His eye now dim, as too his natural force Abated--for the long increase of years, Each lightly like a gentle white snow-shower Descending on his shoulders scarcely felt, Grew a great weight at length that his tall form Stooped, and his steps made gradually slow-- Gamaliel, stayed in hand by Stephen, walked, Gazed on of all with worship where he passed Gathering the salutations of the street, Meet revenue of his reverend age and fame, Until he entered at Antonia gate. Paul met his master with a welcoming kiss, Then led him forward to a couch, whereon The aged man his limbs to rest composed. There kneeling by him, Paul upon his neck Wept in warm tears the pathos of his love. "O great and gentle master of my youth, Rabban Gamaliel, Saul, in many things Other than he was erst, is still the same In his old love and loyalty to thee!" Such words Paul found, when he his heart could tame From inarticulate passion into speech. "Yea, changed, my son, in many things art thou," Gravely Gamaliel framed reply to Paul, "In many things changed, and in some things much. Thou too, my son, art older grown, like me-- Nay, like me, not. Thou art but older; I, Past being older, now am truly old. Yet old art thou beyond thy proper years; Life has been more than lapse of time to thee, To bleach the youthful raven of thy locks To such a whiteness as of whited wool; And all thine aspect is of winter age, Closed without autumn on short summer time. It should not grieve me, but indeed it grieves, To see thee thus before thy season old. I could have wished to live myself in thee, Hereafter, a long life of use again, As that good Hillel lived--not worthily-- Again in me, Gamaliel, hastening hence, I now, less happy, none inheriting me. As my soul's son, O Saul, I counted thee, Thee, chosen of all my pupils to such kin; That thou, of all, shouldst separate thyself From the good part, and from thy father's side, To choose thy lot with aliens and with foes! What ruin of what hope! Already now, The prime, the flower, the glory, of the strength Unmatchable for promise that was Saul, Spent, squandered, irrecoverably waste! Nor this even yet the worst; for, worse than waste, Saul has all used to rend what was to mend, To scatter what to gather need was sore, And what asked wise upbuilding to pull down. O Saul, Saul, Saul, my son, what hast thou wrought! O Israel, O my people, this from Saul!"