953 ST. PAUL. ST. PAUL BY REV. S.' MILLER HAGEMAN, AUTHOR OF "VESPER VOICES," "GREENWOOD," " PRINCETON POETS," " SILENCE," ETC. NEW YORK . THE AUTHORS' PUBLISHING COMPANY, Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1879, by THE AUTHORS' PUBLISHING COMPANY, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. TO MY FATHER. THE HONOR IN WHICH I HOLD HIM. M191B48 (M ST. PAUL. IN the gloom of the Mamertine prison, In the cloak that from Troas was brought, Ere the star of his soul had arisen, Sat the white-haired apostle of Thought. The struggling light of the candle, As o'er his pale forehead it fell, Shone dimly, on toga and sandal, Shone .dimly, on chain and on cell. (7) The fire of his dark eye was flash- ing Its gleams from an aquiline face ; And the dream of his spirit was dash- ing Its mould with a classical grace. The form of his frame, lithe and slen- der, By sickness and suffering was drawn ; But the power of that soul in its splen- dor, Lit the dark of his face like a dawn. ST. PAUL. 9 Through the blood-spattered floor, cold and solemn, A fountain wept out of the stone ; And a cup on the shaft of a column, That still to the traveller is shown. In its gloom was nor crevice nor grat- ing. In its wall was nor window nor door; For those who within it were waiting For Death, came not forth evermore. io ST. PAUL. The Tiber, through great carven arch- es, With bannerol, trumpet and throng, Still sounding of navies and marches, Sweeps by those grim walls, sadly on. Flow brightly, Romanian river, But ne'er shall thy fast-rolling flood, Though it wear in its channel forev- er, Wash out thy dark waters of blood. ST. PA UL. n The mould on that dungeon was crust- ed, And dashed, with the pulse of the dead ; The chains on its prisoners were rusted With tears, that their captives had shed. In the stain of its shadow there slum- bered, Far back in the quiet of time, Full many a horror unnumbered, Full many a pageant of crime. 12 ST. PAUL. Oft thither in triumph, the Roman, Had brought from the battle-field bound, With falchion and banner, the foeman, To be thrust through the Tullian round. And thither, with rabble and jostle, Like his Lord at the prick of the spear, They hurried the Hebrew apostle, With cursing and volley and leer. ST. PAUL. 13 He came, with the air of a stranger, To the death he so long must have known ; He blenched not at dungeon or dan- ger Nor shrank from his pallet of stone. Within the Imperial city, Through which years before he had passed A conqueror, chill to all pity ; A captive, it found him at last. 14 ST. PAUL. 'Mid thousands of homes he was home- less, 'Mid thousands that knew him, un- known ; But there lingered one there in his lone- \ ness With whom he was never alone. 'Twas not for his glad eye to greet him, 'Twas not to behold him from birth ; That his spirit at midnight might meet him, Whom mortal, he met not on earth. ST. PAUL. 15 What cared he for death? in deaths often The shadowy form he had seen ; Till in fate there was something to soften E'en itself, by what it had been. For as an island lonely, That lifts its palm at sea, Seems fit for an exile only, So seemeth that lone soul to me. 16 ST. PAUL. He felt not the fetters that bound him, He heard not the sentinelled pace, He saw not the walls that around him Frowned down on his wonderful face. He feared not, for God was his keeper, He felt but His Spirit within ; And his soul like the dream of a sleep- er, Was free from the bondage of sin. ST. PAUL. 17 What though the Imperial eagle Might brighten its crest in the sky? Caught up to the realm of the regal, His wing-footed soul was on high. What though in his fancy escaping, He roamed the blue hills of his birth? Wert thou free thou wouldst still but be shaping Thy wings in the prison of earth. i8 ST. PAUL. Though aged, they could not appall him, A prisoner, they could not pursue ; They might chain, but they could not enthrall him, They might crush, but they could not subdue. And though in their triumph they bind him Hand and foot to the blood-breathing ground, 'Twas enough that his bonds might remind him, That the Word of his God was not bound. ST. PAUL. 19 I wot not in days of his childhood By mountain and river and glen, When he wandered unwatched thro' the wildwood, Was he ever so free-born as then. I wot not when nature's sweet kind- ness, Grew cold in that cavernous night, Like Milton imprisoned in blindness, Were ever its glories so bright. 20 5 T. PA UL . Full oft had he climbed with emotion, The great mountains that shot up on high Over Tarsus, and seen on the ocean, Their slopes, like Heaven's towers from the sky. And thus, on his memory reflected, Time's shadows fell solemnly now ; As when in their grandeur erected They built their strong thoughts on his brow. ST. PA UL. 21 Farewell for thee, father and mother, Thy boat lightly swings by the sea; Farewell for thee, sister and brother, Farewell home forever for thee. Little reck they the fate that had sounded Its death-knell over his soul ; Or the beckoning hand that was rounded For him, where the blue billows roll. 22 ST. PAUL. O Genius ! how hardly we cherish Thy sumptuous gifts to the world ; Till, the rare souls that proffered them perish, And the colors of life have been furled. O shame on the ripe earth over, For the mouths that never were fed ! Till under the snow and the clov- er, They were filled with the dust of the dead. 5 T. PA UL 23 The foliage, dreamy and tender, Waved fresh on the Cyprian isle ; The cities he passed in their splen- dor, Once more in the sunlight did smile. He saw down the distance unbro- ken * The sail of his ship on the sea ; And he knew that the words he had spoken, With its pennon went flying and free. 24 5 T. PA UL . Through the wild-roaring forests of cedar, Through the night-haunted jungles of pine, He passed, without ally or leader, Save the stars that above him did shine. Was ever such traveller stranded On the shadowy eyot of earth ? Was ever such wanderer landed An exile on shores of his birth ? ST. PAUL. 25 Where the sun on Eurymedon quivers From the Seglian heights to the sea; In perils of robbers and rivers, Thrice scourged and thrice ship- wrecked was he. In perils of city and prison, By hunger and sickness bested, He was stoned by the mob in deri- sion And dragged through the street as one dead. 26 ST. PAUL. O the visions that often and often Thronged back on his memory there ! Of those who like him, loved to soft- en Their fate, with the spirit of prayer. Of Christ, in the Forum's Commo- tion, Of Moses, on Nebo afar, Of John, in the islanded ocean, Alone, 'neath the sentinel star. ST. PAUL. 27 The beast in the crowded arena, No longer fell dead at his spear; The sounds in the Grecian sescena No longer provoked his dull ear; The hoof of the horse on the high- way, To distant Damascus was still ; No more to his cursing reply they, Nor wheel at his terrible will. 28 ST. PAUL. The stones that he hurled upon Stephen, Rose up in his dungeon around, Till each one, chill and glossy, seem ed even Alive, with a face and a sound. O God! there's no presence like ab- sence That comes to a human heart; And nothing, in widest space, that can keep Two souls that have met apart. ST. PAUL. 29 Chained prisoners came crouching be fore him, To mock him with manacled hands ; Sad voices swept hauntingly o'er him, Like night-winds o'er dim cypress- lands. Sure never hath rowel or rider, Urged harder the fast-flying horse; Sure never hath memory grown wider To tighten the rack of remorse. 30 ST. PAUL. He thought of them all as they only Can think, who, with tremulous breath, Draw near once again, late and lonely, To the dead, through the doorways of death. And grand must have gleamed to his vision, The sword, howe'er fiercely it shone; That struck through the gloom of his prison, A light on his crown and his throne. ST. PAUL. 31 When the great Night wipes up soft- iy The blood-drop of the sun, From the earth, where all too oftly, Its deeds of strife are done : Sleep falls on the moil and rattle, With dew from the dreamy sky ; Like faint music on fields of bat- tle, Where the dead and. the dying lie. 32 ST. PAUL. 'Tis then that the broken features, And wrinkles in frames grown old, Are the chinks through which God's dim creatures, Catch twilight of things foretold. And thou, spite thy dying sorrow, Did'st thou not in thy darkened woe, By faith, for thy vision borrow, The light that shines never below. ST. PAUL. 33 What is it that makes him to linger, So long o'er each cycle and clime; While the frostwork of history's finger Melts off on the background of Time? What is it that makes kings grow rest- less, That from their strong thrones they bow down, To mark though his bare brow be crestless, The gleam of the soul's muffled crown ? 34 ST. PAUL. He came, but without observation, Like the kingdom of God that he bore ; He came, without herald or sta- tion, To those he had not seen before. The sail of his vessel blew gently By cities, where oft on the tide, With music, and banner and entry, Great navies had sailed in their pride. ST. PAUL. 35 With a lone winged haste like the raven That never returned to its rest ; He founded the church that stands graven, On the globe from the East to the West. He pierced with one deep intuition, The shadow of Time to the last; He swept such a sphere with his vi- sion, That the Future lay trampled and past. 36 ST. PAUL. He preached, but no council installed him, He prayed, but no hand blessed his head; The voice of Jehovah had called him, To stand in his glorious stead. What churchman had e'er such com- mission ? What preacher such spirit and call? Contented in every condition, Contained in whatever might befall. ST. PAUL. 37 Heresiarch ! faster and faster The world throngs that wonderful youth. Heresiarch ! So was thy Master, Though front the clear forthright of Truth. Like to Him with thy countenance shat- tered, Thou barefooted beggar, begone! Like to Him with thy palium tattered, Wan Tatterdemalion. 38 ST. PAUL. They told him that others were teach- ing Strange doctrines, he never had taught ; Twas enough if but Christ they were preaching, Whether falsely or truly they wrought. His spirit like summer was mellow, And his soul like a tree, on whose top, The ripe fruit that hangs red and yel- low, Has nothing to do but to drop. ST. PAUL. 39 He stood in the dazzling splendor That on the Acropolis shone ; Where thousands bent thirsty to ren- der His corse to precipitous stone. He stood there with spirit undaunted, As the eagle-swan stands in the sun : And held the hushed thousands en- chanted, Till the day over Athens was done. 40 ST. PAUL. He lifted up Christ in his beauty, Colossal o'er sect and o'er creed ; To draw all men to him in duty, As the sun in the sky draws the seed. He frowned on the forms of division, That fence men, for trifle, apart; He broke down the walls of parti- tion, And the world felt the beat of his heart. ST. PAUL. 41 He spake not of city or building, He sung not of statue or art ; For a glory, unearthly, was gilding The kingdom of Heaven in his heart. And though by their pageants sur- rounded, Like the lily that sees not its stem ; 'Mid the music with which they re- sounded, Twas of Christ that he thought, not of them. 42 ST. PA UL He burned up the books, Superstition Had heaped with a sorcerer's hand, As she sat in the gates of tradition, And stared like the Sphinx to the sand. Bought up from his boyhood a bigot, He turned from the Jew to the World ; And preached, where the sail of his frigate, On its far distant shore was un- furled. ST. PAUL. 43 Brought up in the empire of battle, Brought up in its pride and its flower ; What wonder that force was his chat- tie? What wonder his passion for power? But never a conflict so splendid, Hath sent through the round earth its thrill, As that 'ere his warfare was ended, Was waged with his conquering will. 44 ST. PAUL. He stood in the furnace of passion, And conquered its heat and its stride ; He stood at the forum of fashion, And vanquished its power and its pride. He stood in the strength that is weak- ness To those who have felt not its birth ; With the might of invincible meek- ness, He moved the whole empire of earth. ST. PAUL. 45 The shape of his only ideal, Was one he could never attain ; It rose o'er the realm of the real, But victor, he followed in vain. He moulded his soul on the meas- ure Of God, and not of his own. He laid up his crown and his treas- ure, For the deed that shall never be done. 4 6 57: PAUL. Will no one, alas, come to open These gates warm with freedom's breath ? Brave heart, must thou perish unhol- pen Save but by the Angel, Death? Is the world to come but a bubble, Blown off at a child's mouth in air? Is this life but a cheating trouble Lost clean out in thy cold grave there ? ST. PAUL. 47 Can it be that the love and the beauty In mother and child are in vain ? That stern Death is doing its duty O'er that which shall live not again ? Furl back, mists of space, from dead faces Furl back, if mayhap, as before, They may come softly out in old places, And look on us warmly once more. 48 5 T. PA UL . The soul, like a shell that is sound- ing In a strange foreign land of the sea; Sings an echo that ever is rounding The Kingdom of Heaven in me. And sometimes its murmur seems faintly, As it folds round the spirit within, To waft from the shores of the saint- iy. The sound of its vast silent din. ST. PAUL. 49 It sings to me in the shadow, It sings to me in the sun, It sings in the bird and the mea- dow, And its song is never done. I know not if Death shall sever, My soul from the years to be ; But I know that forever and ever, It sings and it sings to me. 50 ST. PAUL. Go, Doubt hide thy wan face for- ever, In the gloom of that Tullian hold ; Come thou forth upon earth again never To vex men till time shall be told. Immortality ! Christ hath arisen, By night from ' the rock-riven tomb, And shines o'er captivity's prison, The star of the great World to come. ST. PA UL. 51 Great multitude no man can number, Calm beautiful homes of the Blest ; The heart, though it throbbeth in slum- ber, But knocks at thy closed doors for rest. And thought, like a night-bird, lone- iy, Breaks its wing on thy walls in her flight Ah ! Death's rusty night-key only Can open the Palace of Light. 52 ST. PAUL. Go think of him, ye, on whom light- *y The load of transgression hath pressed ; Go think of him, ye, to whom nightly, Sleep brings but the dream of un- rest. Go think of him, Genius, God-gifted, Whose wrecks, like unpiloted ships, On the waters of doubt have " been drifted, Sun-tipped in the gloom of Eclipse. ST. PAUL. 53 Shine on, thou proud figure, for- ever, Though the sun that first saw thee hath set, Shine on, all thy years cannot sever The glory that hangs round thee yet. And though thou dip farther and farther, As a sail down the trend of the sea; Great Spirit ! 'Twill serve but the rather, To bring us the nearer to thee. 54 ST. PAUL. The chieftains that ravished those re- gions, Lie dead in the days that are done ; We hear not the tread of their legions, We heed not the conquests they won. But still like a shout, undiminished, Over city and hamlet and home ; "I have fought a good fight!" "I have finished ! " Rings out of that dungeon at Rome. ST. PAUL. 55 He went as he came, like a victor, He Avent as he came, by the sword ; But not by the blow of the lictor, But the knight-errant touch of the Lord. With the stars for processional splen- did, Through the triumphal-arch of the sky : He passed, like a conqueror attend- ed, And more than a conqueror on high. 56 ST. PAUL. O Paul ! though the world from thy preaching, Should turn with the stream to the sea ; 'Twere enough for the truth of thy teaching, Had it wrought in the whole world, but thee. Thou hast need of no sculptor or painter To freshen the power of thy face. For fairer as others grow fainter, Thou shalt leave on each spirit thy trace. ST. PAUL. 57 Albeit the creeds of the Ages, Rave fiercely with ravin and ramp ; Like lions in opposite cages, Like cannon in opposite camp. Albeit that men are defending Christ's love with the sword and the stave ; All sects o'er his body are blend- ing, As sons at a sweet mother's grave. 58 ST. PAUL. Beheaded but Jesus hath crowned him, i " Well done " is the wreath of his fame ; Forsaken but nations are round him, To echo the sound of his name. Imprisoned but space is the portal, Flung sheer to his ministering soul ; Immured but forever immortal, To the racer that presses the goal. ST. PAUL. 59 The Colossus has strid from its col- umn, The banquets are cold in their bow- ers ; The water sleeps mastless and solemn, And the moon on the mouldering towers. 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