about it wound:

Here goodly prospect over sea and shore,

From a well-sheltered seat, invited them.

Before they sat, Paul stretched his hands toward heaven

And prayed: “Thou who didst out of darkness make

Light dawn on chaos, and who day by day

Dost kindle morning from the shades of night,

Thanks to thy name for this fair spring of dawn!

Dawn Thou into our hearts, and dayspring there

Make with the shining of thy face on us

Shown milder in the face of Christ thy Son!” —

Then, to his fellows turning, added this:

“We owe it to Krishna that we thus are here;

His wishes waked him, and, as was agreed,

He waked us that we might prevent the morn

To celebrate the rising of the Lord.

Krishna knew not, what yet by happy chance

Has now befallen, if aught befall by chance,

That we, upon the first day of the week

Meeting, meet on the day when Christ arose,

The Lord's day, day peculiarly His own.

We listen, Mary, tell us of that morn.”

Then Mary, her fair face like morning, white

With pureness not with pallor, spoke and said:

“It was not hope, nor faith — both faith and hope

Had died within us when our Master died —

Not hope, not faith, but love, and memory,

And sorrow, and desire to testify

Our sense of everlasting debt to Him,

That, early in the morning of the day

Third following the day wherein He suffered,

Brought me — with Mary, James's mother, joined —

Likewise Salomé, to the garden where

They had laid Him in a rock-hewn sepulcher.

We took sweet spices to embalm the flesh

Which late for robe the Lord of life had worn.

We wondered as we went,‘ But who will roll

The great stone back for us that closes up

The doorway to the tomb?’ Yet went we on,

To find the stone already rolled away;

For there had been a mighty earthquake throe,

And a descended angel of the Lord

With easy strength in his celestial grace

Had rolled away the stone, and on it sat.

His aspect was like lightning, and snow-white

His dazzling vesture shone. The keepers shook,

The keepers that the Jewish rulers set

To watch the grave — these for sheer terror shook

And sank into a helpless swoon like death.

But unto us that awful angel said:

“Ye, fear not; for I know ye come to seek

Jesus the crucified; He is not here,

For He is risen according to His word.

Come, see the empty place where the Lord lay.”

“I heard and saw with a bewildered wit;

And though I afterward remembered all,

I did not at the moment understand

Well anything save that the sepulcher

Was empty of the body of the Lord.

This I told the disciples, sorrowing:

I ran to tell them, and they, running, came

To find it so as I had made report.

Those went away, perplexed and sad at heart:

But as for me, I lingered by the tomb

And wept; I could have wept my heart away.

I thought:‘ And so I may not even anoint —

There would be comfort, something like a sense

Of healing to that holy wounded flesh,

If I might salve those dead wounds with sweet spice —

I may not even anoint His body dead!

They have taken it away, I know not whither.

Alas, alas, and woe is me!’ My tears

Were falling like a shower of rain the while,

But I stooped weeping, and with veiled eyes looked

Into the open sepulcher and saw

Two angels sitting there, vested in white,

One at the head, the other at the feet,

Where late the body of the Lord had lain.

“It was a heavenly spectacle to see,

Those shining-vested angels sitting there

With posture so composed and face serene!

Yet would I rather then have seen the Lord,

Or seen His body wounded from the cross;

But if those angels knew that this was so,

Their blame of me was very gently spoken:

‘ Woman, why weepest thou?’ I sobbed reply:

‘ Because they have taken away my Lord, and where

They have laid Him I know not.’

“With that I turned

Me back, I think I should have gone away,

But I saw one I knew not, standing there,

Who also spake,‘ Woman, why weepest thou?’

Distraught I took him for the gardener,

And half I did not see him for my tears,

And I made answer from my eager thought:

‘ O, sir, if thou have borne Him hence, tell me

Where thou hast laid Him and I will take Him thence

Away.’ Then Jesus, for it Jesus was,

Uttered one word, no more;‘ Mary!’ He said.

I turned toward Him, but all I said was this:

‘ Rabboni!’ For it was a Hebrew word

Sprang quickest to my lips;‘ Master’ it means —”

This with a glance toward Krishna Mary said.

The Indian dropped his eyes as with a kind

Of sudden conscious shame confusing him

To feel her eyes that instant meet his own

And know his own were charged with other look

Than ever woman drew from him before.

In her unconscious pure serenity,

Mary — her momentary glance toward one,

In equal gaze on all together sheathed —

Went on, no pause, yet with some air of muse

Tingeing her reminiscence as she said:

“Perhaps I had an impulse which the Lord

Saw, to assure myself with touch of hand

Or even to cling to Him, I hardly know;

‘ Nay,’ He said tenderly,‘ I am not yet,’

Said He,‘ ascended to the Father; thou,

Go to my brethren and tell them that I

Ascend unto my Father and your Father

And my God and your God.’ And this I did.

“O, the deep joy, the deep and solemn joy,

Of knowing that the Lord was risen indeed!

And the solemnity was almost more

Than even the joy; we trembled and rejoiced.

He was so awful in His majesty

After His rising from the dead! Yea, sweet

Was He, beyond all language to express;

But sweetness was with awfulness in Him

So qualified, the sweetness could not be

Enough to overcome the awfulness;

Gazing on Him we trembled and rejoiced.

“He forty days appeared and disappeared

By turns before us, passing through shut doors

Unhindered, yet sometimes partaking food —

A paradox of spirit or of flesh,

The resurrection body of the Lord!

Ensample of our bodies that shall be,

And witness of the wondrous wisdom God's,

And power to work the counsels of His will

By many secret potencies of things,

Who spirit of matter could capacious make,

As matter make to spirit permeable!

“Those forty days in which He showed Himself

After such fashion to His chosen few

Nigh ended, we withdrew to Galilee

Where He appointed He would meet His own —

More than five hundred we were mustered there

Upon a mountain top that well we knew.

Here He was glorious in majesty,

The Son of God become from Son of Man;

Hushed to obedient awe, we heard Him speak.

He said:‘ Lo, all authority is given

To Me, whether in heaven or on the earth.

Forth, therefore, ye, among all nations go,

Making disciples and baptizing them

Into the name, the one name, of the Father,

And of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost;

Teaching them to observe all things that I

Commanded you, neglecting naught of all:

Behold, I am with you ever to the end.’

“Thence to Jerusalem and Bethany.

Here from a chosen spot on Olivet

Jesus, His hands uplifted as He blessed us,

Rose heavenward, but He blessed us still in rising,

Until a cloud enwrapt Him from our sight.”

The upward look of Mary saying this,

Her fixéd, eager, upward-yearning look,

Failed, and her face grew white as if the blood

Were shamed to stain that heavenly purity.

All saw the change she suffered, and were awed.

Mary's voice faltered, but she brokenly

Went on in utterance such as if she spoke

Out of another world just reached from this:

“That cloud — I seem to see it now again —

Or something swims between to dim my sight.

Those angels said that He would yet return

So as we saw Him then ascend to heaven —

Is He now come? I hear as if a voice,

His, His, the same that in the garden spake

To me calling my name,‘ Mary!’ It says

Now,‘ Hither, Mary!’ Yea, Lord Jesus, I

Know Thee, and come. At last! At last! Farewell!”

Mary such words uttered with failing breath,

Her eyes withdrawn from vision of things here.

Her body — which in gentle rest reclined

On her kinswoman Ruth supporting her

When her strength failed — she left, winging her way

Hence, as the lark soars from his groundling nest

Into the morning sky to meet the sun.

With a communicated quietude

Of spirit — which into their gesture passed

Making it seem habitual, no surprise,

Scarce sorrow, hinted, perturbation none,

But reverence and love ineffable —

Not speaking, Ruth and Rachel decently

Composed the body to a look of rest

In sleep on the sweet earth, the stainless sky

Bending in benediction over her

And the bright sun just risen touching the face

To an auroral beauty with his beams.

“She has gone hence,” Paul said, “to be with Christ,

Which is far better. See the peace expressed

In the unmoving hands on the stilled heart,

The form relapsed oblivious on the ground,

And the face fixed in transport of repose!

Surpassing beauty! But corruptible;

Faint image of the beauty which shall be

When this seed planted springs in heavenly bloom

And mortal takes on immortality!

Think when we sow this beauty in the dust,

That which we sow is earthly though so fair;

But that will be celestial which shall hence

In the bright resurrection season spring.

“Ye know that when the husbandman entrusts

His seed-grain to the soil he does not sow

That body which shall be, but kernels bare

To which God gives a body as He will;

From the wheat sown there springs a blade of green

Unlike the wheat and far more beautiful.

So is the resurrection that awaits

Mary, our sister; this corruptible

Will put on incorruption in that day,

And Christ will fashion it anew more fair,

After the body of His glory changed!

“Ye do not ask, but some have doubting asked,

‘ How are the dead raised up, and in what form

Of body do they come?’ Not surely such

As they within the tomb were laid away.

There sleeps a natural body in the dust;

There wakes a spiritual body purified

From every imperfection of the flesh.

Whatever glorious beauty here was worn

Is worn a changed more glorious beauty there.

“His proper glory to the sun belongs,

And the moon has her glory, and the stars

Each in his own peculiar glory shines:

The body of the resurrection so

Has its enduements proper to itself,

Capacities, adjustments, attributes,

Other than we know here — though shadowed forth

Obscurely in the body that the Lord

After His resurrection wore — such high

Transfigurations of the faculties

Belonging to the body of this flesh

As man's imagination cannot dream!

“O clay, that late seemed Mary!” — and therewith

The tears that would not longer be stayed back

Burst from Paul's eyes and fell a sunlit shower,

While all the rest beholding wept with Paul —

“Form, for her sake, our well-belovéd, dear,

Must we then leave thee in the dust of earth?

But not as thus we leave thee wilt thou rise!

Thou in corruption wilt lie waiting here,

But thou shalt rise, to incorruption changed;

Thou wilt sleep darkling underneath the clod,

But thence in glory shalt thou waking burst;

In weakness buried, thou shalt rise in power.

Mary the image of the earthy bore,

She shall the image of the heavenly bear:

Comfort yourselves, belovéd, with such hope.”

Paul these triumphal words of prophecy

Uttered with streaming tears that testified

The sorrow in him at the heart of joy;

And they all wept with Paul, in fellowship

Of pathos at sweet strife with glorying hope.

A little leave for silent tears, and Paul

Said: “Bide ye here until the evenfall,

Or some of you by turns as need of rest,

Of food, of change, allows the privilege

Of watching by this sacred dust asleep.

I will meantime desire from Publius

Permission to prepare her resting-place

For Mary here upon the selfsame spot

That she has hallowed for us by dying here;

And we at set of sun will bury her.”

Now Publius had, with Sergius Paulus too,

And Krishna — those, and the centurion —

Silently, in that silent time of tears,

Retired; they with one instinct felt that here

Were love and grief that needed privacy

From witness even of moistened eyes like theirs.

But Krishna went apart from all, and bowed

Himself together motionless and wept.

While those sat weeping, and these last withdrew

Refraining not the sympathetic tear,

A different scene passed elsewhere in the isle.

Simon, the sorcerer, sought and found access

To Felix and Drusilla and said to them:

“I roused this night an hour before the dawn,

My sleep disturbed with signs in dreams of you.

Some secret prescience urged me out of doors,

And I went wandering forth with no clear thought

Whither, but felt my footsteps onward drawn,

Until I gained an overlooking height

Of hill, whence, ranging round me with mine eyes,

I saw a dozen people more or less,

Women as seemed with men, a motley train,

Walking thus early, why I could not guess;

They tended toward a hillock neighboring mine.

I, heeding to be hid from them the while,

Crept up as near them as I safely could.

Paul was among them, chief, though not the guide

As guide our worthy friend Sir Publius served.

That Sergius Paulus, with his Indian friend,

Krishna they call him, the centurion too,

Were of the company; as for the rest,

Count up the tale of Paul's companionship,

They were all there.

“After these reached the point

Where they made pause, the first thing that befell

Was Paul in menace lifting up those hands

Of his and therewith muttering magic words.

I could not hear them, but the tone I knew,

As too I knew that gesture of the hands.

I thought of how he conjured with his spell

Of uncouth baleful words at Cæsarea!

Paul got all seated; but one sat apart,

The destined victim of his wicked wiles,

A woman she, that Mary Magdalené,

Like an accused impaled to make defence.

Paul seemed to say to her,‘ Speak, if thou wilt,’

Whereon the woman with a pleading voice,

But hopeless, breaking into moan at last,

Made her apology — of course in vain.

The spell that Paul had cast upon her wrought,

And she sank lifeless at his feet. So once

A spell from Peter at Jerusalem

With Ananias and Sapphira wrought

Killing them out of hand.”

“But wherefore this?”

Drusilla doubted. “Also wherefore that?”

“Real reason, or pretended, wilt thou have?”

Said Simon with his air of oracle.

“Both,” said Drusilla shortly, answering him.

“Well, the pretended reason,” Simon said,

“To Peter, was hot zeal for righteousness.

Seems Ananias and Sapphira lied;

A venial lie, they set a little short

The price they had received for certain lands

Or other property sold by them late

In the behoof of Peter and his crew.

Peter would none of that; the revenues

To be extorted from his dupes would shrink

With such prevarications once in vogue:

There hast thou the real reason for his crime.

“As for this last case, Paul's, I can but guess

What his pretended reason was. Indeed

Perhaps pretended reason there was none.

It may be he preferred to have it seem,

To all except his special followers,

A case of sudden death from natural cause.

Or again, likelier, he alleged some crime

Against her, sacrilege or blasphemy,

Secret, thence lacking proof but capable

Of being proved upon her by his art.

He would pronounce a spell of magic power,

Then let her talk and try to clear herself:

Meanwhile, if she were guilty as he thought,

The spell would work and punish her with death,

But remain harmless were she innocent.

Guesses, but plausible; still it would be

Sufficiently like Paul if he devised

A blank mere demonstration for the sake

Of those outside spectators of the scene,

Simply in order to impress on them

His power in magic, and win their applause.

It would at the same time inspire with awe

Those dupes of his, and faster bind their bonds.

Yet a particular reason intermixed

Doubtless with general motives for his crime;

Some insubordination, it may be,

On Mary Magdalené's part toward him,

Had stung him to inflict this punishment.”

“What of it all?” Drusilla coldly said.

“Nothing,” said Simon; “just a pretty tale!

Only I thought it might perhaps subserve

Lady Drusilla's purpose yonder at Rome,

To have a crime convenient to her hand,

A fresh crime, and a flagrant, she could charge

To Paul's account to make more sure his doom.”

‘ Why, aye,’ Drusilla thought,‘ one that involves

Sergius Paulus, renegade, and that

Too complaisant centurion, the whole crew

Indeed present to be spectators there

And not protesting, hence accomplices

All of a crime they might have stayed in act.

As to the matter of a sudden death

With circumstance attending such and such,

Surplus of testimony was to hand

For that; as to the matter of the means

Employed, magic — Simon magician was,

And he, as expert witness, should suffice.

If any question as to him arose,

Drusilla should be equal to the need;

I would vouch for him to the emperor.

Nothing would please me better than to try

On him the virtue of my sponsorship!’

So the proud woman swiftly in mute muse

Slid to the goal she wished. Nay, scarce a pause

Seeming to have occurred before she spoke,

Already had her formless thought forecast

The triumphs over Nero she would win

With her voluptuous beauty wielded so

As she could wield it through her equal wit,

When she to Simon answered absently:

“True, worthy Simon; something such might chance;

Be ready to make good at need thy part.”

This as dismissal; and the sorcerer went.

Felix had moody sat with never a word.

And now the cloudless splendor of the day

Was softly toward a cloudless sunset waned,

When round an open grave upon that hill

Were gathered those who mourned for Mary dead;

Publius was there, and Julius, with the rest.

They with all reverence lifted the fair form,

Wrapped round about with linen clean and white,

And laid it like a seed within the ground;

They spread it with a coverlet of soil

Which falling through the farewell sunset beams

Seemed leavened to lie more lightly on the dead:

The earth with such a treasure in her breast

Was sweeter, and they almost yearned toward it.

Yet upward rather soon they turn their eyes

As once those upward gazed in Galilee

Seeing their Lord ascend in cloud to heaven —

While thus Paul, he too thither looking, said:

“Concerning her who sleeps here, think aright;

For we must sorrow not as others do

Who have no hope. We have a hope. Our hope

Is, that if Jesus died and rose again,

Even so them likewise who in Jesus sleep

Will God bring with Him. Yea, I say to you

By the command and promise of the Lord

If we survive to see the Lord return

We shall not so forestall our sleeping friend

In springing toward Him as He hither comes.

For with a shout the Lord Himself from heaven

Will hither come descending with the voice

Of the archangel and the trump of God.

First shall those dead in Christ arise, and then

We, if we linger living till He come,

( Transfigured in the twinkling of an eye

When the trump sounded to our heavenly guise )

Will be with them together in the clouds

Caught up in instant rapture from the earth

To meet the Lord descended in the air:

So shall we be forever with the Lord.

With these things comfort ye yourselves, and each

Comfort the other.

“And all comfort me!”

Paul added, with a breaking voice, and tears;

But quick he rallied for those others’ sake

And his victorious tone recovered quite,

Looking down, like a warrior on a foe

Trampled into the dust beneath his feet —

So looking down upon that vanquished grave,

Paul almost chanted in heroic rhythm

This lyric exultation calmed to praise:

“O death, where is thy sting? Thy victory where,

O grave? Thanks be to God who giveth us,

Through our Lord Jesus Christ, the victory!”

Paul indeed craved the touch of human love,

To stay him with a healing sense of help,

And medicine to sorrow; but in part

It was for his companions’ own behoof

He had desired their fellowship of cheer;

He knew well that to comfort was of all

Ways the way surest to be comforted.