 | The Poems of J. J. Callanan |  |
SAUL,
HOLDING THE GARMENTS OF THE MURDERERS OF STEPHEN.
The soldier of Christ to the stake was bound,
And the foes of the Lord beset him round;
But his forehead beamed with unearthly light,
As he looked with joy to his last high fight.
And the foes of the Lord beset him round;
But his forehead beamed with unearthly light,
As he looked with joy to his last high fight.
Beyond that circle of death was one
Whose hand was unarmed with glaive or stone;
But the garments he held, as apart he stood,
Of the men who were bared for the work of blood.
Whose hand was unarmed with glaive or stone;
But the garments he held, as apart he stood,
Of the men who were bared for the work of blood.
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His form not tall but his bearing high,
And courage sat in his dark deep eye;
His cheek was young, and he seemed to stand,
Like one who was destined for high command.
And courage sat in his dark deep eye;
His cheek was young, and he seemed to stand,
Like one who was destined for high command.
But the hate of his spirit you well might learn,
From his pale high brow so bent and stern,
And the glance that at times shot angry light,
Like a flash from the depth of a stormy night.
From his pale high brow so bent and stern,
And the glance that at times shot angry light,
Like a flash from the depth of a stormy night.
'Twas Saul of Tarsus!—a fearful name,
And wed in the land with sword and flame;
And the faithful of Israel trembled all,
At the deeds that were wrought by the furious Saul.
And wed in the land with sword and flame;
And the faithful of Israel trembled all,
At the deeds that were wrought by the furious Saul.
'Tis done!—the martyr hath slept at last,
And his victor soul to the Lord hath past,
And the murderers' hearts waxed sore with guilt,
As they gazed on the innocent blood they spilt.
And his victor soul to the Lord hath past,
And the murderers' hearts waxed sore with guilt,
As they gazed on the innocent blood they spilt.
But Saul went on in his fiery zeal;
The thirst of his fury no blood could quell;
And he went to Damascus with words of doom
To bury the faithful in dungeon-gloom.
The thirst of his fury no blood could quell;
And he went to Damascus with words of doom
To bury the faithful in dungeon-gloom.
When lo!—as a rock by the lightning riven,
His heart was smote by a voice from Heaven;
And the hater of Jesus loved nought beside,
And died for the name of the crucified.
His heart was smote by a voice from Heaven;
And the hater of Jesus loved nought beside,
And died for the name of the crucified.
| The Poems of J. J. Callanan | |