He mightily a mighty swell that yearned To be a storm within him, ruled, and said: "Nay, Ruth, but we forget. Life beyond life Remains to us and to our children. We, Forgetfully, desire and hope and fear As if death bounded all. A little while And Christ will come again. Then they that sleep In Him will wake to Him, and they that still Wake when He comes, but love Him, will, with those Late sleeping in Him now awake, ascend To meet the Lord descending, in the air: Thenceforward all that love Him, loved of Him, Will be forever with Him where He is, Beholding there His glory. Blessed state! No tears, no fears, no hearts that break, no hearts That will not break, although they ache the more, Perhaps, God knows, not breaking--naught of these, And naught of any ill, but only peace, Joy, love, security of peace and joy And love, and fellowship in peace and joy And love, forever, perfect, more and more, With vision beatific still of Him Who washed us in His blood and made us kings And priests to God. Ruth, here is hope indeed For us that will not make ashamed." But Ruth Unhearing heard and was not comforted. She raised her head from Stephen's breast, with act As if to part herself in hope from him, And, with regard made almost alien, said: "Hug thou thy hope, thy hope is not for me. He could not save himself, thy Christ, but died As the fool dieth--and as die wilt thou, If thou despise my counsel! Stephen, I Would rather take my lot a little less, Less large, less perfect, and less durable, Than that thou figurest in thy fantasy, So I might have it something different From that, real, substantial, palpable To sense, something whereof one could be sure. I am no visionary. Take, say I, With thanks the good God gives us now and here; Not spurn His bounty back into His face, And reach out emptied hands of wanton greed To grasp at more He has not offered us. We have no right to throw our life away!-- In hope of life hereafter, only ours Then when with patience our appointed time-- '_All_' our appointed time, Stephen--we wait, Till our change come." Ruth's chill repellent tone, Her mask of manner hard, could not deceive Her husband, who, through such disguise with pain Put on, well recognized a new device Of wife's love, versatile as resolute, Constraining tenderness to play severe. Yet not the less for that, more rather, he Felt at her words a dull weight of despair Oppress his spirit; he could only pray, In silent sorrow not to be expressed, "O Holy Ghost of God, pity and save!" A hundred times so praying for his wife, In anguished iteration o'er and o'er, Stephen not speaking sat, and speechless she.