STEPHEN AND RUTH.

Rudely thus parted from his sister, Saul

Straightway sought certain of his synagogue —

The synagogue of the Cilicians — men

Less alien from himself than Shimei was

In spirit, while compatriot too by birth

As was not Shimei, an Asian he —

And these made privy to his changed resolve.

They, glad of such adhesion, opened free

Their counsel to him, telling, with grimace

Added, and shrug of shoulder, to attest

Their scorn of Shimei, Shimei's scheme, which they

Sourly, as from compulsion, now took up.

Saul, swallowing a great throe of innermost

Revolt that well-nigh mastered him, subscribed

Himself, by silence, partner of their deed.

Rachel, spurned from him by her brother, sat

Moveless a while, the image of dismay,

Her two ears caves of roaring sound, her mind

A whirling void of sheer astonishment.

When presently the storm a little calmed

Within her, and she knew herself once more,

She cleared her thought by settling it in words —

Words which through fluent mood and mood changed swift

From passionate soliloquy to prayer,

And from prayer back to soft soliloquy:

“My brother shall not excommunicate

His sister! While I love him he is mine,

And I shall not be‘ separate’ from him

‘ Forever’ — let him hate me as he will,

Who hates himself, and otherwise amiss

Hates liberally. Why did I let him go?

I should have held him, should have told him I

Am of one blood with him, as high as he

In spirit; though a‘ woman,’ not to be

Put down; he gave me right, with speech like that,

To equal him in stinging word for word.

I could have done it. Woman am I? Yea,

And Deborah was a woman, Miriam too.

I feel my blood a-tingle in my veins

With lust to have him back, and make him know

The lion with the lamb lies down in me

Together; and I showed him but the lamb!

The lion rouses late, occasion gone!

Did he cow me? So tamely I endured

His contumely! Anger none till now,

Nor shame not to be angry at such speech

From him; but now — anger with burning shame

Turns inward and incenses me like fire.

I scorn myself for that, reed-like, my head

I bowed before the tempest of his scorn,

When blast for blast I should have blown him back

His tempest.”

Rachel's indignation so

Like a sea wrought and was tempestuous.

But the recoil of her own violent speech

First gave her pause, then pierced her with remorse.

Daily, from when she, hearing Stephen speak,

Heard God through Stephen speaking, and obeyed,

Rachel, first having in baptism testified

Her death to sin, her birth to righteousness —

Never her absent brother dreaming it —

Gladsome had broken bread of fellowship

With the disciples of the Lord, and learned,

Both from their lips and from their lives beheld,

Deep lessons in the lore of Jesus, apt

By the tuition of the Holy Ghost.

The better spirit, for a moment lost,

So lately made her own, came back to her.

Sadly she mused, recalling her hot words

Of passion:

“‘ Tempest’? Tempest sure just now

Hummed in me.‘ Scorn myself’? What word was that?

Rachel forsooth forbade Saul saying,‘ I hate

Myself’ — and scorn herself does she, yea, here

Sit impotently brooding scorn for scorn

To rival him? Surely I missed my way.

‘ Scorn,’‘ hate,’ one spirit both these speak, such scorn

Such hate, in him, in me. One spirit both,

And that the spirit of this world, not His,

Not Christ's, no spirit of Thine, O Crucified,

Thou meek and lowly holy Lamb of God!

Forgive, forgive me, from Thy cross of shame

And passion, O Thou suffering Son of God!

Once prayedst Thou thence for those that murdered Thee,

‘ Father, forgive them, for they know not what

They do.’ I knew not what I did when so

I crucified Thee afresh through shameful pride.

My heart breaks with my sorrow for my sin,

A broken and a contrite heart, O Lord,

Thou never wilt despise.

“And now yet more

My heart breaks with forgiveness poured on me.

O sweet and blessed flood, pour on me still!

Deliciously I tremble and rejoice.

To be thus broken is bliss more to me

Than to be whole. I love to lie dissolved,

Dissolving, under this soft fall of peace

Distilled like dew from out Thy bleeding heart!

Lo, here I wholly, wholly, wholly yield

To Thee, O Christ, am fluid utterly,

To take whatever shape Thee best may please.

Remake me after Thine own image, Lord!

“I pray Thee for my brother. Suffer not

That he act out his purposed madness. Save,

O save him from that dreadful sin he means

Against Thee and against Thy holy cause.

I cannot bear it, that my brother rage

Against Thee like the heathen. Thou art strong,

O Christ! I pray Thee — Thee I pray, O Christ,

Thee only, for none other can — meet Thou

And master Saul! His sister pleads with Thee;

I plead for his sake, he being dear to me,

But more for Thine own name and glory's sake,

And for Thy suffering cause!

I thank Thee, Lord,

With joyful tears, I thank Thee, gracious Lord,

That Thou restrainedst me dumb with silence then

When Saul spake evil of me — for Thy sake.

Through Thee, Who, when reviled, reviledst not

Again, through Thee, through Thee, I, also I,

Proud foolish Rachel, then refrained from words!

No taunt retorted, no reproach, no blame,

Stung him from me to sin; I thank Thee, Lord,

For that!

“Now is there naught that I may do?

May I not warn that prophet Stephen? Saul

Wildly foreshadowed harm himself might wreak

On him; and what meant Shimei's visit here?

Mischief, no doubt of that; collusion strange,

Incredible, impossible, such twain,

That Shimei and my brother! I will go

And talk with Stephen's wife, her, what I can,

Without disloyalty to Saul, stir up

To fear for Stephen's safety; he need not,

Surely, dauntless high prophet of the Lord

Although he be, still ready-girt to die,

Rush blindfold into danger unforewarned.”

So to the house of Stephen Rachel went

With haste, and there, in darkened words to Ruth,

Perturbed her woman's breast with vague alarms:

‘ Her husband must of stratagem beware,

And even of violence, aimed against his life.’

Stephen, by Ruth his wife, of all advised,

Armed him his heart to face what must befall.

Ruth shook him to the centre of his soul

With storms of wife's complaints and love and tears:

“Nay, Stephen, many a time, bear witness thou,

My heart before she came misgave me sore;

But now, since Rachel's words, no peace I find

Concerning thee, in this thy wilful way

Wherein thou goest — whither, I know not, whence,

Too well I know, for from a home thou goest

Once happy, ere this madness came on thee!”

Sharply so Stephen's wife upbraided him.

Gravely and gently he admonished her:

“Name it not madness, woman, lest thereby

Thou sin that sin against the Holy Ghost.

No madness is it when the soul of man

Is sovereignly usurped by the Most High

To be the organ of Almighty Will.

I yield myself, nay, Ruth, I join myself,

To God — no blind unsharing instrument,

But joyful partner of His purposes.”

Solemnly chided so, Ruth quick replied:

“And what if of His purposes one be

To let thee plunge, as headstrong, so headlong,

Thy way to bloody death, thou stiff-necked man?

Thou hearest what Rachel brings us, doubtful hint

Indeed, but therefore in itself to me

Only more fearful; and how fearful joined

To what thyself confessest thou of late,

With thine own ears, hast, from the public mouth,

Heard — instigated whisper, Shimei's brew,

Accusing thee of treason to the hope

Of Israel, and purpose to destroy

The temple, and the customs do away

Which Moses left us! Stephen, all these signs

Singly, much more together, point one way —

They threaten death to thee, if thou persist

To preach things hateful to the wise and good.”

Ruth intermitted, and her husband said:

“The danger, Ruth, I know, but I must not,

For danger, slack obedience to my Lord.”

Then Ruth said:

“But I only ask that thou

Now, for a little, prudently abide

In hiding till this storm be overpast.”

He, with a glance of irony, replied:

“And always run to covert at the first

Bluster of opposition? Yea, to some

That is permitted; but to other some,

Whereof am I, only to stand foursquare

And take the buffet of whatever storm.

And the best prudence is obeying, Ruth.”

High answered Stephen thus, but Ruth rejoined:

“Stephen, thou ever wert a stubborn will,

And overweening of the wisdom thine,

Hard-hearted and unloving never yet,

Never, till now. How canst thou bide thus calm,

And I, thine erst loved wife, beheld by thee

So tossed with tempest and not comforted?”

Wherewith self-pity broke her words to sobs:

She fell on Stephen's neck and wept aloud.

With both his arms he folded her about,

While his heart, hugely swelling in his breast,

Forced to his eye the slow, large, rounding tear.

It was as if a cloud that wished to rain

Strongly held back its drooping weight of shower.

His melting voice at last he fixed in words:

“What meanest thou to weep and break my heart,

O thou, mine own, most loving and most loved

Of women? Flesh cries out to flesh in me

Against the purpose of my spirit set

To crucify the flesh with its desires!”

Ruth caught her sobs and held them while she spoke:

“Flesh of thy flesh am I; thou slayest me

In slaying thyself; I will not have it so.

Not ready yet am I to die in thee;

And thee God surely needs alive, not dead:

The dead cannot praise God nor serve His cause.

Who will so preach that gospel that thou lovest

When thou art gone? Who then will silence Saul?

I tell thee, Stephen, this is Satan's guile —

To get thee slain — and overmatch mightst thou

The arch-deceiver, easily, if thou wouldst,

So easily — only live.”

Conclusive seemed

Her argument to Ruth and stanched her tears.

She gently disengaged the fond embrace

That held her to her husband's heart, and, drawn

A little backward from his face her face,

She smiled on him like sunshine after rain.

Smiling pathetically back, he kissed,

With kisses that she felt like sacraments,

Then, and forever after till she died,

His wife's brow beautiful with hope, and said:

“Ruth, thou hast said; it is, be sure, his guile,

Satan's, whereby I presently shall die;

If so to die indeed be mine, who feel

Too young still, and too strong, too full of hope,

Too full of — shall I name it, Ruth?— too full

Of God Himself, the Holy Ghost, to die!

For He within me lives such life and power,

Death seems impossible, all weakness seems

Far off, an alien thing, and not for me;

I am immortal and omnipotent.

That, Ruth, is when I stand to speak for God,

Preaching to men the gospel of His Son.

“But when, as now, I sit with thee and talk,

Or when my children cluster round my knees,

And I hear husband, father, from fond lips

Pressed to these lips so oft, and with such joy,

When all the dearness that is meant by home,

And all the drawing lodged in kindred blood,

And all that sense, unutterably deep,

Of oneness, soul in soul, with those we love —

O Ruth!— but, Ruth, our tears commingled flow,

‘ Tis our hearts flow together in those tears!

O wife and life, when all that I have said,

And that far more which never tongue could say,

Surges upon me, surge on surge of thought

And feeling, like an overflowing flood,

Beloved, then, how weak I am, how frail,

How low and like to die! I lean toward thee,

As if the oak should lean upon his vine.”

Ruth took his word from him and made reply:

“So lean on me, my love, and be at rest;

Lean, and make proof how vines at need are strong.

In me no faltering purpose weakens will.

Thou speakest of flesh within thee crying out

To flesh against the spirit — warfare strange

Of elements that dwell in me at one.

My nature moves straightforward all one way.

Rebellion none, no mutiny, I find

Only resolve to thwart thy mad resolve,

Thy half resolve, say rather, half and mad —

So proved by these compunctious visitings

Thou hast, these gracious sweet remorses wise,

Relentings toward thy children and toward me;

Divine presages, Stephen, scorn them not,

Sent to forewarn thee ere it be too late!

“Bethink thee, Stephen, when didst thou before,

Ever, thus will and straight unwill, thus halt,

Thus parley with thyself, thus stand in doubt

Like a reed shaken with the wind, as now

I see thee here? Thou art not like thyself;

Not like that Stephen, ready, combative,

Thy stature still elastically tall

To tower and overtop and overfrown

Whatever front of menace challenged thee.

By thy changed state, I pray thee, be advised.

God teaches thee hereby. He does not wish

Thy will with thy desire to be at war.

Give up thy heady will, and let desire,

Divinely wise, the wisdom of the heart,

Guide thee; her ways are ways of pleasantness,

And all her paths are peace.”

Again well pleased

With her own argument, Ruth tearful smiled

A smile that, tenfold tender through those tears,

Was argument to Stephen more than words.

From deep within he heaved a sigh and said:

“Oh! Woman! Woman! Ruth, thou teachest me

How Adam could, by Eve's enticement drawn,

Be even beguiled to die. And now, to live,

Not die, my Eve entices me. O Ruth,

I feel, I feel, doubt not but that I feel,

The sweet, the subtly sweet, dissolving spell

Of wish infused by thee, with thee to live,

With thee and for thee, nay, in thee, as thou

In me — this twain one life, how dear, how dear!

O wife, what is there that I could not bear

And dare of hard and high, wert thou, with smiles

And tears and love, for Christ but eloquent,

As all too well I feel thee eloquent

For our sweet selves?”

Ruth's heart sank, but she said:

“O Stephen, for our children!” Then she threw

Her head upon his bosom, there in tears,

With passionate sobs and throbs, poured out her heart.

He mightily a mighty swell that yearned

To be a storm within him, ruled, and said:

“Nay, Ruth, but we forget. Life beyond life

Remains to us and to our children. We,

Forgetfully, desire and hope and fear

As if death bounded all. A little while

And Christ will come again. Then they that sleep

In Him will wake to Him, and they that still

Wake when He comes, but love Him, will, with those

Late sleeping in Him now awake, ascend

To meet the Lord descending, in the air:

Thenceforward all that love Him, loved of Him,

Will be forever with Him where He is,

Beholding there His glory. Blessed state!

No tears, no fears, no hearts that break, no hearts

That will not break, although they ache the more,

Perhaps, God knows, not breaking — naught of these,

And naught of any ill, but only peace,

Joy, love, security of peace and joy

And love, and fellowship in peace and joy

And love, forever, perfect, more and more,

With vision beatific still of Him

Who washed us in His blood and made us kings

And priests to God. Ruth, here is hope indeed

For us that will not make ashamed.”

But Ruth

Unhearing heard and was not comforted.

She raised her head from Stephen's breast, with act

As if to part herself in hope from him,

And, with regard made almost alien, said:

“Hug thou thy hope, thy hope is not for me.

He could not save himself, thy Christ, but died

As the fool dieth — and as die wilt thou,

If thou despise my counsel! Stephen, I

Would rather take my lot a little less,

Less large, less perfect, and less durable,

Than that thou figurest in thy fantasy,

So I might have it something different

From that, real, substantial, palpable

To sense, something whereof one could be sure.

I am no visionary. Take, say I,

With thanks the good God gives us now and here;

Not spurn His bounty back into His face,

And reach out emptied hands of wanton greed

To grasp at more He has not offered us.

We have no right to throw our life away!—

In hope of life hereafter, only ours

Then when with patience our appointed time —

‘ All’ our appointed time, Stephen — we wait,

Till our change come.”

Ruth's chill repellent tone,

Her mask of manner hard, could not deceive

Her husband, who, through such disguise with pain

Put on, well recognized a new device

Of wife's love, versatile as resolute,

Constraining tenderness to play severe.

Yet not the less for that, more rather, he

Felt at her words a dull weight of despair

Oppress his spirit; he could only pray,

In silent sorrow not to be expressed,

“O Holy Ghost of God, pity and save!”

A hundred times so praying for his wife,

In anguished iteration o'er and o'er,

Stephen not speaking sat, and speechless she.

At last, as if one bound with green withes rose

Rending the withes to rise, rose Stephen, sweat

Of supreme agony victorious

At dreadful cost dewing his brow; he took

His wife's hand solemnly and tenderly,

His port majestical compelling awe,

And, with tense speech, in tones that strangely mixed

The husband with the prophet, slowly said:

“Farewell, Ruth, for the hour is fully come

That I must hence. The burden of the Lord

Is instant and oppresses me. I go,

Whither I know not, but He knows, to bear

Witness once more to His most worthy name.

I thought that I should never preach again

His gospel in those temple courts, but now

Perhaps He wills even that; whatever be

His purpose, unforeshown, I welcome it.

“Lo, Ruth, this is the last time, for full well

I know I never shall come back to thee!

Come thou to me, I charge thee that, and bring

Our children to their father. Always think

Hereafter,‘ He, that last time, charged me that!’

I think my God in this has heard my prayer,

And I go hence in comfort of some hope.

Our children! Oh! My children! God in heaven,

Have mercy! How a father pitieth

His children, think of that, and pity me!

A father lays them on a Father's heart;

Father, I charge Thee, by Thy father's-heart,

Not one be plucked from out His Father's hand!

Lord Christ, see Thou to this, in session there

Forever, interceding for Thine own!

“Ruth, give their father's blessing to our babes;

I trust that they will cheer their mother well,

When I am gone, and cheer thee to the end.

Their sweet unconscious voices now I hear

In laugh and prattle of pathetic glee!

I fain would see their faces once again,

Kiss them once more, and take a last caress!

But nay, I spare myself one pang; sweet babes,

They are too young to know! But by and by,

When they are older and will understand,

Then tell them thou what I now cannot, say,

‘ Your father loved you, loves you, and will love

Forever — that was his last word to me

For you.’ So, Ruth, farewell!”

With first his hands,

Both, placed in solemn blessing on her head,

She kneeling by his knees, forth from his house

Therewith went Stephen all as in a trance.

With open eyes that saw not, yet with steps

Guided — how, he well knew, but whither not —

In simple rapt obedience, he his way

Took absently like one that walks in sleep.

Stephen his home had fixed in Bethany —

Sequestered hamlet on the slope behind

The Mount of Olives from Jerusalem.

Mary and Martha, here, and Lazarus,

He knew and loved; and with them oft, their guest,

Held converse sweet of what He said and did,

And was, the Friend Who wept when Lazarus died,

The Lord of life through Whom he lived again:

But Ruth, self-sundered from this fellowship,

Abode apart, or only with them bound

In bonds of kindly common neighborhood.

These marked when Stephen, marking not, passed by,

That day, steps toward the holy city bent,

And to each other said:‘ He goes once more

Bound in the spirit to Jerusalem

To preach the gospel of the grace of God.

Behold the lit look on the forward face!

Behold the gait half-buoyed as if with wings!

It is like Jesus hastening to His cross!

Lo, let us follow!’ and they followed him.

But he went ever onward, slacking not

His steps, nor heeding when the brow he reached

Of Olivet and thence, across the deep

Ravine of Kedron worn with rushing floods,

Before him and beneath him saw outspread

The city of David with its palaces.