University of Virginia Library

See, they lead him from his dungeon,
Bent with age and cramped with fetters;
And around his limbs his raiment
Hangs in scanty folds and tattered.
White his hair with years and sorrow,
Worn his face with pain and watching;
But his eyes still keep their brightness,
And his spirit knows no terror,
Though around him whispered murmurs
Tell of coming death and torture.

Dark-browed sophists, priests and soldiers,
Servants of the mighty Cæsar;
Men who bow before their idols,
Jove or Neptune or Quirinus;
Slaves who own no God but Mammon,
Doubters, of all creeds long weary,—
These are joined in league against him;
For they know their craft endangered,
Know that in him dwells a spirit,
Mighty, loving, strong to conquer,
Which will war against their falsehood,
Till their shrines are all deserted,
And through temple's shattered columns
Roam, for throng of eager pilgrims,
Dog and wolf, and pard and panther;
Blow, for clouds of wafted incense,
Mists and vapours from the marshes.

And he knows it too, that martyr,
Knows it by his life's long story,
Proofs of love and mercy wondrous.
Little recks he what the issue
Of that scene of hot debating,—
Whether, gnashing teeth in frenzy,
They against him rage, reviling,
Or, bowed down in bitter anguish,
Cry aloud to God for pardon;—
Whether he who stands before him,
Frowning, vengeful, and malignant,
Chief accuser, subtlest speaker,
Shall o'ercome him in the judgment,
Or, by God's great might led captive,
Join him in his good confession,—
Join the noble host of martyrs,
White-robed round the Throne of glory.

Little recks he, for he knoweth
God will order all things justly,
Righteous in His wrath or mercy;
But his soul goes up as pleading
For that multitude despiteful,
For the doubters and the seekers,
For the railers and the scorners;
Praying now, as once prayed Stephen,
When to him the heavens were opened,
And his face was like an angel's,
And in accents faint and broken
He his last words breathed, in pity
For the crowd of scribes and elders,
For the priests the sons of Aaron,
Chiefly for the youth who led them,
Tarsus-born, Gamaliel's pupil,
For the Law and Temple zealous.
And that prayer we know was granted,
And the young Cilician zealot
Felt the might of that entreaty,
Felt new impulse, wondrous yearnings,
Thrills of pity vainly stifled,
Strange misgivings, thoughts perplexing,
Drawings of the Love eternal,
By his will awhile resisted,
Till he too was called and chosen,
Heart and soul at last surrendered,
Chosen as the Lord's Apostle,
Preacher of the great glad tidings.
So a thousand times, we doubt not,
Prayers like his have had like ending;
And the streaming blood of martyrs
Been the seed of glorious harvest.
So the words gain fullest meaning,
“This man soweth, that man reapeth.”
But the sower and the reaper,
In the end, rejoice together,
Basking in the light eternal.