A wary spirit Nicodemus was, With impulses toward good, but weak in will, And selfish as the timid are. His heart Was a divided empire in his breast, Half firm for God, but half to self seduced. His fellows trusted him accordingly; Hate him they could not, but they did not love. Some guessed him guilty of discipleship To Jesus, secretly indulged through fear. This their suspicion the suspect in turn Suspected, and the uneasy consciousness Made him more curious than his wont to move By indirection toward his present aim. What he wished was, to serve the prisoners And not disserve himself--a double end, Rendering his counsels double; but as such Could speak, now Nicodemus rising spoke. With sinuous slow approach winning his way Devious whither he wished to go, like those Creatures that backward facing forward creep And seem retiring still while they advance, So Nicodemus wound him toward his goal, Well-chosen, as he said: "Let us be wise; Beyond our purpose were not well to go, Were foolish. Cruelty is not, I trust, Our spirit; God is just, but cruel not. Let us, God's sons, be just indeed, like God, But then, like God, also not cruel. Stripes Are heavy, howsoever lightly laid On freeborn men. The shame is punishment; A wounded spirit who can bear? Through flesh You smite the smarting spirit, every blow. Remember too that lacerated flesh Has lips to plead with, makes its mute appeal To pity--eloquence incapable Of being answered, charging cruelty; Whereas the bleeding spirit, bleeding hid, No cruelty imputes, reports no pain, But, pith of self-respect clean gone from one, Glazes the eye, dejects the countenance, Changes the voice to hollow, takes the spring Out of the step, and leaves the man a wretch To suffer on an object of contempt More than compassion--hopelessly bereft Of power to captivate the public ear, Which ever itches to be caught the prey Of orator full-blooded, iron lungs, Brass front, a lusty human animal. Such make of men, through shame of public stripes, Transformed to eunuchs--this, sure, were enough; Nay, for our purpose, more than more would be. And even so much as this, yea, lightest stripe, Drawing a sequel such as I have said-- Brethren, for me, my soul revolts from it; I feel it cruel, fear it impious. Behooves we ponder well Gamaliel's word; And, if to slay were haply against God To be found fighting, why not, then, to scourge?" "Such fine-spun sentiment," another now, Concurring, though sarcastically, said, "In pity of the victim of the scourge For suffering inwardly endured through shame, Supposes that your victim is endowed With some small faculty for feeling shame, Which in the present case asks evidence.