"O Saul," said Rachel, "in what history Of marvel following marvel has thy life, Since when that noon Christ met thee in thy way Damascus-ward, been portioned out to thee! The stories of the prophets old whom God Wrought through to show His people how behind The thick veil of His outward handiwork He Himself lived and was a present God-- Those tales of wonders, let me own it, Saul, Had grown to me to seem so far away From our time, and so alien from the things We with our eyes behold, hear with our ears, Much more, with these our hands perform, that I Almost had fallen, not into disbelief (Not that, ever, I trust--nay, God forbid!) Concerning them, but into a listless mind Which to itself no image of them framed-- Fault well-nigh worse than outright disbelief! That now the things themselves, nay, things more strange, Should be by God repeated in the world, Nor only so, that one of mine own blood, My brother, should a chosen vessel be Of this great grace of God through Christ to men-- This less with wonder than with awe fills me, And I--believe not, faith were name too faint For passion such as mine is--I adore!" Paul bent on Rachel eyes unutterable Wherein a sense of sympathy serene Betwixt himself and her he talked with, shone, And they twain dwelt in a suspense supreme, Silent, of adoration where they stood-- The rapture of doxology unbreathed To either doubled as by other shared. At length Paul spoke; his tones intense and low Thrilled through the ear of Rachel to her heart: "O Rachel, He who out of darkness once Bade the light shine, God, shined into our hearts Enkindling there this dayspring from on high, This light of knowing from the face of Christ The glory inexpressible of God!"