Sequences, Hymns, and Other Ecclesiastical Verses By the Rev. J. M. Neale |
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SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS. |
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 | Sequences, Hymns, and Other Ecclesiastical Verses |  |
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THE SEVEN SLEEPERS OF EPHESUS.
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The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus.
I.
Listen, all ye who rejoice in a tale of the days of the Martyrs!
Listen, for that same grace which rendered them mighty in battle
Worketh from age to age. Not alone in the conquering athletes,
Dyed in their best heart's blood, when the “valiant men were in purple,”
Clashing their red-stained shields: but in that long line of Confessors,
Turning to flight the armies of aliens, Kingdoms subduing,
Stopping the mouths of the lions, escaping the blast of the furnace,
Heated one sevenfold more than before it was wont to be heated:
But in all Saints of the Lord, in Doctors and Virgins,—in all these
Wrought that effectual grace, which brought them through great tribulation.
These are not names of the past: they are leaders and guides of the present,
Teaching the way we must tread, and showing us how we must tread it;
Champions on earth of the Church and her Intercessors in Heaven.
No! nor a moment believe that, going, they left not behind them
Others to fight their fight, though changed in array and in danger.
These we have now, and shall have, fit men in fit place for their contest:
Strong in their lion-like spirits, each valiantly laying about him,
Giving and taking of scars, doing good and endurant of evil.
Listen, for that same grace which rendered them mighty in battle
Worketh from age to age. Not alone in the conquering athletes,
Dyed in their best heart's blood, when the “valiant men were in purple,”
Clashing their red-stained shields: but in that long line of Confessors,
Turning to flight the armies of aliens, Kingdoms subduing,
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Heated one sevenfold more than before it was wont to be heated:
But in all Saints of the Lord, in Doctors and Virgins,—in all these
Wrought that effectual grace, which brought them through great tribulation.
These are not names of the past: they are leaders and guides of the present,
Teaching the way we must tread, and showing us how we must tread it;
Champions on earth of the Church and her Intercessors in Heaven.
No! nor a moment believe that, going, they left not behind them
Others to fight their fight, though changed in array and in danger.
These we have now, and shall have, fit men in fit place for their contest:
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Giving and taking of scars, doing good and endurant of evil.
Listen, all ye who rejoice in a tale of the days of the Martyrs!
Listen attentlier yet; it more nearly concerns you, my Sisters.
Listen attentlier yet; it more nearly concerns you, my Sisters.
There, in the region of bliss, where the saint and the painter together
Caught, for one brief sweet space, into Paradise, saw and depicted
Him, the Immaculate Lamb, and the Five Wounds flowing of mercy,
Him, That is set in the midst, true Tree of Life in the Garden:
There are the cohorts of Saints, not confusedly mingled together,
Keeping their ranks distinct, as they loved and they conquered in this world.
Priests that were pure in the spirit, awaiting the Shepherd of Shepherds,
Meekly outfacing the proud, and as meekly absolving the sinner,
Bishops who, bearing their Cross, though concealed, in Staff or in Crozier,
Spake God's word, for they were not ashamed, in the great congregation.
Kings of the earth stand together, whose sceptres were sceptres of meekness;
Judges of right, who have long since found the tribunal of mercy;
Pilgrims who, strong in faith, looking up from Salem to Salem,
Strained to the Lord's own shrine; and dwellers in caverns and deserts.
Warriors of truth there also, who, toiling in battles of justice,
Tore from the hand of the Church the glorious guerdon of Martyr;
Widows, who yielding them up to Him That was widowed of glory,
Joyed in His comfort below, as now they reign in His Kingdom.
—Ah, but look on! Who are these, that next the unclosable portals,
Nearest the domes and tourelles, where sapphire is mingled with jasper,
Gather in one, truer lilies themselves, in the midst of the lilies?
There, and beyond such a rustling of boughs, as Paradise-breezes
Draw with a kiss from the foliage of youth,—there, bulwark on bulwark,
Rises the City that hath the foundations;
whose Builder and Maker,
Maker before all worlds—is for ever its King and its glory,
Light everlasting and pure, and the days of its mourning are ended;
Ended, how should they not be? in the great Beatifical Vision.
Dare not to ask who are these—you know it already, my Sisters;
These are your truest of friends, your own sweet future companions;
Each had the pearl in her hands, which the Prince in His love had prepared her,
Each had the pearl that you bring, and the Prince in His love will accept it.
Each in her turn heard the words whereafter can never be sorrow—
Sworn in His royal abode by the great King Ahasuerus,—
‘What is thy prayer, Queen Esther? I grant thee the half of My Kingdom.’
Why should I tell their names, as they pass by their hundreds and thousands,
All graved deep in the Hands of the Lord, of Calvary's Monarch?
Many the gems of the Church that she hath in eternal remembrance;
Why should I tell who they are; why Thecla, and Lucy, and Agnes,
Her of the snow-white lamb, and Catherine dear to the angels?
Them that were torn by the scourge, and them that defied the plumbatae,
Thrown to the lions, or racked, or exposed to the pitiless glances
Cast from the benches of stone, where the scented silk waved to the breezes.
Oh, when the King shall come, with His angels in judgment around Him,
Then shall each city bring forth with emulous joy and present Him
Jewels of silver and jewels of gold, her Virgins and Martyrs,
Relics enshrined in her earth till the day of the final Appearing;
Far as the gales can blow, or the Catholic Faith can be died for.
There in the foremost array stands happiest Andalusia,
Rich in her untold gifts; and the Province and Gallia Prima
Next to her, next but by little; then Italy, Mother of Martyrs;
Carthage, fertile in torture, but far more fertile in glory.
Caught, for one brief sweet space, into Paradise, saw and depicted
Him, the Immaculate Lamb, and the Five Wounds flowing of mercy,
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There are the cohorts of Saints, not confusedly mingled together,
Keeping their ranks distinct, as they loved and they conquered in this world.
Priests that were pure in the spirit, awaiting the Shepherd of Shepherds,
Meekly outfacing the proud, and as meekly absolving the sinner,
Bishops who, bearing their Cross, though concealed, in Staff or in Crozier,
Spake God's word, for they were not ashamed, in the great congregation.
Kings of the earth stand together, whose sceptres were sceptres of meekness;
Judges of right, who have long since found the tribunal of mercy;
Pilgrims who, strong in faith, looking up from Salem to Salem,
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Warriors of truth there also, who, toiling in battles of justice,
Tore from the hand of the Church the glorious guerdon of Martyr;
Widows, who yielding them up to Him That was widowed of glory,
Joyed in His comfort below, as now they reign in His Kingdom.
—Ah, but look on! Who are these, that next the unclosable portals,
Nearest the domes and tourelles, where sapphire is mingled with jasper,
Gather in one, truer lilies themselves, in the midst of the lilies?
There, and beyond such a rustling of boughs, as Paradise-breezes
Draw with a kiss from the foliage of youth,—there, bulwark on bulwark,
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Maker before all worlds—is for ever its King and its glory,
Light everlasting and pure, and the days of its mourning are ended;
Ended, how should they not be? in the great Beatifical Vision.
Dare not to ask who are these—you know it already, my Sisters;
These are your truest of friends, your own sweet future companions;
Each had the pearl in her hands, which the Prince in His love had prepared her,
Each had the pearl that you bring, and the Prince in His love will accept it.
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Sworn in His royal abode by the great King Ahasuerus,—
‘What is thy prayer, Queen Esther? I grant thee the half of My Kingdom.’
Why should I tell their names, as they pass by their hundreds and thousands,
All graved deep in the Hands of the Lord, of Calvary's Monarch?
Many the gems of the Church that she hath in eternal remembrance;
Why should I tell who they are; why Thecla, and Lucy, and Agnes,
Her of the snow-white lamb, and Catherine dear to the angels?
Them that were torn by the scourge, and them that defied the plumbatae,
Thrown to the lions, or racked, or exposed to the pitiless glances
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Oh, when the King shall come, with His angels in judgment around Him,
Then shall each city bring forth with emulous joy and present Him
Jewels of silver and jewels of gold, her Virgins and Martyrs,
Relics enshrined in her earth till the day of the final Appearing;
Far as the gales can blow, or the Catholic Faith can be died for.
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Rich in her untold gifts; and the Province and Gallia Prima
Next to her, next but by little; then Italy, Mother of Martyrs;
Carthage, fertile in torture, but far more fertile in glory.
Yet not of these would I tell; we must wing our flight to the eastward:
Wing it at that same hour when the faith seems utterly ruined:
Knowing the promise of life, that was true, and is true, and that shall be;
“Here have I set my King! Be confounded, ye portals of Hades!”
Wing it at that same hour when the faith seems utterly ruined:
Knowing the promise of life, that was true, and is true, and that shall be;
“Here have I set my King! Be confounded, ye portals of Hades!”
Listen, then! ye that rejoice in a tale of the days of the Martyrs:
Listen! and say in your hearts, as we mix in the heat of the battle,
“Why do the kings stand up, and the people imagine a vain thing?”
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“Why do the kings stand up, and the people imagine a vain thing?”
Allusion is of course made to the picture by the Van Eycks, of the Adoration of the Immaculate Lamb, the greater part of which is preserved in a chapel of the Cathedral of Ghent.
Much more forcible is the Greek, as given here, with its double definite article, than the English: “A city which hath foundations.”
II.
Ephesus lies all abask in Mediterranean noon-day:While to her quays and wharves with lovingest silvery kisses,
Creep up the ripplets and kiss them, saluting the Queen of the Ocean.
This is the Bank of the world; its thousand vessels at anchor
Heavy with corn, and with wine, and with oil; corn, drawing its fatness
From the enrichment of Nile, the glory and pride of the Delta;
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Oil that exuded itself from the full-juiced Syrian berry.
These are but shreds of her wealth, her pledges and counters of commerce.
Right in her central of Docks, and nearer the mouth of Caÿster,
Ranged in their priceless array, all the Red Sea merchantmen bring her
Jewels and ingots of silver and spices of Kedar and Sheba.
Coasters are there that have hung o'er the calm green depths of the ocean,
Hazarding vessel and life for the blue pearl, perfect in beauty;
Others, yet bolder of soul, that have rounded the pillars of Atlas,
Skirting that loveliest land; and seeking the treasures of Lisbon,
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Then, on a south-west wind, touched the barbarous island of Britain.
Ay, but look up, where the mountains, incurving themselves round the City,
Tower, to the unflecked blue, and are crowned by the mightiest Tmolus:
Tmolus, whose head still wears its coronal, glorious and sparkling,
Where the late winter's snows have not yielded as yet to the summer.
Winding its way round the base, by palm tree and chesnut and platane,
Specked with its myriads of swans, flows the sweetest of rivers, Caÿster:
Oh! what a work of God! how lovely and beautiful wholly!
But where the spice-fields end, that girdle the centremost mountain,
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Down to the main itself, and with all the glory of this world,
Man, too has done his part, and has built him a city of idols.
Tier above tier they rise, with portico, column and pillar,
Glowing in marble as bright and as varied as forests in autumn;
Statues of brass and of gold, the curious work of the artist,
Flashing the noon-ray back undimmed, undiminished in brightness;
Zeus, king of gods and of men, and the tamer of horses Poseidon;
Here, with her terrible Ægis, and long lance, Pallas Athene,
Strong in her father's strength, as she scatters the ranks of the heroes:
148
Laughing the laugh of might, as he slew the terrible Python.
These, and a thousand such; but not on these would they linger,
Ephesus' daughters and sons, when they tell of their beautiful mother:
One above all, one temple on earth, unrivalled in glory:
Treasury this of the world, gem of Asia, marvel of nations;
Rich, with the gifts of Kings, with the prime of the spoil of the battle;
Rich, with the offerings of maidens, whose topaz and emerald bracelets,
Gladly were laid at the Shrine, some lustre to add to the Goddess;—
Artemis, Queen of the City, and Queen of the hearts of its people.—
149
Shrinekeeper she of the Goddess? And holiest and chiefest of treasures,
Who has not heard of the image that fell from Zeus in Olympus?
But it is not to the Temples to-day, it is not to the Altars,
Men hurry forward in groups, one goal, one object before them;
Thither must we with the rest,—to the theatre, mighty erection,
Mightiest far among those, that have reeked with the blood of the Martyrs;
Yielding, no not for a moment, to Rome's earthfamed Colosseum.
Here an Apostle had planted the cross; here Paul of the Gentiles
Fighting with beasts had triumphed: here multitudes, following after,
150
Tier above tier of the seats rose high in their sumptuous marble:
Awnings were up, well bleached in the sun; and jets from beneath them
Ready to shed their perfume when it drew to the heat of the noon-day.
Curtained and canopied richly and laden with silver and jewels,
Slightly projected the Asiarch's throne; Rome's Genius above it.
Here let us leave the crowd to enter by hundreds and thousands,
Eager for this day's sports; the might and the glory of this world
All on one side arrayed, and a virgin alone on the other.
Watch they, who list, the theatre still: let us go to the Martyr.
151
III.
Yes, let us go to the Martyr: she lies as yet in her thraldom,
She, who so soon shall become the Free Citizen, fettered and pinioned,
Deep in a rock-hewn den,—no room for sitting or standing,
Down, in the lowest pit, in the place of uttermost darkness.
Hail to the patience of martyrs! Not only the courage of action,
Face to face called as they were to the rack or the stake or the lion:
But in the long drear hours, most trying heroic endurance,
When in the pitch black den, in nakedness, cold and in hunger,
Creatures of slime around, and the cold drip falling above them,
Never a sound to be heard and never a friend that might comfort,
Memories of pain for the past, for the future, expectance of torture,
Severed from all but their God, they slept in the bed of their glory!
Hundreds of shrines have I seen, upreared when the faith was triumphant,
Sending their hymns of glory to heaven from ages to ages,
Temples, inspired themselves by the Spirit of Wisdom and Beauty:
Rheims, the peerless in Art, and Bourges, unrivalled in boldness;
Chartres, whose fair twin spires look down from the hill which they hallow;
Her too, Seville, that mirrors herself in the broad Guadalquiver;
Dearer to me by far, more worthy the goal of a pilgrim,
That rock pit I have entered, so utterly, hopelessly, rayless;
Here, where the Rhone gives the Arar her bridal meeting in Lyons—
Here were the Martyrs in bonds, whose praise is in all of the Churches;
Here Blandina before she preached from a pulpit of torture;
Rendered his spirit to God even here, Pothinus the aged:
This was the very same rock, and this is the very same darkness.
—Such was the dungeon where now they came and set loose Theodora:
Bolts flew back, and the rough locks creaked, and the bars were unstapled,
While with no gentle touch they unmanacled cold hands and numbed feet.
Then to the chamber they led her that opened right on to the Arena,
Whence the last earthly steps, that thousands had taken to glory.
Mighty its huge rough stones, the theatre's very foundations,
Gloomy the single and doubled-barred window; on this and on that side
Ran in a circle the dens, each barred with its wicket of iron:
Facing the spot, but across the Arena, the throne of the Præfect.
Here Theodora was led: she deemed by herself to have suffered;
Lo! as she entered, a child, himself, too, it seemed, as a victim,
Standing alone: seven summers would number his little existence.
“Here,” quoth the jailer, “who list, may see the Art-magic of Christians;
This is the lesson ye learn from the crucified God of Judæa.
Father and mother stood firm to the last, and yesterday suffered,
Racked, and exposed to the beasts; and the Præfect, in mercy, gave order
This, the child of their love, might witness their passion; if mayhap
He might be frightened to wisdom, and sprinkle the Altar with incense.
Yester-eve I myself did my best to change him in purpose,
Leading him round and showing the Caveæ: then too Placilla,
(She has a gentle heart, has my wife) tried her woman's persuasions.
All was in vain, all nought. And say we not well it is magic?”
“You,” said the child forthwith, not heeding the words of the jailer,
“You,”—and he fixed his eyes on the Virgin— “are found with the Martyrs.”
“Yea,” she replied, “by God's grace; that grace which can strengthen us weak ones,
Just as it strengthened the mightiest of saints that have gone on this journey.”—
“Tell me then more,” said Philemon, “while yet there is time for the telling;
Tell me yet more of the glory they now have, my father and mother:
All the night long I dreamt, or, more frightful, I saw in my waking
That long scene of their passion; the spring of the lion upon him,
Dragging him out in the midst; the sound never left me a moment,
Crash of devouring his prey; and her, how the leopard flew at her,
Wounding her over and over again, till he sent her to glory.
These sounds ring in my ears; these sights are ever before me;
What they suffered I saw; you tell me what I can not see.”
Then, half-kneeling, half-propped by the stool where they fetter the victims,
Throwing one arm round the child, once more she told him the story,
Writ for the sake of the Saints, in the great Evangel of Patmos.
Nor did the gathering rush of the multitudes, tramping by thousands,
No, nor the roar and the yell, sometimes single, and sometimes responsive,
Cause that the voice should tremble, or tale should falter an instant.
So she declared how the joys that they two were in Paradise sharing,
“Eye hath not seen, ear heard, nor heart of man hath conceived them:
Joys, not only for them, as you know, but for us when our turn comes,
If we be only found faithful as they; for the Lord That was with them,
He will be also with us; for His we have been and we now are,
Children of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be.
Look, then, my child; we too are beginning a dangerous journey,
Dangerous and painful besides; but the bright Home rises before us.
Though we may not, as yet, tell what it will cost to attain it,
This we know and are sure, 'twill be worth much more than the attaining.
Though by the way we pass we have not passed heretoforetime,
Courage, my own dear child, for the God of courage is with us.”
She, who so soon shall become the Free Citizen, fettered and pinioned,
Deep in a rock-hewn den,—no room for sitting or standing,
Down, in the lowest pit, in the place of uttermost darkness.
Hail to the patience of martyrs! Not only the courage of action,
Face to face called as they were to the rack or the stake or the lion:
But in the long drear hours, most trying heroic endurance,
When in the pitch black den, in nakedness, cold and in hunger,
Creatures of slime around, and the cold drip falling above them,
152
Memories of pain for the past, for the future, expectance of torture,
Severed from all but their God, they slept in the bed of their glory!
Hundreds of shrines have I seen, upreared when the faith was triumphant,
Sending their hymns of glory to heaven from ages to ages,
Temples, inspired themselves by the Spirit of Wisdom and Beauty:
Rheims, the peerless in Art, and Bourges, unrivalled in boldness;
Chartres, whose fair twin spires look down from the hill which they hallow;
Her too, Seville, that mirrors herself in the broad Guadalquiver;
Dearer to me by far, more worthy the goal of a pilgrim,
153
Here, where the Rhone gives the Arar her bridal meeting in Lyons—
Here were the Martyrs in bonds, whose praise is in all of the Churches;
Here Blandina before she preached from a pulpit of torture;
Rendered his spirit to God even here, Pothinus the aged:
This was the very same rock, and this is the very same darkness.
—Such was the dungeon where now they came and set loose Theodora:
Bolts flew back, and the rough locks creaked, and the bars were unstapled,
While with no gentle touch they unmanacled cold hands and numbed feet.
Then to the chamber they led her that opened right on to the Arena,
154
Mighty its huge rough stones, the theatre's very foundations,
Gloomy the single and doubled-barred window; on this and on that side
Ran in a circle the dens, each barred with its wicket of iron:
Facing the spot, but across the Arena, the throne of the Præfect.
Here Theodora was led: she deemed by herself to have suffered;
Lo! as she entered, a child, himself, too, it seemed, as a victim,
Standing alone: seven summers would number his little existence.
“Here,” quoth the jailer, “who list, may see the Art-magic of Christians;
This is the lesson ye learn from the crucified God of Judæa.
155
Racked, and exposed to the beasts; and the Præfect, in mercy, gave order
This, the child of their love, might witness their passion; if mayhap
He might be frightened to wisdom, and sprinkle the Altar with incense.
Yester-eve I myself did my best to change him in purpose,
Leading him round and showing the Caveæ: then too Placilla,
(She has a gentle heart, has my wife) tried her woman's persuasions.
All was in vain, all nought. And say we not well it is magic?”
“You,” said the child forthwith, not heeding the words of the jailer,
“You,”—and he fixed his eyes on the Virgin— “are found with the Martyrs.”
156
Just as it strengthened the mightiest of saints that have gone on this journey.”—
“Tell me then more,” said Philemon, “while yet there is time for the telling;
Tell me yet more of the glory they now have, my father and mother:
All the night long I dreamt, or, more frightful, I saw in my waking
That long scene of their passion; the spring of the lion upon him,
Dragging him out in the midst; the sound never left me a moment,
Crash of devouring his prey; and her, how the leopard flew at her,
Wounding her over and over again, till he sent her to glory.
These sounds ring in my ears; these sights are ever before me;
157
Then, half-kneeling, half-propped by the stool where they fetter the victims,
Throwing one arm round the child, once more she told him the story,
Writ for the sake of the Saints, in the great Evangel of Patmos.
Nor did the gathering rush of the multitudes, tramping by thousands,
No, nor the roar and the yell, sometimes single, and sometimes responsive,
Cause that the voice should tremble, or tale should falter an instant.
So she declared how the joys that they two were in Paradise sharing,
“Eye hath not seen, ear heard, nor heart of man hath conceived them:
Joys, not only for them, as you know, but for us when our turn comes,
158
He will be also with us; for His we have been and we now are,
Children of God, and it doth not yet appear what we shall be.
Look, then, my child; we too are beginning a dangerous journey,
Dangerous and painful besides; but the bright Home rises before us.
Though we may not, as yet, tell what it will cost to attain it,
This we know and are sure, 'twill be worth much more than the attaining.
Though by the way we pass we have not passed heretoforetime,
Courage, my own dear child, for the God of courage is with us.”
159
Hastily ended she thus; for now the flourish of trumpets
Warned that the Asiarch was near, and the spectacle drew to its opening.
Clanged yet again the gate of that prison chamber, and entered
Two of the theatre slaves, and this the last of their missions.
One in his hand bare a net; the other, the key that admitted
On to the scene of the strife. Then, rising, to whom Theodora:
“Which of us suffers the first? Or are we to conquer together?”
“Conquer!” half-sneered the slave. “The child is exposed to the lion
First by himself; then you, in your turn, to the net and the wild cow.”
Fearfulness then and a horror there fell on the little Philemon;
Pale were his cheeks as death, and he trembled as trembles the aspen.
Him Theodora with words of love and encouragement, holding
Fast by the child's cold hand, did all that she might do to comfort;
Told him to hold out yet,—that the crown would be safe in a minute,
Told him how Father and Mother were waiting in rapture to meet him
There on the other side, where sorrow is ended for ever.
Yet not the less the flesh was weak though the spirit was willing;
So when the slave had opened the panel that showed the Arena,
Marking if all were in place, and waiting the Asiarch's signal,
Then took the key that must open the way the child should return not;
Utterly failed his heart. “I must yield—I cannot endure it.”
Brief was the space for words. “My child,” said brave Theodora,
“If you draw back, I myself, when we stand at the Judge's tribunal,
Will be the first to accuse you to Him, and to call you apostate.
Go in His strength, not your own—two minutes, and what will it matter?
Go, for His time is come, and remember me when you are with Him.
“Yes, I will go,” said the child. “Lord Jesus, receive Thou my spirit.”
Warned that the Asiarch was near, and the spectacle drew to its opening.
Clanged yet again the gate of that prison chamber, and entered
Two of the theatre slaves, and this the last of their missions.
One in his hand bare a net; the other, the key that admitted
On to the scene of the strife. Then, rising, to whom Theodora:
“Which of us suffers the first? Or are we to conquer together?”
“Conquer!” half-sneered the slave. “The child is exposed to the lion
First by himself; then you, in your turn, to the net and the wild cow.”
160
Pale were his cheeks as death, and he trembled as trembles the aspen.
Him Theodora with words of love and encouragement, holding
Fast by the child's cold hand, did all that she might do to comfort;
Told him to hold out yet,—that the crown would be safe in a minute,
Told him how Father and Mother were waiting in rapture to meet him
There on the other side, where sorrow is ended for ever.
Yet not the less the flesh was weak though the spirit was willing;
So when the slave had opened the panel that showed the Arena,
Marking if all were in place, and waiting the Asiarch's signal,
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Utterly failed his heart. “I must yield—I cannot endure it.”
Brief was the space for words. “My child,” said brave Theodora,
“If you draw back, I myself, when we stand at the Judge's tribunal,
Will be the first to accuse you to Him, and to call you apostate.
Go in His strength, not your own—two minutes, and what will it matter?
Go, for His time is come, and remember me when you are with Him.
“Yes, I will go,” said the child. “Lord Jesus, receive Thou my spirit.”
Thus in the arena he stood by himself, one minute, not longer:
Here on this side a child; on the other ten myriad pagans.
Then did the Christians in place send up one deep supplication
God would again show His praise in the mouth of babes and of sucklings:
Trembling nor fear none now; but Philemon came forward a little
Nearer the mouth of the den, where the creaking winch told was the lion.
Back flew the gate: black-maned, the beast, with the roar of his fury
Sprang in one bound on the child,—and the child was in Abraham's bosom.
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Then did the Christians in place send up one deep supplication
God would again show His praise in the mouth of babes and of sucklings:
Trembling nor fear none now; but Philemon came forward a little
Nearer the mouth of the den, where the creaking winch told was the lion.
Back flew the gate: black-maned, the beast, with the roar of his fury
Sprang in one bound on the child,—and the child was in Abraham's bosom.
Then, when the theatre-slaves had driven him in with his victim,
Forth Theodora was led, all calm in her maidenly palla.
—Close now your eyes, Christian maidens; a maiden is spoiled of her vestments
All in the gaze of thousands, a sight both to men and to angels:
Open them rather; despoiled Christ's Bride may be, never dishonoured;
Finding more perfect reward, a more beautiful garment hereafter.
Her in a net well woven and waxed, and with intricate meshes,
Staking it fast in the ground with the pegs, they bound as in prison.
Then they retired. And again the incense of prayer floated upwards,
All for the Conqueror's meed in one deep agony striving.
Open the cavern flew; and the wild cow, sorely tormented,
Fiery darts in her neck, and smarting with flame and with brimstone,
Rushed, if it might, to revenge, and it speedily fell on the Martyr.
Why should I tell—all is past—how this way and that way it gored her,
Tearing the flesh from the bones, for the net protracted her torments?
Scarcely one word could the Scribes of the Church catch; only they fancied
One brief prayer for herself, and one—so it seemed—for the tyrants.
Forth Theodora was led, all calm in her maidenly palla.
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All in the gaze of thousands, a sight both to men and to angels:
Open them rather; despoiled Christ's Bride may be, never dishonoured;
Finding more perfect reward, a more beautiful garment hereafter.
Her in a net well woven and waxed, and with intricate meshes,
Staking it fast in the ground with the pegs, they bound as in prison.
Then they retired. And again the incense of prayer floated upwards,
All for the Conqueror's meed in one deep agony striving.
Open the cavern flew; and the wild cow, sorely tormented,
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Rushed, if it might, to revenge, and it speedily fell on the Martyr.
Why should I tell—all is past—how this way and that way it gored her,
Tearing the flesh from the bones, for the net protracted her torments?
Scarcely one word could the Scribes of the Church catch; only they fancied
One brief prayer for herself, and one—so it seemed—for the tyrants.
Ah! in those moments of strife what years of agony crowded;
Ah! in the Land without time that they led to, what pleasures eternal!
Ah! in the Land without time that they led to, what pleasures eternal!
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IV.
So was the battle concluded, and so the Victor was guerdon'd.
Then with a rush like the sea, from the deep Vomitoria rolling,
Eastward and Westward the crowd poured forth, half sated with anguish:
Some to the bath or Palæstra, and some to prepare for the banquet.
Lightly they spake of the Victor, and wondered how long she had held them;
Lightly they counted her wounds. Locarii reckoned their earnings;
They in the theatre furled their awning, and opened the sluices,
Sprinkling the saw-dust afresh for the terrible work of the morrow.
Drawn was the body, God's temple of old, now doubly His temple,
Out by the ass and the hook, a prey to the dogs and to foul birds.
There let the angels attend it; 'tis safe in their guardian keeping.
Then with a rush like the sea, from the deep Vomitoria rolling,
Eastward and Westward the crowd poured forth, half sated with anguish:
Some to the bath or Palæstra, and some to prepare for the banquet.
Lightly they spake of the Victor, and wondered how long she had held them;
Lightly they counted her wounds. Locarii reckoned their earnings;
They in the theatre furled their awning, and opened the sluices,
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Drawn was the body, God's temple of old, now doubly His temple,
Out by the ass and the hook, a prey to the dogs and to foul birds.
There let the angels attend it; 'tis safe in their guardian keeping.
Still, not wholly forsaken of God, O Lady of Nations,
Rul'st thou in this thy pride! though Artemis lord it around thee,
Hundreds there are that have not bowed down at the throne of an idol,
Hundreds amidst thee now. There were those in the theatre lately
Busily writing each word of the Martyr, and noting each action;
Actions and Words that shall soon be set down in Ephesian annals.
These pass slow, 'mid the rest, with expression half sorrow, half triumph.
Rul'st thou in this thy pride! though Artemis lord it around thee,
Hundreds there are that have not bowed down at the throne of an idol,
Hundreds amidst thee now. There were those in the theatre lately
Busily writing each word of the Martyr, and noting each action;
167
These pass slow, 'mid the rest, with expression half sorrow, half triumph.
Moving along with the crowd, there were Seven, a mystical number,
Tried and expert in toil, and proved in the heat of the battle,
Known right well to the flock of the Lord as leaders and patterns.
Three persecutions ere this they had seen; and in this, and in those too,
Martyrdom sought for themselves, in so far as a Christian may seek it.
Now when they came to the limes that bloomed by the gate of Caÿster,
Seemed as with one consent they passed right under the portal:
Taking the path to the East that winds by the rivulet, nameless
Now, but it then was termed (though far unworthy) Orontes.
Little they reck'd as they went how the birds were singing their Vespers,
How, from the grey field-wall, the lizard expanded his beauty,
Beryl bedropped with gold; how the dragonfly, soaring to heaven,
Sent back a flash of its light (like a Saint) to the Sun that bestowed it.
No! far away were their thoughts; no beauty of earth could enchain them;
Far, far away in the gardens of Paradise where She had entered.
Thus the ascending path led them up to a beautiful teal-tree:
Turf-surrounded it was; no lovelier spot in the evening
Whence to behold each sail as it skimmed the face of the ocean;
Coast-line and head-land and rock and Mediterranean glory.
Tried and expert in toil, and proved in the heat of the battle,
Known right well to the flock of the Lord as leaders and patterns.
Three persecutions ere this they had seen; and in this, and in those too,
Martyrdom sought for themselves, in so far as a Christian may seek it.
Now when they came to the limes that bloomed by the gate of Caÿster,
Seemed as with one consent they passed right under the portal:
168
Now, but it then was termed (though far unworthy) Orontes.
Little they reck'd as they went how the birds were singing their Vespers,
How, from the grey field-wall, the lizard expanded his beauty,
Beryl bedropped with gold; how the dragonfly, soaring to heaven,
Sent back a flash of its light (like a Saint) to the Sun that bestowed it.
No! far away were their thoughts; no beauty of earth could enchain them;
Far, far away in the gardens of Paradise where She had entered.
Thus the ascending path led them up to a beautiful teal-tree:
Turf-surrounded it was; no lovelier spot in the evening
169
Coast-line and head-land and rock and Mediterranean glory.
Here by consent they sat down and pondered the past and the future:
Till to the rest spake out Maximian, mighty in Scripture:
“Brethren, ye see how the Lord pours forth His fullest of vials
Over His Church for her trial; from Parthia to uttermost Britain.
Not one City escapes: not one refuses the Edict.
Surely, if ever, 'tis now, that the Lord in His mercy predicted,
How the elect themselves, should, if it were possible, perish.
This, too, ye know; we have borne long years of patient endurance,
Standing by many a Martyr, nor sought for the meed of the Martyrs.
Still not as yet have we dared to rush uncalled to the conflict,
Dwelling in toil with the poor, and surrounded with jeopardy alway.
What say ye then? Forestalling our call, shall we back to the City,
Stand by the Asiarch's chair, and boldly say, We are Christians?
Thus we escape these visions of evil; apostasies, whelming
Them that were strong in the faith, and that chiefly seemed to be pillars:
Visions of anguish, too, such as to-day's, and the long, long story
How, to the last, man bore, and the bearer went up in a whirlwind.
Were it not well, our conflict endured, our victory certain,
Thus to sit down in His rest, where sin and where sorrow are ended?”
Till to the rest spake out Maximian, mighty in Scripture:
“Brethren, ye see how the Lord pours forth His fullest of vials
Over His Church for her trial; from Parthia to uttermost Britain.
Not one City escapes: not one refuses the Edict.
Surely, if ever, 'tis now, that the Lord in His mercy predicted,
How the elect themselves, should, if it were possible, perish.
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Standing by many a Martyr, nor sought for the meed of the Martyrs.
Still not as yet have we dared to rush uncalled to the conflict,
Dwelling in toil with the poor, and surrounded with jeopardy alway.
What say ye then? Forestalling our call, shall we back to the City,
Stand by the Asiarch's chair, and boldly say, We are Christians?
Thus we escape these visions of evil; apostasies, whelming
Them that were strong in the faith, and that chiefly seemed to be pillars:
Visions of anguish, too, such as to-day's, and the long, long story
How, to the last, man bore, and the bearer went up in a whirlwind.
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Thus to sit down in His rest, where sin and where sorrow are ended?”
Answered and spake to his brethren, Iamblichus, equal of angels;
“True it is, all that thou sayest; but yet remember, my brother,
How it is writ of the Lord by the Seer that we tarry His leisure.
What if we fall ourselves, as our betters have fallen before us;
What, with the goal in view, if we never inherit the “Well done?”
Call He us soon or late, as He saith, let us tarry His leisure,
Serving Him, while we can, here; for we know we shall serve Him hereafter.”
Constantine spake the third; and his words were as gentle as snow-flakes.
“Whether to rush on the rack at once, or to tarry till summoned,
This is the thing that demands best prayer, O brethren, and fasting.
List to the rede I propose; and accept it, or give me a better.
There is a cave in a rock, half up the side of Mount Latmos,
Promising shelter and rest; nor ever dare heathen approach it,
Fearing the great god Pan, and the fauns and the satyrs and dryads;
Two hours hence—not more—does it lie to a well-girt pilgrim.
Thither let us to-night: sufficient of day is before us.
I will go down and bring such stock as we need from the city;
Ye shall remain till I come. That done, we will hie us to Latmos,
Giving this night to repose, and the week to prayer and to fasting;
Then, on the eighth day hence, we may see what the Lord shall ordain us.”
“True it is, all that thou sayest; but yet remember, my brother,
How it is writ of the Lord by the Seer that we tarry His leisure.
What if we fall ourselves, as our betters have fallen before us;
What, with the goal in view, if we never inherit the “Well done?”
Call He us soon or late, as He saith, let us tarry His leisure,
Serving Him, while we can, here; for we know we shall serve Him hereafter.”
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“Whether to rush on the rack at once, or to tarry till summoned,
This is the thing that demands best prayer, O brethren, and fasting.
List to the rede I propose; and accept it, or give me a better.
There is a cave in a rock, half up the side of Mount Latmos,
Promising shelter and rest; nor ever dare heathen approach it,
Fearing the great god Pan, and the fauns and the satyrs and dryads;
Two hours hence—not more—does it lie to a well-girt pilgrim.
Thither let us to-night: sufficient of day is before us.
I will go down and bring such stock as we need from the city;
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Giving this night to repose, and the week to prayer and to fasting;
Then, on the eighth day hence, we may see what the Lord shall ordain us.”
Constantine spake and was silent, and all accepted his saying:
Full of the Holy Ghost was he, and they hung on his wisdom.
Back to the city he went; they, under the beautiful teal-tree,
Chanted their Vesper prayer, and abode till they saw him returning.
Then he led on o'er the mountain; they cheerfully followed his footsteps.
Eastward and upward the goat-path ran; to the right was the ocean,
Whither the turf sloped down to the black rocks, beetling above it;
While to the left the hill, still turf-clad, towered and towered
Up to the heights of the Syrian range, and the summit of Latmos.
Sweet, beyond measure, to heaven rose the evening incense of Cistus,
Incense that cheers the heart of the pilgrim, though lonely his footsteps:
Joined to the Chorus of earth, its great Magnificat sharing.
Lovely, too, lone in her bush, the song of the nightingale; lovely
Down to the right on the beach, the wavelets' monotonous murmur.
Lovelier far the pathway of gold unbroken, unruffled,
Stretching from shoreward right out, and paving the sea with its brightness.
This he beheld with a glance, Dionysius, full of the Spirit;
Stood for a moment of time,—then briefly expressed him in this wise:
“Blest, who has trodden that path, and has gained its mystic Horizon!”
Full of the Holy Ghost was he, and they hung on his wisdom.
Back to the city he went; they, under the beautiful teal-tree,
Chanted their Vesper prayer, and abode till they saw him returning.
Then he led on o'er the mountain; they cheerfully followed his footsteps.
Eastward and upward the goat-path ran; to the right was the ocean,
174
While to the left the hill, still turf-clad, towered and towered
Up to the heights of the Syrian range, and the summit of Latmos.
Sweet, beyond measure, to heaven rose the evening incense of Cistus,
Incense that cheers the heart of the pilgrim, though lonely his footsteps:
Joined to the Chorus of earth, its great Magnificat sharing.
Lovely, too, lone in her bush, the song of the nightingale; lovely
Down to the right on the beach, the wavelets' monotonous murmur.
Lovelier far the pathway of gold unbroken, unruffled,
Stretching from shoreward right out, and paving the sea with its brightness.
175
Stood for a moment of time,—then briefly expressed him in this wise:
“Blest, who has trodden that path, and has gained its mystic Horizon!”
Now had they reached the cavern. 'Twas where the trend of the sea-cliffs
Southward and eastward, exposed another bay of the Ocean;
Bounded itself, in its turn, by a scarred and stormbeaten headland.
—Turn and look back for awhile by the way that the brethren have trodden;
Right then across that bay, and beneath the opposite foreland
Ephesus lies in part (for the chief of her domes are beyond it),
Visible yet in the eve, but mistily, hazily, darkly.
Look again forward; and there, the opposite precipice crowning,
Standeth a temple of Zeus, who mightily reigneth in Ida;
Raised by an artist of fame, and wrought in Pentelican marble.
Pinkly and faintly the sun (now almost touching the waters)
Fell upon cornice and frieze, colonnaded with seventy columns:
Lighting them up with that tint of ravishing beauty, which only
Praises the Lord from the snow-capped height at Matins and Vespers.
Southward and eastward, exposed another bay of the Ocean;
Bounded itself, in its turn, by a scarred and stormbeaten headland.
—Turn and look back for awhile by the way that the brethren have trodden;
Right then across that bay, and beneath the opposite foreland
Ephesus lies in part (for the chief of her domes are beyond it),
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Look again forward; and there, the opposite precipice crowning,
Standeth a temple of Zeus, who mightily reigneth in Ida;
Raised by an artist of fame, and wrought in Pentelican marble.
Pinkly and faintly the sun (now almost touching the waters)
Fell upon cornice and frieze, colonnaded with seventy columns:
Lighting them up with that tint of ravishing beauty, which only
Praises the Lord from the snow-capped height at Matins and Vespers.
As for the cavern itself. A rock-arch served for its entrance,
Gray with the lichens of years: and thence descending a little
Into the brethren's abode, a path gave easiest access.
Pure from all damp and dust, the fine white sand was its pavement,
While on the sand-rock walls no symbol nor figure was graven,
Save one sign of the Cross; the work it may be of a Hermit,
Who in the days that were past had here found shelter and home-stead.
Joyfully enter they in: they bring the six collybi with them,
Those which the provident care of Constantine bought in the city;
Brought too their vessel of lattin. No need to be anxious for water:—
Since from the foot of the rock a rivulet, bounding and bounding,
Dashed down the hill in its course till lost in the sand of the ocean.
Over the source hung a platane, in prime of its age and its beauty,
Singing the faint sweet song of its leaves to the breezes' caressing.
Forth came the brethren again, and stood in the mouth of the cavern.
Gray with the lichens of years: and thence descending a little
177
Pure from all damp and dust, the fine white sand was its pavement,
While on the sand-rock walls no symbol nor figure was graven,
Save one sign of the Cross; the work it may be of a Hermit,
Who in the days that were past had here found shelter and home-stead.
Joyfully enter they in: they bring the six collybi with them,
Those which the provident care of Constantine bought in the city;
Brought too their vessel of lattin. No need to be anxious for water:—
Since from the foot of the rock a rivulet, bounding and bounding,
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Over the source hung a platane, in prime of its age and its beauty,
Singing the faint sweet song of its leaves to the breezes' caressing.
Forth came the brethren again, and stood in the mouth of the cavern.
Set was the Sun indeed, and the semi-tropical twilight
Stole in its beauty along and covered the earth as a vestment;
Only the great stars yet dared to peep on the darkening landscape:
Cassiopeia was there and the Cynosure; minute by minute
Hundreds of heavenly worlds flashed forth into brilliance around them.
Nightingales hurried their lay in its sweetness, and doubled their gladness,
While from the mossy old stone the glow-worm lighted her pale lamp,
Leaving the fire-fly to dance through the fields of the sweetest of æther.
Out spake, noting the beauty, Iamblichus, equal of angels;
“God, Who hast hitherto kept, Who hast hitherto guarded our footsteps,
Guard us, we pray Thee, to-night in the cave as Thou hast in the City!
Grant, as Elijah of old, we too may know Thee and hear Thee;
Give us the sleep and repose that we need; that to-morrow may find us
Brisklier girding our loins for a week of prayer and of fasting.
Father, Thy Love be on us, and Thy Love be on those in the City;
Strengthening the called of to-morrow for Martyrdom; showing to all men
There, where weakness aboundeth, Thy Grace shall be much more abundant.
Hear Thou the groans of Thy flock; in due time smite down the oppressor,
So that in all sweet peace from the world's one end to the other
Thou may'st be worshipped in earth as Thou also art worshipped in Heaven.”
Stole in its beauty along and covered the earth as a vestment;
Only the great stars yet dared to peep on the darkening landscape:
Cassiopeia was there and the Cynosure; minute by minute
Hundreds of heavenly worlds flashed forth into brilliance around them.
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While from the mossy old stone the glow-worm lighted her pale lamp,
Leaving the fire-fly to dance through the fields of the sweetest of æther.
Out spake, noting the beauty, Iamblichus, equal of angels;
“God, Who hast hitherto kept, Who hast hitherto guarded our footsteps,
Guard us, we pray Thee, to-night in the cave as Thou hast in the City!
Grant, as Elijah of old, we too may know Thee and hear Thee;
Give us the sleep and repose that we need; that to-morrow may find us
Brisklier girding our loins for a week of prayer and of fasting.
Father, Thy Love be on us, and Thy Love be on those in the City;
180
There, where weakness aboundeth, Thy Grace shall be much more abundant.
Hear Thou the groans of Thy flock; in due time smite down the oppressor,
So that in all sweet peace from the world's one end to the other
Thou may'st be worshipped in earth as Thou also art worshipped in Heaven.”
Scarce had he finished his prayer, when at once from the opposite headland,
Rose up the loud harsh hymn from the shrine of Pentelican marble;
Words were all lost in the distance; 'twas only the sound of the anthem
Floated across the waves, thus soiled with the praise of an idol.
“Zeus father,” thee they sang, “most glorious, compeller of tempests,
Thee, the subduer of giants,—serene in the heights of Olympus,
Great in thine own great strength—”
Rose up the loud harsh hymn from the shrine of Pentelican marble;
Words were all lost in the distance; 'twas only the sound of the anthem
Floated across the waves, thus soiled with the praise of an idol.
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Thee, the subduer of giants,—serene in the heights of Olympus,
Great in thine own great strength—”
The brethren gave audience no longer;
Crossing themselves as they turned they entered the cavern together.
First did they sing the Holiest Light and the Creed of Apostles;
Then they addressed them to rest. Ah me! what a rest fell upon them!
Sweeter than mariner's is whose long tired watch is completed:
Sweeter than sick man's sleep, when his pain for the moment is over,
Blessedly dropping away into dear forgetfulness, feeling
Just as if Angels' wings were hushing and soothing and rocking;
Heavenlier still was the sleep that they took, for in verity Angels
Filled them with deep consolation and rest, like the rest of the happy.
All through the long, long night, the platane tree sang them its anthem;
Anthem,—wherewith the responses of ministering spirits are mingled.
All through the long long night they lay in that calmness of slumber,
Stillness and beauty around, and their Guardians watching about them.
Crossing themselves as they turned they entered the cavern together.
First did they sing the Holiest Light and the Creed of Apostles;
Then they addressed them to rest. Ah me! what a rest fell upon them!
Sweeter than mariner's is whose long tired watch is completed:
182
Blessedly dropping away into dear forgetfulness, feeling
Just as if Angels' wings were hushing and soothing and rocking;
Heavenlier still was the sleep that they took, for in verity Angels
Filled them with deep consolation and rest, like the rest of the happy.
All through the long, long night, the platane tree sang them its anthem;
Anthem,—wherewith the responses of ministering spirits are mingled.
All through the long long night they lay in that calmness of slumber,
Stillness and beauty around, and their Guardians watching about them.
As the rule in the theatre was that the first come was the first seated, poor men occupied the best places as soon as admission was given, which they afterwards disposed of or money.
The earliest known hymn of the Eastern Church, and probably of Apostolic times. The reader must be acquainted with it from some one of its many English translations.
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V.
Constantine issued the first from the Cavern; the morning in glory
Reigned, like the Queen of the East; the blue waves rippled more darkly,
Where, not as yet, the Sun had capped the ridges of Tmolus.
Princeliest galleys bedropped the main, bound outward or inward;
Nearer the shore crept in, well laden, and heavy, the trawlers.
He, when his prayers were prayed, and he cast his eyes to the rock-arch,
Much was his heart perplexed, and he hastily called to his brethren:
“Brethren and friends! Was the error mine own, that a beautiful platane
Full in its foliage, and tall, stood overhanging the cavern?
Platane is none, but a stump with its moss in the beauty of ages.”
Forth they came in their turn. All wondered, all owned to have seen it,
Marvelling much at the mist that thus had been cast o'er their eyelids.
Next ascended the prayer of the morn, and the infant Te Deum.
Then when the hymn had been sung, said Maximian, mighty in Scripture;
“Keep we the fast till the ninth hour wanes; meanwhile for the City,
Each, in his several place, and for us, shall make intercession.
Nooks there are many at hand where all, as it was with Elijah,
Communing deeply with God, may have grace to be heard and be answered.”
All went slowly their way, each choosing the path he thought meetest:
John alone entered the cave for a moment: him needed some matter,
Left when he issued that morn, but he swiftly returned to his brethren.
“I too shall tell of a marvel; the Collybi stored for consumption
Deep in the innermost cave, have vanished. What beast of the forest
Stealing through men undisturbed has dragged them away to his hiding?
Us, too, why did he spare, fitter morsel for such a marauder?”
Mused they awhile: till out spake Constantine, prudent in counsel:
“This is a morning of wonders; but let whatsoe'er be the lesson
Mine is the duty of action; I bought them; and I will rebuy them;
Wending my way to the City, nor less in your orisons joining.”
Each one offered himself for the danger; for perilous surely
Was it for those so known to enter in Ephesus boldly.
Till at the last “Be it so,” said Maximian, “as thou hast offered;
Go, and the Lord be with thee.” And Constantine bowed and departed.
Wrapped in his prayer he went, nor turned to the right nor the left hand,
While the high morn was pouring down beauty on hill side and Ocean,
Till to the teal-tree he came. Then presently, skirting the way-side,
Cottages, three parts roof, went straggling through vine-yard or garden.
But when he came on his way, to the line of cottages sloping
Up to the side of the hill, or down to the brink of the Ocean,
Cottages, each like each, half hidden in foliage and fruitage,
Each with its low white wall, where the heliotrope basked in the sunbeam,
Each with its mountain of roof where the pumpkin ripened and goldened,
Then was he 'ware by degrees of a change indescribable; something
Felt by him rather than seen; a strangeness was over the landscape;
Dresses were quaint and uncouth; and the old and familiar faces
Peeped o'er the wicket no more; and the children whose heads he had patted
Hailed not his footsteps at all, nor delighted his ear by their prattle.
Language, though brokenly heard, it seemed him, was alien and faltering,
Nor did he not perceive that himself was a stranger with strangers.
Whispers and smiles said as much, and the finger, though secretly pointed.
Children forsook their sports, and followed with wonder and laughter.
Still he passed on through the hamlet; but when he came to the rye-fields
Stretched between that and the City, his thoughts took form in his bosom:
Reigned, like the Queen of the East; the blue waves rippled more darkly,
Where, not as yet, the Sun had capped the ridges of Tmolus.
Princeliest galleys bedropped the main, bound outward or inward;
Nearer the shore crept in, well laden, and heavy, the trawlers.
He, when his prayers were prayed, and he cast his eyes to the rock-arch,
Much was his heart perplexed, and he hastily called to his brethren:
“Brethren and friends! Was the error mine own, that a beautiful platane
Full in its foliage, and tall, stood overhanging the cavern?
184
Forth they came in their turn. All wondered, all owned to have seen it,
Marvelling much at the mist that thus had been cast o'er their eyelids.
Next ascended the prayer of the morn, and the infant Te Deum.
Then when the hymn had been sung, said Maximian, mighty in Scripture;
“Keep we the fast till the ninth hour wanes; meanwhile for the City,
Each, in his several place, and for us, shall make intercession.
Nooks there are many at hand where all, as it was with Elijah,
185
All went slowly their way, each choosing the path he thought meetest:
John alone entered the cave for a moment: him needed some matter,
Left when he issued that morn, but he swiftly returned to his brethren.
“I too shall tell of a marvel; the Collybi stored for consumption
Deep in the innermost cave, have vanished. What beast of the forest
Stealing through men undisturbed has dragged them away to his hiding?
Us, too, why did he spare, fitter morsel for such a marauder?”
Mused they awhile: till out spake Constantine, prudent in counsel:
“This is a morning of wonders; but let whatsoe'er be the lesson
186
Wending my way to the City, nor less in your orisons joining.”
Each one offered himself for the danger; for perilous surely
Was it for those so known to enter in Ephesus boldly.
Till at the last “Be it so,” said Maximian, “as thou hast offered;
Go, and the Lord be with thee.” And Constantine bowed and departed.
Wrapped in his prayer he went, nor turned to the right nor the left hand,
While the high morn was pouring down beauty on hill side and Ocean,
Till to the teal-tree he came. Then presently, skirting the way-side,
Cottages, three parts roof, went straggling through vine-yard or garden.
187
Up to the side of the hill, or down to the brink of the Ocean,
Cottages, each like each, half hidden in foliage and fruitage,
Each with its low white wall, where the heliotrope basked in the sunbeam,
Each with its mountain of roof where the pumpkin ripened and goldened,
Then was he 'ware by degrees of a change indescribable; something
Felt by him rather than seen; a strangeness was over the landscape;
Dresses were quaint and uncouth; and the old and familiar faces
Peeped o'er the wicket no more; and the children whose heads he had patted
Hailed not his footsteps at all, nor delighted his ear by their prattle.
188
Nor did he not perceive that himself was a stranger with strangers.
Whispers and smiles said as much, and the finger, though secretly pointed.
Children forsook their sports, and followed with wonder and laughter.
Still he passed on through the hamlet; but when he came to the rye-fields
Stretched between that and the City, his thoughts took form in his bosom:
“Can it be God's good will that some charm should have puissance upon me;
Turning the new to the old, and blotting the old from remembrance?
—Charms are for those that believe them; let pagans, if so they will, trust them;
I will go forth in the strength of the Lord, Whose Name is Almighty,
Now and through all my days: and will mention His righteousness only.”
Thus did he speak in his heart as he tightened his girdle a little,
Then strode brisklier on, till he came to the gate of Caÿster.
Marvel of marvels! Above the entablature, delicate marble,
Rose at the summit of all the Cross, as the Crown of the portal:
Golden the letters beneath: Christo regnante per œvum.
Still not then did the faith that had manfully faced persecution
Fail, nor the hope grow faint: “If it seems Thee, O Lord, in Thy Wisdom
Good, that enchantments like this should shadow my vision and reason,
Still Thy Will be done: I have said it a thousand times; once more
Now I repeat it; Thy Will be done, whatsoever, not my will.”
Thus as he spake, he entered. He sought the shop of Almirus,
(Libellatic was he, but hoping in due time for penance.)
He in a street obscure, unnamed, but fast by the sea-wall,
Catered the poorest of food, as he might, for the poorest of workmen,
Collybi, fish of the sun, oil, dates, assafœtida, garlic.
Swept were each alley and lane out of memory; never a waymark
Guided his steps as he went, save the street of Artemis only,
Leading right on to the Agora's self from the gate of Caÿster.
But when he came to the spot where it wont to debouch on the shambles,
Marvel again beyond marvels! the whole had utterly vanished;
There was a stately erection, with wings of cruciform beauty,
Crowned by a towering dome, and the dome by a Cross was surmounted.
While through the portico hastened a multitude, gravely and slowly,
Bent, as it seemed, on some rite, that all had in common a share in.
Constantine held no longer at that: but summoning courage
Spake and addressed a youth, who himself was one of the enterers;
“Something a stranger I am, though long I have dwelt in the City:
This is the end,—is it not?—of the street of Artemis? Tell me.”
Turning the new to the old, and blotting the old from remembrance?
—Charms are for those that believe them; let pagans, if so they will, trust them;
189
Now and through all my days: and will mention His righteousness only.”
Thus did he speak in his heart as he tightened his girdle a little,
Then strode brisklier on, till he came to the gate of Caÿster.
Marvel of marvels! Above the entablature, delicate marble,
Rose at the summit of all the Cross, as the Crown of the portal:
Golden the letters beneath: Christo regnante per œvum.
Still not then did the faith that had manfully faced persecution
Fail, nor the hope grow faint: “If it seems Thee, O Lord, in Thy Wisdom
Good, that enchantments like this should shadow my vision and reason,
190
Now I repeat it; Thy Will be done, whatsoever, not my will.”
Thus as he spake, he entered. He sought the shop of Almirus,
(Libellatic was he, but hoping in due time for penance.)
He in a street obscure, unnamed, but fast by the sea-wall,
Catered the poorest of food, as he might, for the poorest of workmen,
Collybi, fish of the sun, oil, dates, assafœtida, garlic.
191
Guided his steps as he went, save the street of Artemis only,
Leading right on to the Agora's self from the gate of Caÿster.
But when he came to the spot where it wont to debouch on the shambles,
Marvel again beyond marvels! the whole had utterly vanished;
There was a stately erection, with wings of cruciform beauty,
192
While through the portico hastened a multitude, gravely and slowly,
Bent, as it seemed, on some rite, that all had in common a share in.
Constantine held no longer at that: but summoning courage
Spake and addressed a youth, who himself was one of the enterers;
“Something a stranger I am, though long I have dwelt in the City:
This is the end,—is it not?—of the street of Artemis? Tell me.”
“Truly, good sir,” said the youth, his eyes distended with wonder,
“Truly a memory you have for the old, old times that are byegone;
Artemis' name it bore once, but now it is called from S. Clement.”
Constantine turned, sick at heart: who was he? and what his companions?
Now did he deem 'twas a dream, and now that his senses were failing.
Still he retained his faith, and his prayer went up to the Highest:
“As in Thee I have trusted, so let me not now be confounded.”
Just as he turned him away, he beheld the like place he was seeking;
Food for the poor man on sale, and the seller awaiting a bidder.
Great was that seller's amaze, when his customer came to the street-board,
Drew some coins from his pouch, and asked for the Collybi needed.
“Stranger—,” he said, “good sir, I perceive, both by garb and by accent.”
Constantine paused one moment in prayer, then answered on this wise:
“Ephesus here was my birthplace, and long, long years was my dwelling.”
“Ay,” said the other, “indeed! By your speech I had held you Bithynian.
That must be long time since.”
“Truly a memory you have for the old, old times that are byegone;
Artemis' name it bore once, but now it is called from S. Clement.”
193
Now did he deem 'twas a dream, and now that his senses were failing.
Still he retained his faith, and his prayer went up to the Highest:
“As in Thee I have trusted, so let me not now be confounded.”
Just as he turned him away, he beheld the like place he was seeking;
Food for the poor man on sale, and the seller awaiting a bidder.
Great was that seller's amaze, when his customer came to the street-board,
Drew some coins from his pouch, and asked for the Collybi needed.
“Stranger—,” he said, “good sir, I perceive, both by garb and by accent.”
Constantine paused one moment in prayer, then answered on this wise:
194
“Ay,” said the other, “indeed! By your speech I had held you Bithynian.
That must be long time since.”
But Constantine answered no further:
Only demanded the price of the purchase, and paid and was going.
“Stay,” cried the dealer, “awhile; there is somewhat needs explanation:—
What are these coins? Here is Decius, and Decius, and Antonine; here too,
Commodus, Decius again, and so with the rest of the number.
Sir, it is clear as the day: you have some-where lit on a treasure;
Treasure belongs to the Cæsar by right; and the Cæsar shall have it.
This is a case for the Præfect to judge:—no use in resistance:
Help, men of Ephesus, help! Let us hence to the Asiarch straightway.”
Only demanded the price of the purchase, and paid and was going.
“Stay,” cried the dealer, “awhile; there is somewhat needs explanation:—
What are these coins? Here is Decius, and Decius, and Antonine; here too,
Commodus, Decius again, and so with the rest of the number.
Sir, it is clear as the day: you have some-where lit on a treasure;
Treasure belongs to the Cæsar by right; and the Cæsar shall have it.
This is a case for the Præfect to judge:—no use in resistance:
195
Meekly commending himself to the Father of men and of spirits,
Constantine, haled along, was hurried before the tribunal.
Stately and solemn it rose; all granite from pavement to cornice:
But o'er the pediment here was the Cross, as over the portal,
Girt with the mystical words, Christo regnante per ævum.
Up to the judgment seat, (for cause was none then in hearing)
Made they their way, the accused and accuser; the multitude round them
Marvelled at that strange garb, and questioned what fellow might this be.
Then when a hush had been made, and the accusation been stated,
Calm from the Asiarch's chair spake Lucius Memmius Rufus:
“Tell us, good fellow, what coins are these? And how in thy keeping?
Gathered together by chance? Incredible! Found as a treasure?
Greater in value belike are behind, and the Cæsar must have them.”
Constantine held no longer; his spirit was fainting within him.
“God be my witness,” he said, “Whom purely I serve from my fathers,
These were the coins that I had when I yestereve went from the city,
Seeking with others some rest for awhile from the great persecution.
Not that we feared for ourselves: (what boots to deny we are Christians?)
But that we sought some little repose from such visions of anguish.
Yesterday only we saw Theodora, the glorious Martyr,
Render her spirit to God, the days of her agony over:
Then to the spot we had chosen for hiding we hastened together.
Back to the City this morning I came to purchase some victual:
Henceforth all is confusion and haze; a dream and enchantment.
God only knows what it means; and God only knows that I speak true.”
Constantine, haled along, was hurried before the tribunal.
Stately and solemn it rose; all granite from pavement to cornice:
But o'er the pediment here was the Cross, as over the portal,
Girt with the mystical words, Christo regnante per ævum.
Up to the judgment seat, (for cause was none then in hearing)
Made they their way, the accused and accuser; the multitude round them
Marvelled at that strange garb, and questioned what fellow might this be.
Then when a hush had been made, and the accusation been stated,
196
“Tell us, good fellow, what coins are these? And how in thy keeping?
Gathered together by chance? Incredible! Found as a treasure?
Greater in value belike are behind, and the Cæsar must have them.”
Constantine held no longer; his spirit was fainting within him.
“God be my witness,” he said, “Whom purely I serve from my fathers,
These were the coins that I had when I yestereve went from the city,
Seeking with others some rest for awhile from the great persecution.
Not that we feared for ourselves: (what boots to deny we are Christians?)
But that we sought some little repose from such visions of anguish.
197
Render her spirit to God, the days of her agony over:
Then to the spot we had chosen for hiding we hastened together.
Back to the City this morning I came to purchase some victual:
Henceforth all is confusion and haze; a dream and enchantment.
God only knows what it means; and God only knows that I speak true.”
Angrily thus from his chair the Asiarch Memmius Rufus:
“Yesterday, was it? And saw Theodora? And ‘great persecution?’
This is a madman or knave; but the prison shall teach him repentance.”
Thus as he spoke, was a hush in the crowd, and a general rising;
Entered with slow, grave steps the Exarch of Ephesus, Memnon.
Sixth was the rank that he held in God's Hierarchical College;
Asia bowed at his word, and he ruled like another Apostle.
Slowly he passed to the Bema, the multitude opening before him;
There took his seat by the judge, and enquired the crime of the culprit.
(Part of the tale he had heard as he came, and therefore was present).
So when that tale was told, he addressed him in question and answer,
Tracing God's hand in this, and marvelling where it would lead to.
“Tell me, my son, if you saw the passion of blest Theodora
Yesterday, what day was that? And who was the Præfect that judged her?
Who, too, the Bishop that governed the see I unworthily hold now?”
Constantine answered at once: “'Twas the fourth of the Kalends of August;
Celius Plancus the judge that day, and the Bishop was Rufus;
He whose blessing we asked before going down to the Arena.”
Pondered the Bishop awhile; for this was the third of the Kalends;
Then he commanded his deacon, “Bring hither the Acts of the Martyrs.”
While they were sought in the church, deep silence fell upon all men,
For that they saw their Prelate in prayer as beseeching for wisdom.
When he had opened the book—“The stranger is right to the letter;
Plancus was judge, and Rufus, the afterward martyr, was prelate.”
Then, as by some sudden impulse stirred up, he continued on this wise:
“Christian thou art, say'st thou? Then repeat me the Creed of Nicæa.”
Constantine marvelled, and said: “Such Creed, blessed Father, I never
Heard in our churches, nor took on my lips, nor have known of its mention:
Only the Creed of Apostles and Gregory's; these are our landmarks.”
“Hear, then,” Memnon replied. He rose, and the multitude rose too;
Then with a voice as solemn and grave, yet sweet as is honey,
(As when he stood in his place in the great Œcumenical Council),
Did he recite the Creed that told of the Consubstantial.
“Dost thou believe, my son?”
“Yesterday, was it? And saw Theodora? And ‘great persecution?’
This is a madman or knave; but the prison shall teach him repentance.”
198
Entered with slow, grave steps the Exarch of Ephesus, Memnon.
Sixth was the rank that he held in God's Hierarchical College;
Asia bowed at his word, and he ruled like another Apostle.
Slowly he passed to the Bema, the multitude opening before him;
There took his seat by the judge, and enquired the crime of the culprit.
(Part of the tale he had heard as he came, and therefore was present).
So when that tale was told, he addressed him in question and answer,
Tracing God's hand in this, and marvelling where it would lead to.
“Tell me, my son, if you saw the passion of blest Theodora
199
Who, too, the Bishop that governed the see I unworthily hold now?”
Constantine answered at once: “'Twas the fourth of the Kalends of August;
Celius Plancus the judge that day, and the Bishop was Rufus;
He whose blessing we asked before going down to the Arena.”
Pondered the Bishop awhile; for this was the third of the Kalends;
Then he commanded his deacon, “Bring hither the Acts of the Martyrs.”
While they were sought in the church, deep silence fell upon all men,
For that they saw their Prelate in prayer as beseeching for wisdom.
When he had opened the book—“The stranger is right to the letter;
200
Then, as by some sudden impulse stirred up, he continued on this wise:
“Christian thou art, say'st thou? Then repeat me the Creed of Nicæa.”
Constantine marvelled, and said: “Such Creed, blessed Father, I never
Heard in our churches, nor took on my lips, nor have known of its mention:
Only the Creed of Apostles and Gregory's; these are our landmarks.”
“Hear, then,” Memnon replied. He rose, and the multitude rose too;
Then with a voice as solemn and grave, yet sweet as is honey,
(As when he stood in his place in the great Œcumenical Council),
Did he recite the Creed that told of the Consubstantial.
201
“I believe and adore and receive it;
Only the words I never have heard; but the truths are my heart-truths.”
“Where then are those other six whom you left, as you say, in the cavern?”
“Three hours' hence in Mount Latmos; and there they await my returning.”
Question was heaped upon question, and answer succeeded to answer;
Making the sign more clear and revealing God's marvellous doings.
Forthwith was Constantine set, the multitude putting him forward,
Right in the Bema itself, in the seat next the seat of the Exarch.
Then rose Memnon and spake; and he spake to a listening people.
“See ye, my brethren, how God, our God Who reigneth in heaven,
Still worketh wonders for us, as He did in the days of our Fathers?
Now that our love has grown weak, and faith waxes fainter and fainter,
Heresies, fears from without, and contentions seething within us,
So that we hardly dare to be called the seed of the Martyrs,—
Here have we one who, belonging to them, belongeth to us too,
One who has noted the race and rejoiced in the goal of the athletes,
One who bindeth together the trial of bitter affliction,
After two hundred years, with the season of gladness and triumph.
Wherefore my rede is this; that we go to the cave in Mount Latmos,
Singing and praising the Lord, Who alone doeth wondrously ever;
There to make known these things to the brethren, and solemnly bring them
Back to the City in triumph, with Cross and with Banner and Anthem.
Then that we show them in turn our offices, altars, and Churches,
Telling them all the good things that the Lord hath done for his people.”
Only the words I never have heard; but the truths are my heart-truths.”
“Where then are those other six whom you left, as you say, in the cavern?”
“Three hours' hence in Mount Latmos; and there they await my returning.”
Question was heaped upon question, and answer succeeded to answer;
Making the sign more clear and revealing God's marvellous doings.
Forthwith was Constantine set, the multitude putting him forward,
Right in the Bema itself, in the seat next the seat of the Exarch.
Then rose Memnon and spake; and he spake to a listening people.
202
Still worketh wonders for us, as He did in the days of our Fathers?
Now that our love has grown weak, and faith waxes fainter and fainter,
Heresies, fears from without, and contentions seething within us,
So that we hardly dare to be called the seed of the Martyrs,—
Here have we one who, belonging to them, belongeth to us too,
One who has noted the race and rejoiced in the goal of the athletes,
One who bindeth together the trial of bitter affliction,
After two hundred years, with the season of gladness and triumph.
Wherefore my rede is this; that we go to the cave in Mount Latmos,
203
There to make known these things to the brethren, and solemnly bring them
Back to the City in triumph, with Cross and with Banner and Anthem.
Then that we show them in turn our offices, altars, and Churches,
Telling them all the good things that the Lord hath done for his people.”
These were his words, and the people agreed with a great acclamation.
Constantine, sitting, then spake; and his voice was broken and feeble:
“Brethren and friends, go you on: the way is easy without me;
Right to the East ye must keep, to the utmost headland of Latmos;
Me God seems to be calling, Who knoweth the times and the seasons.”
Constantine, sitting, then spake; and his voice was broken and feeble:
“Brethren and friends, go you on: the way is easy without me;
Right to the East ye must keep, to the utmost headland of Latmos;
204
“Not yet, brother, not yet,” said the Exarch of Ephesus; “once more
Thou must behold the rest, that ye all may have gladness together:
Meanwhile here in the Church—hard by, of S. Babylas,—waiting,
Thou shalt have quiet and rest in the Sceuophylacion. Lead him
Some of you, down to the place, and give him due care and refreshment.
We will set forth meanwhile, as on some high festival season,
Singing together the “Holy Almighty, have mercy upon us.”
So they set forth; and the long street glowed with Banners and Crosses;
Incense arose in clouds, and hymns antiphonally echoed.
So they set forth to the East; they passed the gate of Caÿster,
Kept the hill-path o'er the Mount, and still pressed onward to Latmos.
Thou must behold the rest, that ye all may have gladness together:
Meanwhile here in the Church—hard by, of S. Babylas,—waiting,
Thou shalt have quiet and rest in the Sceuophylacion. Lead him
Some of you, down to the place, and give him due care and refreshment.
We will set forth meanwhile, as on some high festival season,
Singing together the “Holy Almighty, have mercy upon us.”
205
Incense arose in clouds, and hymns antiphonally echoed.
So they set forth to the East; they passed the gate of Caÿster,
Kept the hill-path o'er the Mount, and still pressed onward to Latmos.
Infant, because the germ of the Western Te Deum is of Eastern origin, beginning: “Day by day will I magnify Thee.”
The term applied to those who, unwilling to sacrifice themselves, yet afraid to face the consequences of down-right refusal, paid some pagan to personate them in the act, and then received a libellus that they had obeyed the magistrate.
The difference of the modern and ancient estimate of assafœtida does not arise from difference of taste. There is a very interesting letter of Bentley's (235), in which he enters into the subject. “That the modern assa, corrupted from laser, is the ancient Silphium, I have long been convinced; but our merchants import commonly the worst rotten stuff, which has deservedly given it the epithet of fœtida. I once met with a quantity so good, that I convinced Dr. Mead and other physicians that it was genuine silphium,” &c.
The short hymn, “Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us,” which has been transplanted in its original language, to the Reproaches which are sung by the Western Church on Good Friday.
VI.
Morning past over Mount Latmos. The brethren in orison bended,
Marked not the change of the scene, as from daybreak it flitted to high noon:
How from the deep blue sky the delicate rosicler vanished,
How, from the tenderest blade, the dew-drop exhaled into æther,
How birds ceased their matins, and sought in their green happy leaf-homes
Rest from the burden and heat of the day; while checkie-wise falling
On to the turf beneath, the sun made richest confusion
Mixed with the foliage' shadows, in loveliest beauty of motion
Interlacing and intermingling and intertwining.
None of these things they saw. But when fell silence on nature,
That deep silence of noon, save the shrill of the ceaseless cicada,
Then from the arch of the cave, Maximian called to his brethren,
Bidding them join in the prayers of the Hour. Then rose there to heaven
That great anthem of laud how He sitteth o'er all in the highest,
How He hath made the round world, and the great and wide sea is His servant:
How to all creatures that live He gives their breath, and he takes it:
Waiting the day that shall see the fullness poured forth of His Spirit,
So that the ransomed earth, then rejuvenescent in beauty,
May be renewed in perfection, and glorious for ever and ever.
Marked not the change of the scene, as from daybreak it flitted to high noon:
How from the deep blue sky the delicate rosicler vanished,
206
How birds ceased their matins, and sought in their green happy leaf-homes
Rest from the burden and heat of the day; while checkie-wise falling
On to the turf beneath, the sun made richest confusion
Mixed with the foliage' shadows, in loveliest beauty of motion
Interlacing and intermingling and intertwining.
None of these things they saw. But when fell silence on nature,
That deep silence of noon, save the shrill of the ceaseless cicada,
Then from the arch of the cave, Maximian called to his brethren,
Bidding them join in the prayers of the Hour. Then rose there to heaven
207
How He hath made the round world, and the great and wide sea is His servant:
How to all creatures that live He gives their breath, and he takes it:
Waiting the day that shall see the fullness poured forth of His Spirit,
So that the ransomed earth, then rejuvenescent in beauty,
May be renewed in perfection, and glorious for ever and ever.
Now had the ninth Hour come; when Iamblichus, equal of Angels,
Calling his brethren to prayer, thus afterwards spake and addressed them:
“Friends, it is all too plain; our brother has certainly fallen
Into the hands of the wicked; a prey at length to their malice.
Long hours since he might have been here, yet ye see he returns not.
God, the God of all strength, succour him whatsoever he suffer!
God, the God of all comfort, support him and cheer him and crown him!
What say ye now? Should we still remain here, by his counsel abiding?
Leaving him there as he is, or at once return to the City,
Aiding him — if it may be even yet,—by our prayers and our presence?”
Thus did Iamblichus ask: to whom John answered on this wise;
“Let us obey to the last the advice he holily counselled—
Spending the hours in the prayer in which but now he was joining:
Long, it may be, ere we reach the Arena, his glorified spirit
Shall have its hard won place in the happy palmiferous number.
Tarry ye here, as before; our prayer will aid him as dearly,
Whether as yet he be prisoner on earth, or Victor in Heaven.
I, as I give this rede, will offer myself to the peril;
I will go down to the City, and bring those things we have need of.”
Calling his brethren to prayer, thus afterwards spake and addressed them:
“Friends, it is all too plain; our brother has certainly fallen
208
Long hours since he might have been here, yet ye see he returns not.
God, the God of all strength, succour him whatsoever he suffer!
God, the God of all comfort, support him and cheer him and crown him!
What say ye now? Should we still remain here, by his counsel abiding?
Leaving him there as he is, or at once return to the City,
Aiding him — if it may be even yet,—by our prayers and our presence?”
Thus did Iamblichus ask: to whom John answered on this wise;
“Let us obey to the last the advice he holily counselled—
Spending the hours in the prayer in which but now he was joining:
209
Shall have its hard won place in the happy palmiferous number.
Tarry ye here, as before; our prayer will aid him as dearly,
Whether as yet he be prisoner on earth, or Victor in Heaven.
I, as I give this rede, will offer myself to the peril;
I will go down to the City, and bring those things we have need of.”
Scarce had he spoke, when a soft sweet strain, like a Paradise-whisper,
Rose from the downward path, now swelling, now intermitting;
Voices of praise, as it seemed, that, in Choral harmony joining,
Told of some joy or some triumph. And hark! they can catch it more clearly;
Still is the cadence: “Christ liveth, Christ reigneth, Christ conquereth ever.”
“These are the voices of Angels,” Maximian said to his brethren;
“Ministering spirits are singing our brother to Abraham's bosom.”
Whiles he yet spake, the Cross that headed and guided the Column
Topping the little ascent, was halted in front of the Cavern.
Banners came on behind it and Choristers; Banners displaying
Deeds of the Saints of old, or reciting the Scriptures of Mercy:
Choristers, thundering forth the Hymn of ultimate triumph
Won by the Church o'er the foe, when the Living One went to the battle.
“How art thou fallen from Heaven, O Lucifer, Son of the morning!
How art thou here cast down to the ground which didst weaken the nations!
If thou shalt rise yet again, yet again shalt thou fall and shalt perish;
Dashed like the sherd of a potter, in pieces; for God is on our side.
Hail to the happy ones now, the precursors and guides to the battle!
Hail to the sufferers then! to the people that walked in darkness,
Darkness of dungeon, and darkness of sorrow, and darkness of death-shade.
Now shall they need no candle, nor light of the Sun, for the Lord God
Giveth them light, and they shall reign for ever and ever.”
Rose from the downward path, now swelling, now intermitting;
Voices of praise, as it seemed, that, in Choral harmony joining,
210
Still is the cadence: “Christ liveth, Christ reigneth, Christ conquereth ever.”
“These are the voices of Angels,” Maximian said to his brethren;
“Ministering spirits are singing our brother to Abraham's bosom.”
Whiles he yet spake, the Cross that headed and guided the Column
Topping the little ascent, was halted in front of the Cavern.
Banners came on behind it and Choristers; Banners displaying
Deeds of the Saints of old, or reciting the Scriptures of Mercy:
Choristers, thundering forth the Hymn of ultimate triumph
Won by the Church o'er the foe, when the Living One went to the battle.
211
How art thou here cast down to the ground which didst weaken the nations!
If thou shalt rise yet again, yet again shalt thou fall and shalt perish;
Dashed like the sherd of a potter, in pieces; for God is on our side.
Hail to the happy ones now, the precursors and guides to the battle!
Hail to the sufferers then! to the people that walked in darkness,
Darkness of dungeon, and darkness of sorrow, and darkness of death-shade.
Now shall they need no candle, nor light of the Sun, for the Lord God
Giveth them light, and they shall reign for ever and ever.”
212
All the way through in the pause came sweet young voices in cadence;
“Christ is King; Christ liveth, Christ reigneth, Christ conqu ereth alway.”
Fell on their face s the six; not a moment they thought of enchantment;
This they but deemed was the foretaste of heaven,—an angel-procession.
Hastily, therefore, stood forth the Exarch of Ephesus, Memnon.
“Christ is King; Christ liveth, Christ reigneth, Christ conqu ereth alway.”
Fell on their face s the six; not a moment they thought of enchantment;
This they but deemed was the foretaste of heaven,—an angel-procession.
Hastily, therefore, stood forth the Exarch of Ephesus, Memnon.
“Hail to the Saints of an age that is past! rise, brethren, and hear me!
Little ye think how God hath laid bare the Arm of His glory.
Here, as ye deem, when ye entered, the yesterday's sun set beyond you;
Thousands of yesterdays since have rolled on in the story of this world.
She, whose passion ye saw, hath now for two centuries rested,
While through the earth hath the Cross marched on from conquest to conquest.
Rome hath bowed down her neck to the Faith: the Cæsar is Christian.
Morning by morning the Great Oblation is made in our temple;
Evening by evening doth incense arise midst Chorus and Anthem.
These whom ye see are here to behold the friends of the Martyrs;
Here to take heart from the men that themselves dared face the Arena.
Come ye, then, brethren, with us: for Constantine waiteth your coming;
Come ye, and see the good things which the Lord hath done for His people.
First, ere we go, receive the kiss of peace from your Bishop.”
Thus they set forth to return; with gladness subdued, in procession,
In that already they saw that wonderful change passing o'er them;
Change they before had marked when Constantine sat in the Bema.
Silent the prayers that arose; and the six followed also in silence,
Save for one cry of surprise as they entered the gate of Caÿster.
Windows and house-tops were crammed; the streets overflowed with the faithful;
Still but one cry of prayer, that ascended like incense to heaven,
Solemn and low; Holy God! Holy Mighty! Have mercy upon us!
Now they drew nigh to the end of their course, to the Church of S. Clement;
There, for the last time on earth, the Seven were gathered together.
Then did they lead them from Altar to Altar, from Temple to Temple;
Shrines, that were dear for the blood themselves had seen poured as an offering;
Temples enriched with the bodies that they had known cast to the vultures.
But when they came in due course to the Church of S. Babylas, forthwith
Thus for the last time spake Iamblichus, equal of Angels:
“This is our rest for ever; the place we have found to delight in.
Kneel, O brethren; to God—God of wonders—commending your spirits.”
Forthwith the brethren knelt in front of the gate of the Bema;
Fear and astonishment fell on the crowd, and a hush as of midnight.
Silently prayed they awhile; then they sang their “Nun apolueis;”
Clear and unbroken each voice, as the swan's song ere her departure.
Hushed was the strain at last, but still as in orison knelt they;
Memnon alone drew near, and gently regarding the kneelers,
“Render to God all thanks: the Confessors,” he cried, “have been guerdoned.”
Little ye think how God hath laid bare the Arm of His glory.
Here, as ye deem, when ye entered, the yesterday's sun set beyond you;
Thousands of yesterdays since have rolled on in the story of this world.
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While through the earth hath the Cross marched on from conquest to conquest.
Rome hath bowed down her neck to the Faith: the Cæsar is Christian.
Morning by morning the Great Oblation is made in our temple;
Evening by evening doth incense arise midst Chorus and Anthem.
These whom ye see are here to behold the friends of the Martyrs;
Here to take heart from the men that themselves dared face the Arena.
Come ye, then, brethren, with us: for Constantine waiteth your coming;
Come ye, and see the good things which the Lord hath done for His people.
First, ere we go, receive the kiss of peace from your Bishop.”
Thus they set forth to return; with gladness subdued, in procession,
214
Change they before had marked when Constantine sat in the Bema.
Silent the prayers that arose; and the six followed also in silence,
Save for one cry of surprise as they entered the gate of Caÿster.
Windows and house-tops were crammed; the streets overflowed with the faithful;
Still but one cry of prayer, that ascended like incense to heaven,
Solemn and low; Holy God! Holy Mighty! Have mercy upon us!
Now they drew nigh to the end of their course, to the Church of S. Clement;
There, for the last time on earth, the Seven were gathered together.
Then did they lead them from Altar to Altar, from Temple to Temple;
Shrines, that were dear for the blood themselves had seen poured as an offering;
215
But when they came in due course to the Church of S. Babylas, forthwith
Thus for the last time spake Iamblichus, equal of Angels:
“This is our rest for ever; the place we have found to delight in.
Kneel, O brethren; to God—God of wonders—commending your spirits.”
Forthwith the brethren knelt in front of the gate of the Bema;
Fear and astonishment fell on the crowd, and a hush as of midnight.
Silently prayed they awhile; then they sang their “Nun apolueis;”
Clear and unbroken each voice, as the swan's song ere her departure.
216
Memnon alone drew near, and gently regarding the kneelers,
“Render to God all thanks: the Confessors,” he cried, “have been guerdoned.”
Ye who are fighting the battle for England's Church and her glory,
Whenso that battle seems going against us, remember the legend.
Time there will be, there will be, though we never shall see it in this world,
When by the hands of the men that come after us God shall upraise her;
She whom we fight for now be no more despised and rejected,
But an eternal praise, and a joy of all generations!
Whenso that battle seems going against us, remember the legend.
Time there will be, there will be, though we never shall see it in this world,
When by the hands of the men that come after us God shall upraise her;
She whom we fight for now be no more despised and rejected,
But an eternal praise, and a joy of all generations!
| Sequences, Hymns, and Other Ecclesiastical Verses | |