Up the steep path had Paul the prisoner trod,
Past Cæsar's prison and his palace-gate,

Past the proud shrine of the triumphant god,

To where, the crown of all, sits Cæsar throned in state.

Before the massive bar he stands,

A bar of solid marble graven, And lays on it his fettered hands,

And speaks of love, and hope, and heaven.

And smiles; for he is not alone,

Though none may see his present Friend, His best-beloved, his faithful One,

Who will stand with him to the end.

What though that end be present pain

And death, his Lord will still deliver.
Death has no sting; yea, death is gain,
For it is life with him for ever.

Long ages passed, the mighty empire fell,
The Cæsar's palace lost in ruins lay;

Nor portico nor pillar stood to tell

Where Cæsar once had held imperial sway.

Then came an hour when the workman's spade
Disturbed the dust that ages gathered there;
Outlines of hall and temple bare were laid,
The shattered column and the crumbled stair.

Strange, 'mid the ruins of the Palatine

One fragment stands: a marble bar, snow-white, Carved from the solid mass, with trellised line

Still clear and sharp as when it first saw light. "And here," they say, was Cæsar's judgment-hall, This marble bar once fenced his ivory seat; Here before Nero once stood holy Paul."

O precinct hallowed by the martyr's feet!

Here many a stranger from a far-off land
Pauses to gaze where Paul once took his stand;
Before him at the bar he sees the saint,
Almost he hears the glowing words outpoured,
Almost he sees the presence, fair and faint,
Of Him who stood beside, the martyr's Lord.

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