The Martyrdom of St. Paul
An EpisTLE FRoM THE CuHuRCcH IN RoME TO OTHER CHURCHES
Tue Church that sojourns in this world at Rome
To the Corinthian and Athenian saints,
And our Philippian brethren, and the flock
Of Thessalonian wayfarers, and all
Beyond the further waters, wheresoe’er
In Asia, Troas, the beloved Paun
Taught without rest the everlasting Name ; —
Grace, mercy and peace, from Him who cannot change And from our Lord, His Son, who gave Himself
Our Ransom, and for us is risen again 10 The Firstborn from the tomb; to whom we look
For white-robed triumphs and the crown of life,
After these present things, through faith in Him.
Beloved, weep not overmuch to know That Paul is fallen asleep. This evil World Has wreak’d indeed her last on him and worst, The precious Vessel of our Master’s choice, Our golden lamp of truth, the starry flame Whose radiant guidance through the depth of night E’en to its setting led us toward the port 20 And coasts of promised glory still unseen. He sleeps indeed; and we amidst the waves Wander alone; yet not alone, for still Our Life, once slain, now risen, is always near: Death has no more dominion over Him.
We write not now of deeds long memorable In every land, since the red flood of fire, Unlooked-for, unresisted, overflow’d This Babylon beneath the western heavens; When the great Adversary’s craft prevail’d 30 To turn the pagan vengeance, fierce and full, Upon the guiltless Church. Ye too have felt The scourge, ye too may reckon many a friend Imprison’d, vex’d, tormented, slain for Christ. Yes, from your shores it was, from your embrace, From Troas hitherward and Ephesus, The blessed Paul was wafted, chain’d for death, When the young Spring last flower’d the isles and hills.
But how he fared at Rome, how in our sight He overcame and reach’d eternal peace, 40 This now we write, imparting pain and joy; Pain for our orphanhood, but much more joy Not for his entrance only but for ours And yours: — his glorious death so lifts the veil.
When first the Saint, conveyed by ruthless hands, Arriving, in the dungeon’s hollow gloom Lay worn and lone, we sought awhile in vain To enter and attend him. The stern guards Oft warn’d us thence with threats of steel and flame, As wizards, traitors, a vile alien crew 50 Incendiary, sworn enemies of men. Yet we return’d entreating, and our Lord, Who all things can, touching with secret power Those violent souls, in mercy gave us leave Entering to gather round His Saint once more Embracing and consoling. *Twas by night, Stealthy, by torchlight threading a dim path Through winding lanes, while now the watery wind Roll’d clouds on clouds across the setting Moon And shower’d the City. Six the brethren were, 60
1 The great fire of Rome preceded by about two years the traditional date of the Apostle’s death, June 29, a.p. 66.
Six only, led with trembling hearts far down Under the frown of arches, stair by stair.
Solemn his greeting came; a voice indeed Affectionate; and dignity of years And loftiest wisdom temper’d the sad sound; But passing mournful; and the glimmering flames That hung above him in the unrestful cell Touch’d the dark furrows of his care-worn brow And faded face. Not seldom in mid-speech With sudden pause abrupt the words expired; 70 Until at length, collecting thought and will For fuller voice, he hush’d at once our grief And broken utterance of imperfect hopes: For well we knew the glance and gaze profound Bent toward us, yet beyond. Thus oft of old In that throng’d chamber by the Tiber-stream He still’d the wrangling tongues and took the word, Ascendant,
‘It is well that ye are here, Yea, blest, on either hand. Ye are come to-night To see not Paul but our great Lord in bonds, 80 And reap His promised welcome in the hour Of judgement. And I also hail in you His visitation; my spiritual gloom Is touch’d again from heaven; the Lord is near, The Shepherd, walking in the vale of death. O timely presence! For the clouds have fallen As once they never fell. The ancient Foe Has had his leave, his last and terrible hour, With baneful magic summoning from hell A multitudinous and threatening throng 90 Of visionary fears. Long since he shew’d On the lone Hill of Trial to our King The World in glory drest; but now to me Its darkness, force, and hatred, dreadful view — This evil World.
The Martrydom
‘In varying guise it rose To haunt me; sometimes in the mask of Power, The Roman semblance, pitiless and strong. For now at length, beloved, around us wakes No transient burst of blind and partial zeal But the great Empire’s anger. At the thought 100 I have inly trembled, with the palsied thrill Of undefended weakness miserable. For I, long travell’d o’er the peopled world, Always familiar with the seals and signs Of this imperial Polity, so vast In circuit, nor unjust, and wise withal In this life’s wisdom — fear’d it but the more Now hostile, wellnigh as the pagan bows To Fate, and strives no longer. ‘ Oft in turn Came other terrors threatening from beneath; 110 Innumerable voices, heard of old In Ephesus, or Corinth, or the schools Of Athens; faces arrogant and fix’d In mental pride, or heavy with a cloud Of self-deluding doubts, or (worse than these) Gay and in sportive mood, with jest and smile, Iyl-suiting thoughts that would dissolve away All truth, all being, earth alike and heaven. Vain errors — but methought so deep entwined With this world’s inmost root, so interfused 120 With human speech, and social mode, and forms Of arts and culture, old and beautiful, It seemed at times as if for ever now This must be so, — a set Necessity. ‘Nor seldom on my spirit, but oftener far And heavier, fell the mystery of Sin; The world’s huge malady; forces manifold Acting and interacting with result Incessant, ever-various, all instinct With falsehood, hatred, shame; motion that seems 130 Self-moved, or finding everywhere a cause To energize and lend it scope and range;
Present in all things, in the streets alike And wildernesses, in the stir of marts And havens, in the scholar’s porch and bower; Nay, from the assembly of the ransom’d saints Not absent, where to aid the restless springs Of inborn ill ev’n now the lying gloze Of false-named Knonledge 1 whispers in the ear To Christ’s weak followers, weaving godless dreams 140 Of Depths and Ages, Generations drear Of unsubstantial being; alien all From the dear Cross, and holiness, and heaven. And slow the while and toilsome is the task Of healing; few the souls that find the way; As though the ill were ev’n the ground of things, And the pure good an accident, a cloud Drawn round it for a season, here and there, To vanish in an hour. ‘ And in the straits Of such temptation much the pangs of Time, 150 This world’s incessant stream and lapsing change, Troubled my spirit in old age at last. Remembrances long silent woke within, Old voices and the light of buried eyes, With hopeless farewells from remotest years; Things till that hour felt only while I felt As tenderly, as full, the eternal Hope All cheering, all renewing: now alone I felt the dark world’s flux; in all things saw — In clouds and rolling waves, in walls and hills — 160 Nought but the march of death, in that weak hour.’
So while he spoke, and pour’d his inmost soul With tears before us, we too wept around. For we recall’d the better years late flown When to his chamber-prison (not uncheer’d By friendship’s free access and reverent love) He drew his throng of listeners. Young and old And bond and free were there, captain and sage
1 The Gnosis, ‘falsely so called’ (1 Tim. vi. 20).
And senator, pagan and proselyte; A moving scene of life and pregnant power; 170 While to the height of heavenward argument He pleaded; still, with affluent proofs far-drawn, Presenting as the reason of all hope The justifying Blood and Jxsus risen. But soon again he stayed our silent shower: ‘Weep not, though I have wept. It was my choice Deliberate thus to unfold my soul’s last strife. (For think not that the Lord’s prophetic call Exempts His servant from the lot of man, Sorrows, and secret groans, and battle waged 180 With visible things). I have spoken; and the while, Ev’n as I deem’d it should be, lo! the joy Of changeless Truth, divine Reality In full persuasion, healing all my pains, Springs in this fainting heart and flows profound. But now farewell; the starry watches move. To-morrow in the Amilian hall,! if so Our Lord permit, I plead at Casar’s chair, Accused by Alexander on the charge Of treason, and long-plotted fire at Rome. 190 There He who promised shall renew my strength. To Him this night be glory, and beyond All night, all time, to Him be glory still Who rising once has overcome the world. We now are weak in Him, but we shall live Through Him, in power and immortality; Yea, we shall reign for ever with the Lord.’
So from the vault again to upper night And the free air we climb’d; revolving much The import of his words, and all the strife 200 Which in this world the suffering Truth must wage With sin, and pain, and time. But when the Sun Upspringing shower’d the diamond rays of morn On air and earth, then to the Amilian hall We sped, and with divided fears and hopes,
1 A well-known Basilica in the Forum was so called.
Unmark’d amidst the concourse, (for the place Was thronging, aisle and gallery,) we drew near The chair of judgement. Even as we came The Prince himself to the tribunal moved In purple, usher’d in by giant forms 210 Barbarian, children of the fair-hair’’d North; And following came the gown’d retinue long Of counsellors, the majesty of Rome. Long while the accuser pleaded, harsh and keen, With treasured malice; urging proof on proof Of treachery sown in secret, far and near; And of the City’s conflagration plann’d By Paul and kindled from a Christian torch. And much he spoke of stubborn purposes Rebellious, and the incense-cloud refused 220 At Cesar’s altar : — what from such a seed Should spring but ruin, dissolution dire Of the world’s Commonwealth and Roman Peace? He spoke, and stay’d, and all the audience moved, Tumultuous murmurs, as of rising winds, Anger and terror. Then at length in turn Before the judgement-seat he stood alone, The blest One, the Beloved; white with age, Bent by the ruthless iron, and now by those Who once could aid, forsaken. None was there, 230 In that stern hour, of all whose eloquent lips And skill of law full fain in other days Had succour’d him so needing; all were gone, Or silent — such the terror of the time. But wonderful it was to see and hear Himself, left solitary. In act to speak He stood erect, with lifted countenance Of cheerful dignity, and gaze intent On Cesar; then with soul-compelling words, Now brief, now rich in splendid amplitude, 240 This way and that he rent the accuser’s snare; Till fast again the murmurs of the throng In other mood were rising, and the voice
Of muttering converse spoke him innocent
Of every crime. But ere the close it seem’d,
To us with steadfast eyes watching each change,
That on his face a sudden radiance shone,
Not of the vernal Sun through pillar’d aisles,
Nor cast afar from shield or lustrous gem,
But from above our transient brightness thrown; 250 As if beside him One invisible
Standing and speaking drew the old man’s gaze Attentive, meeting it with smiles of light.
And while it shone, once more a note of power
Swell’d in his voice; he gather’d yet once more
The argument to lift its line to Heaven;
And before Cesar, and the silent ring
Of princes, and the gorgeous ranks aloft
Of matrons, while the throngs on every side
Stirr’d at the sound and nearer lean’d to hear, 260 He bore his long last witness to the Truth
Of Jesus. Much he reason’d of the Lord,
Much of himself; his youthful enmity;
The ethereal flame before Damascus seen;
The Voice and visible Presence; thence his change Instant and final, with all Heaven to come:
‘ And hear me yet, Augustus, yet this once.
He whom I saw that hour is with me now,
In other mode but in Himself the same;
The Crucified, the Eternal; whom I serve. 270 By Him again in weakness I am strong;
By Him in this extremest solitude
I walk with infinite companionship
Around me; from the ruins of old age
In Him I spring into eternal youth;
Redeem’d, and justified, and glorified,
After His will. In Him as from a throne
I look upon this world, not with the glance
Of apathy or self-dependent pride,
But in full peace of knowledge and of love, 280 Meekly victorious. I have felt and weigh’d
Thy power, imperial master of a world,
And yours, ye sages of alli alien lore, And yours, ye multitudes (for whom He died!) Workers of ill and sufferers; till wellnigh My shrinking heart has waver’d and refused The invisible Hope. But now that fear is past, And here again in open confidence Lo, I commit myself, and with myself All cares, all human bonds, yea, all mankind, 290 All creatures, depth, and height, and life, and death, To Him whom I believe. There all is well: Because He rose and conquer’, all is well. Past things, and this dread Present, and the range Of long Futurity, all rests with Him, To whom all knees shall bend, when at the last Fulfilling every promise given of old Through seers and kings, He shall return again To final doom and triumph. Then shall we, Whoe’er have loved His Coming, and through Him 300 Have borne the evil day and this dire world; Receive the long’d-for welcome to His bliss, Bearing the palms of Heaven and righteous crown.’ He ceased, and brighter still that mystic Light, As from a radiant cloud issuing more fair, Shone on his lifted forehead. Silence long Controll’d the multitudes, in strange amaze Held captive, Prince and people; thoughts and voice Mute, as they also saw the things unseen. And sure in him who spoke they felt reveal’d 310 The long-withholden secret of the life Eternal, gazing on that lonely Man, Who in a serene region, distant far From idol-creeds and earthborn wisdom blind, Walk’d in their presence with the Lord of Life, The Friend Divine. So silence own’d the spell; Ev’n as hereafter, when Himself shall speak Returning, the loud World shall hush her cry, Dread silence and supreme. But now at length The stillness broke in movement, for the Prince 320
Rose sudden, bidding herald-voices high
Proclaim the man acquitted on the charge
Of conflagration, but arraign’d again
For other crimes; then turn’d, in careless mood (So seeming), and begirt with rods and steel Pass’d to the Palace.
On the Nones of May This judgement sate, wherein the Lord Himself With light ineffable and present grace Upheld his Saint. Since then the lingering hours Roll’d on their number. Night by night we met 330 In the deep vault, where Luke with faithful love Entreated and prevail’d to share with Paul Both nights and days, and thence at his behest Plied pen again and tablets, to beseech The coming of Timotheus. But in vain Shall now Timotheus come.
When June was full,
(Cesar then absent in the Achaian towns, )
Came the last summons to the blessed One
To answer; Helius! sitting in the chair.
But profitless that answer, for the judge, 340
Violent and all unequal, curtain’d round
In secret conclave, resolute for blood,
Did but revile the Saint and haste him out
To instant doom; while Paul no other word
Spoke but high praise and cheerful thanks to Him
Who thus at length deliver’d him through death
From death for ever.
’T was in depth of dawn They led him forth, when the stars waned aloft And all the fields were dusk. Far off we went Without the gate, upon the Ostian road 350
1 Helius, once a slave, was left by Nero, during his visit to Greece, Procurator of the City.
And Ardeatine, till now the place of death, A hollow field wet with a threefold well,1 Appear’d before us. Paul along the way Spoke much, in marvellous joy. We wept again: He, tender but untearful, (as for whom The Lord’s full presence thrill’d all thoughts with love, But into bliss exhaled the fount of grief,) Stepp’d on with youthful vigour, and discoursed Largely of endless hopes, with mingled strains Of ancient memory dear, and mention made 360 Of distant friends he soon should hail in Life. At last, with brief thanksgiving, (for his soul Hasted to go,) he knelt, and while we stood With eyes averted, met the sword, and died; Say rather, lived beyond the world with Him Who overcame the world; far better state. Just at sun-rise he left us, when far off On the eastward verge of hills the earliest fire Look’d forth in morning glory, swift and strong.
Near to that quiet mead his body lies, 370 Buried by us. Oft round the blessed grave, If so the persecutor’s wrath permit, We mean to gather, when the shadows fall, Or noontide stillness consecrates the field, To sing our praises not to the dear Dead Though venerable,” but rather to His Name Who is our life and victory; whose sure hour Of promised Resurrection, soon or late, Draws near and nearer with the rolling Suns. Meantime be it ours and yours with duteous tears 380 And heavenward thought to greet the blest One gone; But more to greet, and ponder, and hold fast, His heaven-revealing Gospel, with repose,
1 Tre Fontane, ‘Three Fountains,’ is the traditional site.
2The narrative of the martyrdom of St. Polycarp, A.D. 180, draws a careful distinction (ch. 17) between the Christians’ dove for the departed saint and their worsh¢p of the Saviour.
Ev’n to the end, of joyful faith on Him Who died and lived again. For since He lives We live with Him and shall with Him prevail.
Farewell. We greet you in the peace of Christ, Your Roman kindred, few for many named; Eubulus, Lucas, Onesiphorus, Linus, and Claudia — partners of one Hope. 390 I Pudens, who have written, lately come From this world’s darkness and the pride of life, Salute you in our Lord. To Him be praise.