  The narrative returns to Paul riding with young Stephen, under escort of Roman soldiers, toward CÆsarea. The uncle and nephew (at sufficient remove from the cavalry before them and the infantry behind them) after an interval of silence, engage in conversation on a subject suggested by young Stephen's quoting against Shimei one of the imprecatory psalms. This conversation is prolonged till Antipatris is reached, from which point young Stephen comes back to Jerusalem with the returning foot-soldiers, while Paul goes on with the horse to CÆsarea. BY NIGHT FOR CÆSAREA. an>"What was the spirit with which the Spirit of God Breathed these into the soul of him elect Among the sons of men to give them voice? Did not God hate whom He so heavily cursed?" Stephen inquired; and Paul at large replied: "God hates not any, as wicked men count hate— And men not wicked may, in wicked mood— Nor wills that of the souls whom He has made Any should perish; rather wills that all But look abroad upon the world of men; What seest thou? Many souls resist the will, The blessÉd will to save, of God. Of these, Some will hereafter yield—thou knowest not who, But some—and let themselves be saved. Again, Some will to the end resist—thou knowest not who; But some—and obstinately choose to die; Choice is the fearful privilege of all. Now, toward the man incorrigibly bad, Who evil loves and evil makes his good Forever, without hope of other change Than change from worse to worse forevermore— Toward such a man, what must the aspect be Of the Supreme Eternal Holiness? What but of wrath, or as of wrath, and hate? Canst thou imagine other face of God Than frown and threat aflame implacable Against implacable rebellion set, And sin eternal, to eternal sin Doomed, for self-doomed through free unchanging choice? One flame burns love toward love, and hate toward hate— The hate that, like the stubborn diamond-stone Amid the fiercest fires rebellious, bides Still, in love's sevenfold-heated furnace, hate. That flame is the white flame of holiness— Which God is, and whose other name is love." "God is a dreadful thought," said Stephen. "Yea," Said Paul; "such Jacob felt it when he cried, 'How dreadful is this place!' and Bethel named The place where God was and he knew it not. God is a dreadful thought, dreadful as sweet— The sweetness and the dreadfulness are one. But never was the dreadfulness so sweet, The sweetness never yet so dreadful shown, As then when Jesus died on Calvary! Shroud thyself, Stephen, from the dreadfulness, Felt to be too intolerably bright, In the cool, shadowing, sheltering thought, so nigh, Of mercy, mercy, still in judgment sheathed." "I feel the buoyance of my spirit sink, Oppressed by the great weight of these thy thoughts," I wait to hear what God the Lord will speak." "Hearken," said Paul. "Those fearful words of curse Which late thou nigh hadst turned to blasphemy, Daring to lade them with thy personal spite Against a neighbor man, whom we must love, Until we know hereafter, which God fend! That he bides reprobate, self-reprobate— Those maledictions dire, through David breathed, Express not human hate, but hate divine, Revealed in forms of human speech, and, too, Inspired in whoso can the height attain To side with God, and passionlessly damn, As if with highest passion, any found— Whom, known not yet, even to himself not known, Much less to thee or me, but known to God, And to be known, in that great day, to all— Fixed in his final choice of evil for good. Henceforward, Stephen, when thou sayest that psalm, Say it and tremble, lest thyself be he, The man thou cursest in its awful curse!" "If it were right," said Stephen, after pause Prolonged in solemn chiding of himself, "If it were right and seemly, things profane To mingle with things sacred so—I think Perforce now of a certain tragedy I read once by that Grecian Sophocles, Wherein a Theban king, one Œdipus, Denounces on a murderer frightful doom, Dreaming not he—though every reader knows— The murderer he so curses is himself. I shudder when I think, 'Were it to be That the fierce blasting I invoked to fall Upon another's head, I drew on mine: "Cursing he loved, and cursing fell on him!"' Forefend it God, and Christ with blessing fill This heart of mine, too hasting prone to hate!" "Amen!" said Paul, "thou prayest for me and thee!" Out of the depths of the long hush that then Followed between those midnight travellers, Emerging, like a diver of the sea That brings up dripping pearl from sunken cave And, gladdened, lifts it flashing to the sun, Not turning while he spoke his countenance Toward him, but fixed right forward keeping it, Intent, as on an object not of sight, Before him held with unmaterial hand, An unmaterial treasure passing price, Imagined fair by the creating soul— Said, with such cheerful rally in the voice As one invites with, some delight to share: "Wilt thou hear, Stephen? I have been revolving In form a kind of hymn concerning love, Which, in a letter, some twelve months ago, I wrote the church in Corinth. There was need, For they were sore at strife among themselves, Vying with one another to outdo In divers showy gifts miraculous, Or outward deeds that daze the eyes of men: Tongues, prophecies, the keys of mysteries, High knowledges, sublime degrees of faith, Almsgivings to impoverishment, stout heart To brave devouring flames in testimony— All these things,
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