A league now measured under the still heaven-- Quiet, they twain, as the beholding stars-- And Stephen heard the silence at his side Softly become the sound of a low voice. As when the ground parts and a buried seed-- Quickened already in that genial womb, But viewless--steals from darkness into light, So, with such unperceived transition, now, Melodious meditation in Paul's heart Grew out of secret silence into song. Stephen, who, from his very cradle taught, The holy lore of Scripture had by heart, Knew the subdued preamble that he heard For echo from the music of a psalm. 'Mine uncle of Gamaliel muses!' he Felt from the moment that thus Paul began: "Yea, so He giveth His belovéd sleep! Blesséd be God, who such a gift gave him! Blesséd be God, who yet such gift from me Withholds, gift longed for, but awaited still With patience--till His pleasure to bestow! Blesséd be God! He doeth all things well! It may be I shall wake until He come! But if I sleep, I still shall sleep in Him, For so He giveth His belovéd sleep! Sweet gift, and sure the way of giving sweet, Since it will be in Him, in Him, in Him-- However long hence, and however harsh, The lullaby may be that brings the sleep, At last, at last, the sleep will be in Him! To wake to Jesus, or in Him to sleep, Whichever lot for me He choose, I choose. His choice I do not know, but He knows mine; My will, he knows, is His, for Him in me To choose with, or His will is mine, for me In Him to choose with, now and evermore." "Amen!" Paul murmured, with such voice as if The prayer he uttered turned to sacrament.