With a torrent’s bliss, The Martyr Stephen receives The stones for his head, The stones for his breast, And smiles from his strength that believes: “Sweet stones of the brook!”--for this Is the singing, the song of his heart expressed, As he kneels, looking up, his hands outspread. A river of blood, the tide Of martyrdom, gathers round His soul as a stream; While the stones are drenched With tides of his blood as they bound From temple and mouth and side ... Stones of offence, dark stones from the torrent wrenched, Ye strike the trend of his joy as a dream! RELICS An alabaster box, A tomb of precious stone-- White, with white bars, as white As billows on a sea: With spaces where some flush Of sky-like rose is conscious and afraid Of whiteness and white bars. A lovely sepulchre of loveliest stone, This alabaster box-- Coy as a maiden’s blood in flush, White as a maiden’s breast in stretch, Alive with fear and grace; Transparent rose, Translucent white; A treasury of precious stone, A strange, long tomb.... ’Twas Maximin, who had this casket made, The holy Maximin, who travelled once With Mary Magdalen, and preached with her; Till on a wind as quiet As it had been a cloud, She was removed by Christ to dwell alone. Alone she dwelt, her peace A thought that never fell From its full tide. Ever beside her in her cave, A vase of golden curls, A clod of blooded earth. And when she died at last, and Maximin Must bury her; Being man and holy, in his love He laid her in an alabaster box, As she had laid her soul’s deep penitence, Her soul’s deep passion, a sweet balm, within An alabaster box: So Maximin gave Magdalen to God-- Shut as a spice in precious stone, In bland and flushing box Of alabaster stone. And knowing all her secrets, Maximin, Being man and holy, laid within The priceless cave of alabaster two Most precious, cherished things-- A vase of curly hair, A vase of golden web; A clod of withered soil, A clod of blooded earth.