The Two Brothers.

IN all the annals of the martyrs there is nothing much more pathetic than the following incident of the two brothers.
They had their home, hundreds of years ago, maid the Alps; they refused to bow down in the superstitious idolatry of Rome, and for their contumacy they were cast into prison.
We know little of their history, but this we do know, that the edict went forth that one of them mast die; it did not say which, but one must die.
There was an affecting scene between the brothers in the cell, each wanting to die, and each one trying to persuade the other to live. This went on for some time until at last the younger had his way, and the elder went home alone.
Oh! Christians, who may read this and the lines following, are you true enough to Christ to die for Him? There will be no power given to us to die for Christ unless we live for Christ. In these days of coldness of heart and departure from the Master, are we hard following after Christ? In these days, when it is fashionable to wear the cross, but not to bear it, are we content to take up our cross and follow Him? May God grant that “this mind may be in us, that was also in Christ Jesus.”
And now let us tell in verse what we have been speaking of in prose.
There were two brothers in a lonely cell,
And on the morrow, one of them must die.
It said not which, but so the edict ran,
And there was strife betwixt the two, for each
Wished for the death, that could but come to one.
Fair-haired and beautiful the younger was;
Upon his brow the open look of truth
Sat like a glory, and his fair young face,
Seemed made for woman’s love, he was the one,
His mother’s best beloved, her latest born.
The elder was dark-haired, and browned with toil;
The deeper light of manhood in his eye,
Darkened with sadness of an inward woe.
They sat with arms entwined upon a seat
Rough hewn and hard, against the prison wall,
And to the elder’s earnest face there came,
As he gazed fondly on his brother’s face,
The impress of a sorrowing, yearning love,
Too deep for words; and now a sweet sad smile,
Played on his lips, as on the upturned face,
Shadowed with waving hair, he saw the look
Of earnest purpose; and those pleading eyes,
So rich with dark blue light, that met his own.
He placed his hand upon his brow, and passed
His fingers through the shining gold above,
And then he spake:
“Our mother weeps alone
Amid the hills whereon we used to play;
Weeps on her knees whene’er she thinks of thee,
Her latest born, her best beloved son.
Go home, Francesco, dry our mother’s tears;
Go home and trim our vines, and tend the sheep,
Our white-haired parents need thee, I will stay.
Tell them I blessed them both before I died,
Take then my place, they’ll need thee all the more,
And love thee all the better when I’m gone.
‘Tis not so hard to die, for I have loved
My Saviour even better than my life —
Nay, interrupt me not — it was this morn
I told them, e’er the convent bell had rung
The vesper hour, that you should dry their tears;
I have their blessing, and their last farewell.”
‘Twas thus he spake, and then he bent to kiss
His brother’s brow, and wait his heart’s reply.
The brothers gazed, with arms entwined, awhile
Into each other’s eyes, until at last
The blue eyes filled with tears, and a faint flush
Rose on Francesco’s cheek, like sunlight falls
Upon the morning dew, and then he spake:
“Brother! it cannot be —
As I have lived for God, so will I die,
And thank Him for the martyr’s crown above.
I’ve looked my last upon our native hills,
And those dear faces I have loved so well;
‘Twill not be long before we meet in heaven.
Tell our dear mother that my God was good,
And comfort her and shield her with your love:
Give her this ringlet, and this broken chain,
And tell them that I loved them to the end.
Be thou a truer son, and with thy love,
Fill up the place to them that once was mine.”
And then the generous strife went on awhile,
And none would yield, until at last the time
Drew near for parting, and the elder strove
Yet more to shake his brother’s purpose now,
But strove in vain, for every word that came
Of love or of entreaty from his lips,
Had their quick answer from Francesco’s faith.
And when the hour was come, and they must part,
The elder ‘mid embraces sought once more
To make him go — and leave him to the death
Awaiting one, and thus he shake:
“Go forth, my brother, I would rather die.”
“And so would I.”
“How dark without thee will our home become?”
“You will be home.”
“The morning worship, and the evening prayer?”
“You will be there.”
“Our father’s sorrow, and our mother’s woe?”
“God wills it so.”
“Thou shalt not die, for 1 will die for thee.”
“It may not be.”
“For His dear sake, who taught us how to die.”
“Good bye! Good bye!”
“Here on my knees, my brother — let me stay.”
“I want to pray.”
“Why should thy early youth to death be given?”
“I go to heaven.”
“How can I leave thee in this prison cell P “
“Farewell! Farewell!”
“What message shall I carry to our home?”
“God’s will is done.”