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Title: Idylls of the Bible

Author: Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Release date: October 6, 2024 [eBook #74527]

Language: English

Original publication: US:

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK IDYLLS OF THE BIBLE ***

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Idylls of the Bible

...BY...

MRS. F. E. W. HARPER

PHILADELPHIA

1006 BAINBRIDGE STREET

1901

MOSES

A STORY OF THE NILE

THE PARTING.—CHAPTER I.

MOSES.

Kind and gracious princess, more than friend,

I’ve come to thank thee for thy goodness,

And to breathe into thy generous ears

My last and sad farewell. I go to join

The fortunes of my race, and to put aside

All other bright advantages, save

The approval of my conscience and the meed

Of rightly doing.

PRINCESS.

What means, my son, this strange election?

What wild chimera floats across thy mind?

What sudden impulse moves thy soul? Thou who

Hast only trod the court of kings, why seek

Instead the paths of labor? Thou, whose limbs

Have known no other garb than that which well

Befits our kingly state, why rather choose

The badge of servitude and toil?

MOSES.

Let me tell thee, gracious princess; ’tis no

Sudden freak nor impulse wild that moves my mind.

I feel an earnest purpose binding all

My soul unto a strong resolve, which bids

Me put aside all other ends and aims,

Until the hour shall come when God—the God

Our fathers loved and worshipped—shall break our chains,

And lead our willing feet to freedom.

PRINCESS.

Listen to me, Moses: thou art young,

And the warm blood of youth flushes thy veins

Like generous wine; thou wearest thy manhood

Like a crown; but what king e’er cast

His diadem in the dust, to be trampled

Down by every careless foot? Thou hast

Bright dreams and glowing hopes; could’st thou not live

Them out as well beneath the radiance

Of our throne as in the shadow of those

Bondage-darkened huts?

MOSES.

Within those darkened huts my mother plies her tasks,

My father bends to unrequited toil;

And bitter tears moisten the bread my brethren eat.

And when I gaze upon their cruel wrongs

The very purple on my limbs seems drenched

With blood, the warm blood of my own kindred race;

And then thy richest viands pall upon my taste,

And discord jars in every tone of song.

I cannot live in pleasure while they faint

In pain.

PRINCESS.

How like a dream the past floats back: it seems

But yesterday when I lay tossing upon

My couch of pain, a torpor creeping through

Each nerve, a fever coursing through my veins.

And there I lay, dreaming of lilies fair,

Of lotus flowers and past delights, and all

The bright, glad hopes, that give to early life

Its glow and flush; and thus day after day

Dragged its slow length along, until, one morn,

The breath of lilies, fainting on the air,

Floated into my room, and then I longed once more

To gaze upon the Nile, as on the face

Of a familiar friend, whose absence long

Had made a mournful void within the heart.

I summoned to my side my maids, and bade

Them place my sandals on my feet, and lead

Me to the Nile, where I might bathe my weary

Limbs within the cooling flood, and gather

Healing from the sacred stream.

I sought my favorite haunt, and, bathing, found

New tides of vigor coursing through my veins.

Refreshed, I sat me down to weave a crown of lotus leaves

And lilies fair, and while I sat in a sweet

Revery, dreaming of life and hope, I saw

A little wicker-basket hidden among

The flags and lilies of the Nile, and I called

My maidens and said, “Nillias and Osiria

Bring me that little ark which floats beside

The stream.” They ran and brought me a precious burden.

’Twas an ark woven with rushes and daubed

With slime, and in it lay a sleeping child;

His little hand amid his clustering curls,

And a bright flush upon his glowing cheek.

He wakened with a smile, and reached out his hand

To meet the welcome of the mother’s kiss,

When strange faces met his gaze, and he drew back

With a grieved, wondering look, while disappointment

Shook the quivering lip that missed the mother’s

Wonted kiss, and the babe lifted his voice and wept.

Then my heart yearned towards him, and I resolved

That I would brave my father’s wrath and save

The child; but while I stood gazing upon

His wondrous beauty, I saw beside me

A Hebrew girl, her eyes bent on me

With an eager, questioning look, and drawing

Near, she timidly said, “shall I call a nurse?”

I bade her go; she soon returned, and with her

Came a woman of the Hebrew race, whose

Sad, sweet, serious eyes seemed overflowing

With a strange and sudden joy. I placed the babe

Within her arms and said, “Nurse this child for me;”

And the babe nestled there like one at home,

While o’er the dimples of his face rippled

The brightest, sweetest smiles, and I was well

Content to leave him in her care; and well

Did she perform her part. When many days had

Passed she brought the child unto the palace;

And one morning, while I sat toying with

His curls and listening to the prattle of his

Untrained lips, my father, proud and stately,

Saw me bending o’er the child and said,

“Charmian, whose child is this? who of my lords

Calls himself father to this goodly child?

He surely must be a happy man.”

Then I said, “Father, he is mine. He is a

Hebrew child that I have saved from death.” He

Suddenly recoiled, as if an adder

Had stung him, and said, “Charmian, take that

Child hence. How darest thou bring a member

Of that mean and servile race within my doors?

Nay, rather let me send for Nechos, whose

Ready sword shall rid me of his hateful presence.”

Then kneeling at his feet, and catching

Hold of his royal robes, I said, “Not so,

Oh! honored father, he is mine; I snatched

Him from the hungry jaws of death, and foiled

The greedy crocodile of his prey; he has

Eaten bread within thy palace walls, and thy

Salt lies upon his fresh young lips; he has

A claim upon thy mercy.”

“Charmian,” he said

“I have decreed that every man child of that

Hated race shall die. The oracles have said

The pyramids shall wane before their shadow,

And from them a star shall rise whose light shall

Spread over earth a baleful glow; and this is why

I root them from the land; their strength is weakness

To my throne. I shut them from the light lest they

Bring darkness to my kingdom. Now, Charmian,

Give me up the child, and let him die.”

Then clasping the child closer to my heart,

I said, “the pathway to his life is through my own;

Around that life I throw my heart, a wall

Of living, loving clay.” Dark as the thunder

Clouds of distant lands became my father’s brow,

And his eyes flashed with the fierce lightnings

Of his wrath; but while I plead, with eager

Eyes upturned, I saw a sudden change come

Over him; his eyes beamed with unwonted

Tenderness, and he said, “Charmian, arise,

Thy prayer is granted; just then thy dead mother

Came to thine eyes, and the light of Asenath

Broke over thy face. Asenath was the light

Of my home; the star that faded out too

Suddenly from my dwelling, and left my life

To darkness, grief and pain, and for her sake,

Not thine, I’ll spare the child.” And thus I saved

Thee twice—once from the angry sword and once

From the devouring flood. Moses, thou art

Doubly mine; as such I claimed thee then, as such

I claim thee now. I’ve nursed no other child

Upon my knee, and pressed upon no other

Lips the sweetest kisses of my love, and now,

With rash and careless hand, thou dost thrust aside that love.

There was a painful silence, a silence

So hushed and still that you might have almost

Heard the hurried breathing of one and the quick

Throbbing of the other’s heart: for Moses,

He was slow of speech, but she was eloquent

With words of tenderness and love, and had breathed

Her full heart into her lips; but there was

Firmness in the young man’s choice, and he beat back

The opposition of her lips with the calm

Grandeur of his will, and again he essayed to speak.

MOSES.

Gracious lady, thou remembrest well

The Hebrew nurse to whom thou gavest thy foundling.

That woman was my mother: from her lips I

Learned the grand traditions of our race that float.

With all their weird and solemn beauty, around

Our wrecked and blighted fortunes. How oft!

With kindling eye and glowing cheek, forgetful

Of the present pain, she would lead us through

The distant past: the past, hallowed by deeds

Of holy faith and lofty sacrifice.

How she would tell us of Abraham,

The father of our race, that he dwelt in Ur;

Of the Chaldees, and when the Chaldean king

Had called him to his sacrifice, that he

Had turned from his dumb idols to the living

God, and wandered out from kindred, home and race,

Led by his faith in God alone; and she would

Tell us,—(we were three,) my brother Aaron,

The Hebrew girl thou sentest to call a nurse,

And I, her last, her loved and precious child;

She would tell us that one day our father

Abraham heard a voice, bidding him offer

Up in sacrifice the only son of his

Beautiful and beloved Sarah; that the father’s

Heart shrank not before the bitter test of faith,

But he resolved to give his son to God

As a burnt offering upon Moriah’s mount;

That the uplifted knife glittered in the morning

Sun, when, sweeter than the music of a thousand

Harps, he heard a voice bidding him stay his hand,

And spare the child; and how his faith, like gold

Tried in the fiercest fire, shone brighter through

Its fearful test. And then she would tell us

Of a promise, handed down from sire to son,

That God, the God our fathers loved and worshiped,

Would break our chains, and bring to us a great

Deliverance; that we should dwell in peace

Beneath our vines and palms, our flocks and herds

Increase, and joyful children crowd our streets;

And then she would lift her eyes unto the far

Off hills and tell us of the patriarchs

Of our line, who sleep in distant graves within

That promised land; and now I feel the hour

Draws near which brings deliverance to our race.

PRINCESS.

These are but the dreams of thy young fancy;

I cannot comprehend thy choice. I have heard

Of men who have waded through slaughter

To a throne; of proud ambitions, struggles

Fierce and wild for some imagined good; of men

Who have even cut in twain the crimson threads

That lay between them and a throne; but I

Never heard of men resigning ease for toil,

The splendor of a palace for the squalor

Of a hut, and casting down a diadem

To wear a servile badge.

Sadly she gazed

Upon the fair young face lit with its lofty

Faith and high resolves—the dark prophetic eyes

Which seemed to look beyond the present pain

Unto the future greatness of his race.

As she stood before him in the warm

Loveliness of her ripened womanhood,

Her languid eyes glowed with unwonted fire,

And the bright tropical blood sent its quick

Flushes o’er the olive of her cheek, on which

Still lay the lingering roses of her girlhood.

Grief, wonder, and surprise flickered like shadows

O’er her face as she stood slowly crushing

With unconscious hand the golden tassels

Of her crimson robe. She had known life only

By its brightness, and could not comprehend

The grandeur of the young man’s choice; but she

Felt her admiration glow before the earnest

Faith that tore their lives apart and led him

To another destiny. She had hoped to see

The crown of Egypt on his brow, the sacred

Leopard skin adorn his shoulders, and his seat

The throne of the proud Pharaoh’s; but now her

Dream had faded out and left a bitter pang

Of anguish in its stead. And thus they parted,

She to brood in silence o’er her pain, and he

To take his mission from the hands of God

And lead his captive race to freedom.

With silent lips but aching heart she bowed

Her queenly head and let him pass, and he

Went forth to share the fortune of his race,

Esteeming that as better far than pleasures

Bought by sin and gilded o’er with vice.

And he had chosen well, for on his brow

God poured the chrism of a holy work.

And thus anointed he has stood a bright

Ensample through the changing centuries of time

CHAPTER II.

It was a great change from the splendor, light

And pleasure of a palace to the lowly huts

Of those who sighed because of cruel bondage.

As he passed

Into the outer courts of that proud palace,

He paused a moment just to gaze upon

The scenes ’mid which his early life had passed—

The pleasant haunts amid the fairest flowers,—

The fountains tossing on the air their silver spray,—

The statues breathing music soft and low

To greet the first faint flushes of the morn,—

The obelisks that rose in lofty grandeur

From their stony beds—the sphynxes gaunt and grim,

With unsolved riddles on their lips—and all

The bright creation’s painters art and sculptors

Skill had gathered in those regal halls, where mirth

And dance, and revelry, and song had chased

With careless feet the bright and fleeting hours.

He was leaving all; but no regrets came

Like a shadow o’er his mind, for he had felt

The quickening of a higher life, as if his

Soul had wings and he were conscious of their growth;

And yet there was a tender light in those

Dark eyes which looked their parting on the scenes

Of beauty, where his life had been a joyous

Dream enchanted with delight; but he trampled

On each vain regret as on a vanquished foe,

And went forth a strong man, girded with lofty

Purposes and earnest faith. He journeyed on

Till palaces and domes and lofty fanes,

And gorgeous temples faded from his sight,

And the lowly homes of Goshen came in view.

There he saw the women of his race kneading

Their tale of bricks; the sons of Abraham

Crouching beneath their heavy burdens. He saw

The increasing pallor on his sisters cheek,

The deepening shadows on his mother’s brow,

The restless light that glowed in Aaron’s eye,

As if a hidden fire were smouldering

In his brain; and bending o’er his mother

In a tender, loving way, he said, “Mother,

I’ve come to share the fortunes of my race,—

To dwell within these lowly huts,—to wear

The badge of servitude and toil, and eat

The bitter bread of penury and pain.”

A sudden light beamed from his mother’s eye,

And she said, “How’s this, my son? but yesterday

Two Hebrews, journeying from On to Goshen,

Told us they had passed the temple of the Sun

But dared not enter, only they had heard

That it was a great day in On; that thou hadst

Forsworn thy kindred, tribe and race; hadst bowed

Thy knee to Egypt’s vain and heathen worship,

Hadst denied the God of Abraham, of Isaac,

And of Jacob, and from henceforth wouldst

Be engrafted in Pharaoh’s regal line,

And be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter.

When thy father Amram heard the cruel news

He bowed his head upon his staff and wept.

But I had stronger faith than that. By faith

I hid thee when the bloody hands of Pharaoh

Were searching ’mid our quivering heart strings

Dooming our sons to death; by faith I wove

The rushes of thine ark and laid thee ’mid

The flags and lilies of the Nile, and saw

The answer to that faith when Pharaoh’s daughter

Placed thee in my arms, and bade me nurse the child

For her; and by that faith sustained, I heard

As idle words the cruel news that stabbed

Thy father like a sword.”

“The Hebrews did not hear aright; last week

There was a great day in On, from Esoan’s gate

Unto the mighty sea; the princes, lords

And chamberlains of Egypt were assembled;

The temple of the sun was opened. Isis

And Osiris were unveiled before the people,

Apis and Orus were crowned with flowers;

Golden censers breathed their fragrance on the air;

The sacrifice was smoking on the altar;

The first fruits of the Nile lay on the tables

Of the sun: the music rose in lofty swells,

Then sank in cadences so soft and low

Till all the air grew tremulous with rapture.

The priests of On were there, with sacred palms

Within their hands and lotus leaves upon their

Brows; Pharaoh and his daughter sat waiting

In their regal chairs; all were ready to hear

Me bind my soul to Egypt, and to swear

Allegiance to her gods. The priests of On

Drew near to lay their hands upon my head

And bid me swear, ‘Now, by Osiris, judge

Of all the dead, and Isis, mother of us

All,’ that henceforth I’d forswear my kindred,

Tribe and race; would have no other gods

Than those of Egypt; would be engrafted

Into Pharaoh’s royal line, and be called

The son of Pharaoh’s daughter. Then, mother

Dear, I lived the past again. Again I sat

Beside thee, my lips apart with childish

Wonder, my eager eyes uplifted to thy

Glowing face, and my young soul gathering

Inspiration from thy words. Again I heard

Thee tell the grand traditions of our race,

The blessed hopes and glorious promises

That weave their golden threads among the sombre

Tissues of our lives, and shimmer still amid

The gloom and shadows of our lot. Again

I heard thee tell of Abraham, with his constant

Faith and earnest trust in God, unto whom

The promise came that in his seed should all

The nations of the earth be blessed. Of Isaac

Blessing with disappointed lips his first-born son,

From whom the birthright had departed. Of Jacob,

With his warm affections and his devious ways,

Flying before the wrath of Esau; how he

Slumbered in the wild, and saw amid his dreams

A ladder reaching to the sky, on which God’s

Angels did descend, and waking, with a solemn

Awe o’ershadowing all, his soul exclaimed, ‘How

Dreadful is this place. Lo! God is here, and I

Knew it not.’ Of Joseph, once a mighty prince

Within this land, who shrank in holy horror

From the soft white hand that beckoned him to sin

Whose heart, amid the pleasures, pomp and pride

Of Egypt, was ever faithful to his race,

And when his life was trembling on its frailest chord

He turned his dying eyes to Canaan, and made

His brethren swear that they would make his grave

Among the patriarchs of his line, because

Machpelah’s cave, where Abraham bowed before

The sons of Heth, and bought a place to lay

His loved and cherished dead, was dearer to his

Dying heart than the proudest tomb amid

The princely dead of Egypt.

Then, like the angels, mother dear, who met

Our father Jacob on his way, thy words

Came back as messengers of light to guide

My steps, and I refused to be called the son

Of Pharaoh’s daughter. I saw the priests of On

Grow pale with fear, an ashen terror creeping

O’er the princess’ face, while Pharaoh’s brow grew

Darker than the purple of his cloak. But I

Endured, as seeing him who hides his face

Behind the brightness of his glory.

And thus I left the pomp and pride of Egypt

To cast my lot among the people of my race.”

FLIGHT INTO MIDIAN.—CHAPTER III.

The love of Moses for his race soon found

A stern expression. Pharaoh was building

A pyramid; ambitious, cold and proud,

He scrupled not at means to gain his ends.

When he feared the growing power of Israel

He stained his hands in children’s blood, and held

A carnival of death in Goshen; but now

He wished to hand his name and memory

Down unto the distant ages, and instead

Of lading that memory with the precious

Fragrance of the kindest deeds and words, he

Essayed to write it out in stone, as cold

And hard, and heartless as himself.

And Israel was

The fated race to whom the cruel tasks

Were given. Day after day a cry of wrong

And anguish, some dark deed of woe and crime,

Came to the ear of Moses, and he said,

“These reports are ever harrowing my soul;

I will go unto the fields where Pharaoh’s

Officers exact their labors, and see

If these things be so—if they smite the feeble

At their tasks, and goad the aged on to toils

Beyond their strength—if neither age nor sex

Is spared the cruel smiting of their rods.”

And Moses went to see his brethren.

’Twas eventide,

And the laborers were wending their way

Unto their lowly huts. ’Twas a sad sight,—

The young girls walked without the bounding steps

Of youth, with faces prematurely old,

As if the rosy hopes and sunny promises

Of life had never flushed their cheeks with girlish

Joy; and there were men whose faces seemed to say

We bear our lot in hopeless pain, we’ve bent unto

Our burdens until our shoulders fit them,

And as slaves we crouch beneath our servitude

And toil. But there were men whose souls were cast

In firmer moulds, men with dark secretive eyes,

Which seemed to say, to-day we bide our time,

And hide our wrath in every nerve, and only

Wait a fitting hour to strike the hands that press

Us down. Then came the officers of Pharaoh;

They trod as lords, their faces flushed with pride

And insolence, watching the laborers

Sadly wending their way from toil to rest.

And Moses’ heart swelled with a mighty pain; sadly

Musing, he sought a path that led him

From the busy haunts of men. But even there

The cruel wrong trod in his footsteps; he heard

A heavy groan, then harsh and bitter words,

And, looking back, he saw an officer

Of Pharaoh smiting with rough and cruel hand

An aged man. Then Moses’ wrath o’erflowed

His lips, and every nerve did tremble

With a sense of wrong, and bounding forth he

Cried unto the smiter, “Stay thy hand; seest thou

That aged man? His head is whiter than our

Desert sands; his limbs refuse to do thy

Bidding because thy cruel tasks have drained

Away their strength.” The Egyptian raised his eyes

With sudden wonder; who was this that dared dispute

His power? Only a Hebrew youth. His

Proud lip curved in scornful anger, and he

Waved a menace with his hand, saying, “back

To thy task base slave, nor dare resist the will

Of Pharaoh.” Then Moses’ wrath o’erleaped the bounds

Of prudence, and with a heavy blow he felled

The smiter to the earth, and Israel had

One tyrant less. Moses saw the mortal paleness

Chase the flushes from the Egyptian’s face,

The whitening lips that breathed no more defiance

And the relaxing tension of the well knit limbs;

And when he knew that he was dead, he hid

Him in the sand and left him to his rest.

Another day Moses walked

Abroad, and saw two brethren striving

For mastery; and then his heart grew full

Of tender pity. They were brethren, sharers

Of a common wrong: should not their wrongs more

Closely bind their hearts, and union, not division,

Be their strength? And feeling thus, he said, “ye

Are brethren, wherefore do ye strive together?”

But they threw back his words in angry tones

And asked if he had come to judge them, and would

Mete to them the fate of the Egyptian?

Then Moses knew the sand had failed to keep

His secret, that his life no more was safe

In Goshen, and he fled unto the deserts

Of Arabia and became a shepherd

For the priest of Midian.

CHAPTER IV.

Men grow strong in action, but in solitude

Their thoughts are ripened. Like one who cuts away

The bridge on which he has walked in safety

To the other side, so Moses cut off all retreat

To Pharaoh’s throne, and did choose the calling

Most hateful to an Egyptian; he became

A shepherd, and led his flocks and herds amid

The solitudes and wilds of Midian, where he

Nursed in silent loneliness his earnest faith

In God and a constant love for kindred, tribe

And race. Years stole o’er him, but they took

No atom from his strength, nor laid one heavy weight

Upon his shoulders. The down upon his face

Had ripened to a heavy beard; the fire

That glowed within his youthful eye had deepened

To a calm and steady light, and yet his heart

Was just as faithful to his race as when he had

Stood in Pharaoh’s courts and bade farewell

Unto his daughter.

There was a look of patient waiting on his face,

A calm, grand patience, like one who had lifted

Up his eyes to God and seen, with meekened face,

The wings of some great destiny o’ershadowing

All his life with strange and solemn glory.

But the hour came when he must pass from thought

To action,—when the hope of many years

Must reach its grand fruition, and Israel’s

Great deliverance dawn. It happened thus:

One day, as Moses led his flocks, he saw

A fertile spot skirted by desert sands,—

A pleasant place for flocks and herds to nip

The tender grass and rest within its shady nooks;

And as he paused and turned, he saw a bush with fire

Aglow; from root to stem a lambent flame

Sent up its jets and sprays of purest light,

And yet the bush, with leaves uncrisped, uncurled,

Was just as green and fresh as if the breath

Of early spring were kissing every leaf.

Then Moses said I’ll turn aside to see

This sight, and as he turned he heard a voice

Bidding him lay his sandals by, for Lo! he

Stood on holy ground. Then Moses bowed his head

Upon his staff and spread his mantle o’er

His face, lest he should see the dreadful majesty

Of God; and there, upon that lonely spot,

By Horeb’s mount, his shrinking hands received

The burden of his God, which bade him go

To Egypt’s guilty king, and bid him let

The oppressed go free.

Commissioned thus

He gathered up his flocks and herds and sought

The tents of Jethro, and said “I pray thee

Let me go and see if yet my kindred live;”

And Jethro bade him go in peace, nor sought

To throw himself across the purpose of his soul.

Yet there was a tender parting in that home;

There were moistened eyes, and quivering lips,

And lingering claspings of the parting hand, as Jethro

And his daughters stood within the light of that

Clear morn, and gave to Moses and his wife

And sons their holy wishes and their sad farewells.

For he had been a son and brother in that home

Since first with manly courtesy he had filled

The empty pails of Reuel’s daughters, and found

A shelter ’neath his tent when flying from

The wrath of Pharaoh.

They journeyed on,

Moses, Zipporah and sons, she looking back

With tender love upon the home she had left,

With all its precious memories crowding round

Her heart, and he with eager eyes tracking

His path across the desert, longing once more

To see the long-lost faces of his distant home,

The loving eyes so wont to sun him with their

Welcome, and the aged hands that laid upon

His youthful head their parting blessing. They

Journeyed on till morning’s flush and noonday

Splendor glided into the softened, mellowed

Light of eve, and the purple mists were deep’ning

On the cliffs and hills, when Horeb, dual

Crowned, arose before him; and there he met

His brother Aaron, sent by God to be

His spokesman and to bear him company

To Pharaoh. Tender and joyous was their greeting

They talked of home and friends until the lighter

Ripple of their thoughts in deeper channels flowed;

And then they talked of Israel’s bondage,

And the great deliverance about to dawn

Upon the fortunes of their race; and Moses

Told him of the burning bush, and how the message

Of his God was trembling on his lips. And thus

They talked until the risen moon had veiled

The mount in soft and silvery light; and then

They rested until morn, and rising up, refreshed

From sleep, pursued their way until they reached

The land of Goshen, and gathered up the elders

Of their race, and told them of the message

Of their Father’s God. Then eager lips caught up

The words of hope and passed the joyful “news

Around, and all the people bowed their heads

And lifted up their hearts in thankfulness

To God.”

That same day

Moses sought an audience with the king. He found

Him on his throne surrounded by the princes

Of his court, who bowed in lowly homage

At his feet. And Pharaoh heard with curving lip

And flushing cheek the message of the Hebrew’s God,

Then asked in cold and scornful tones, “Has

Israel a God, and if so where has he dwelt

For ages? As the highest priest of Egypt

I have prayed to Isis, and the Nile has

Overflowed her banks and filled the land

With plenty, but these poor slaves have cried unto

Their God, then crept in want and sorrow

To their graves. Surely Mizraim’s God is strong

And Israel’s is weak; then wherefore should

I heed his voice, or at his bidding break

A single yoke?” Thus reasoned that proud king,

And turned a deafened ear unto the words

Of Moses and his brother, and yet he felt

Strangely awed before their presence, because

They stood as men who felt the grandeur

Of their mission, and thought not of themselves,

But of their message.

CHAPTER V.

On the next day Pharaoh called a council

Of his mighty men, and before them laid

The message of the brethren: then Amorphel,

Keeper of the palace and nearest lord

Unto the king, arose, and bending low

Before the throne, craved leave to speak a word.

Amorphel was a crafty, treacherous man,

With oily lips well versed in flattery

And courtly speech, a supple reed ready

To bend before his royal master’s lightest

Breath—Pharaoh’s willing tool. He said

“Gracious king, thou has been too lenient

With these slaves; light as their burdens are, they

Fret and chafe beneath them. They are idle

And the blood runs riot in their veins. Now

If thou would’st have these people dwell in peace,

Increase, I pray thee, their tasks and add unto

Their burdens; if they faint beneath their added

Tasks, they will have less time to plot sedition

And revolt.”

Then Rhadma, oldest lord in Pharaoh’s court,

Arose. He was an aged man, whose white

And heavy beard hung low upon his breast,

Yet there was a hard cold glitter in his eye,

And on his face a proud and evil look.

He had been a servant to the former king,

And wore his signet ring upon his hand.

He said, “I know this Moses well. Fourscore

Years ago Princess Charmian found him

By the Nile and rescued him from death, and did

Choose him as her son, and had him versed in all

The mysteries and lore of Egypt. But blood

Will tell, and this base slave, with servile blood

Within his veins, would rather be a servant

Than a prince, and so, with rude and reckless hand,

He thrust aside the honors of our dear

Departed king. Pharaoh was justly wroth,

But for his daughter’s sake he let the trespass

Pass. But one day this Moses slew an Egyptian

In his wrath, and then the king did seek his life;

But he fled, it is said, unto the deserts

Of Arabia, and became a shepherd for the priest

Of Midian. But now, instead of leading flocks

And herds, he aspires to lead his captive race

To freedom. These men mean mischief; sedition

And revolt are in their plans. Decree, I pray thee,

That these men shall gather their own straw

And yet their tale of bricks shall be the same.”

And these words pleased Pharaoh well, and all his

Lords chimed in with one accord. And Pharaoh

Wrote the stern decree and sent it unto Goshen—

That the laborers should gather their own straw,

And yet they should not ’minish of their tale of bricks

’Twas a sad day in Goshen;

The king’s decree hung like a gloomy pall

Around their homes. The people fainted ’neath

Their added tasks, then cried unto the king,

That he would ease their burdens; but he hissed

A taunt into their ears and said, “ye are

Idle, and your minds are filled with vain

And foolish thoughts; get you unto your tasks,

And ye shall not ’minish of your tale of bricks.”

And then they turned their eyes

Reproachfully on Moses and his brother,

And laid the cruel blame upon their shoulders.

’Tis an old story now, but then ’twas new

Unto the brethren,—how God’s anointed ones

Must walk with bleeding feet the paths that turn

To lines of living light; how hands that bring

Salvation in their palms are pierced with cruel

Nails, and lips that quiver first with some great truth

Are steeped in bitterness and tears, and brows

Now bright beneath the aureola of God,

Have bent beneath the thorny crowns of earth.

There was hope for Israel,

But they did not see the golden fringes

Of their coming morn; they only saw the cold,

Grey sky, and fainted ’neath the cheerless gloom.

Moses sought again the presence of the king:

And Pharaoh’s brow grew dark with wrath,

And rising up in angry haste, he said,

Defiantly, “If thy God be great, show

Us some sign or token of his power.”

Then Moses threw his rod upon the floor,

And it trembled with a sign of life;

The dark wood glowed, then changed into a thing

Of glistening scales and golden rings, and green,

And brown and purple stripes; a hissing, hateful

Thing, that glared its fiery eye, and darting forth

From Moses’ side, lay coiled and panting

At the monarch’s feet. With wonder open-eyed

The king gazed on the changed rod, then called

For his magicians—wily men, well versed

In sinful lore—and bade them do the same.

And they, leagued with the powers of night, did

Also change their rods to serpents; then Moses’

Serpent darted forth, and with a startling hiss

And angry gulp, he swallowed the living things

That coiled along his path. And thus did Moses

Show that Israel’s God had greater power

Than those dark sons of night.

But not by this alone

Did God his mighty power reveal: He changed

Their waters; every fountain, well and pool

Was red with blood, and lips, all parched with thirst,

Shrank back in horror from the crimson draughts.

And then the worshiped Nile grew full of life:

Millions of frogs swarmed from the stream—they clogged

The pathway of the priests and filled the sacred

Fanes, and crowded into Pharaoh’s bed, and hopped

Into his trays of bread, and slumbered in his

Ovens and his pans.

Then came another plague, of loathsome vermin;

They were gray and creeping things, that made

Their very clothes alive with dark and sombre

Spots—things so loathsome in the land they did

Suspend the service of the temple; for no priest

Dared to lift his hand to any god with one

Of these upon him. And then the sky grew

Dark, as if a cloud were passing o’er its

Changeless blue; a buzzing sound broke o’er

The city, and the land was swarmed with flies.

The murrain laid their cattle low; the hail

Cut off the first fruits of the Nile; the locusts,

With their hungry jaws, destroyed the later crops,

And left the ground as brown and bare as if a fire

Had scorched it through,

Then angry blains

And fiery boils did blur the flesh of man

And beast; and then for three long days, nor saffron

Tint, nor crimson flush, nor soft and silvery light

Divided day from morn, nor told the passage

Of the hours; men rose not from their seats, but sat

In silent awe. That lengthened night lay like a burden

On the air,—a darkness one might almost gather

In his hand, it was so gross and thick. Then came

The last dread plague—the death of the first-born.

’Twas midnight,

And a startling shriek rose from each palace,

Home and hut of Egypt, save the blood-besprinkled homes

Of Goshen; the midnight seemed to shiver with a sense

Of dread, as if the mystic angels wing

Had chilled the very air with horror.

Death! Death! was everywhere—in every home

A corpse—in every heart a bitter woe.

There were anxious fingerings for the pulse

That ne’er would throb again, and eager listenings

For some sound of life—a hurrying to and fro—

Then burning kisses on the cold lips

Of the dead, bitter partings, sad farewells,

And mournful sobs and piercing shrieks,

And deep and heavy groans throughout the length

And breadth of Egypt. ’Twas the last dread plague,

But it had snapped in twain the chains on which

The rust of ages lay, and Israel was freed;

Not only freed, but thrust in eager haste

From out the land. Trembling men stood by, and longed

To see them gather up their flocks and herds,

And household goods, and leave the land; because they felt

That death stood at their doors as long as Israel

Lingered there; and they went forth in haste,

To tread the paths of freedom.

CHAPTER VI.

But Pharaoh was strangely blind, and turning

From his first-born and his dead, with Egypt’s wail

Scarce still upon his ear, he asked which way had

Israel gone? They told him that they journeyed

Towards the mighty sea, and were encamped

Near Baalzephn.

Then Pharaoh said, “the wilderness will hem them in,

The mighty sea will roll its barriers in front,

And with my chariots and my warlike men

I’ll bring them back, or mete them out their graves.”

Then Pharaoh’s officers arose

And gathered up the armies of the king

And made his chariots ready for pursuit.

With proud escutcheons blazoned to the sun,

In his chariot of ivory, pearl and gold,

Pharaoh rolled out of Egypt; and with him

Rode his mighty men, their banners floating

On the breeze, their spears and armor glittering

In the morning light; and Israel saw,

With fainting hearts, their old oppressors on their

Track: then women wept in hopeless terror;

Children hid their faces in their mothers’ robes,

And strong men bowed their heads in agony and dread;

And then a bitter, angry murmur rose,—

“Were there no graves in Egypt, that thou hast

Brought us here to die?”

Then Moses lifted up his face, aglow

With earnest faith in God, and bade their fainting hearts

Be strong and they should his salvation see.

“Stand still,” said Moses to the fearful throng

Whose hearts were fainting in the wild, “Stand still.”

Ah, that was Moses’ word, but higher and greater

Came God’s watchword for the hour, and not for that

Alone, but all the coming hours of time.

“Speak ye unto the people and bid them

Forward go; stretch thy hand across the waters

And smite them with thy rod.” And Moses smote

The restless sea; the waves stood up in heaps,

Then lay as calm and still as lips that just

Had tasted death. The secret-loving sea

Laid bare her coral caves and iris-tinted

Floor; that wall of flood which lined the people’s

Way was God’s own wondrous masonry;

The signal pillar sent to guide them through the wild

Moved its dark shadow till it fronted Egypt’s

Camp, but hung in fiery splendor, a light

To Israel’s path. Madly rushed the hosts

Of Pharaoh upon the people’s track, when

The solemn truth broke on them—that God

For Israel fought. With cheeks in terror

Blenching, and eyes astart with fear, “let

Us flee,” they cried, “from Israel, for their God

Doth fight against us; he is battling on their side.”

They had trusted in their chariots, but now

That hope was vain; God had loosened every

Axle and unfastened every wheel, and each

Face did gather blackness and each heart stood still

With fear, as the livid lightnings glittered

And the thunder roared and muttered on the air,

And they saw the dreadful ruin that shuddered

O’er their heads, for the waves began to tremble

And the wall of flood to bend. Then arose

A cry of terror, baffled hate and hopeless dread,

A gurgling sound of horror, as “the waves

Came madly dashing, wildly crashing, seeking

Out their place again,” and the flower and pride

Of Egypt sank as lead within the sea

Till the waves threw back their corpses cold and stark

Upon the shore, and the song of Israel.

Triumph was the requiem of their foes.

Oh the grandeur of that triumph; up the cliffs

And down the valleys, o’er the dark and restless

Sea, rose the people’s shout of triumph, going

Up in praise to God, and the very air

Seemed joyous for the choral song of millions

Throbbed upon its viewless wings.

Then another song of triumph rose in accents

Soft and clear; “’twas the voice of Moses’ sister

Rising in the tide of song.” The warm blood

Of her childhood seemed dancing in her veins;

The roses of her girlhood were flushing

On her cheek, and her eyes flashed out the splendor

Of long departed days, for time itself seemed

Pausing, and she lived the past again; again

The Nile flowed by her; she was watching by the stream,

A little ark of rushes where her baby brother lay;

The tender tide of rapture swept o’er her soul again

She had felt when Pharaoh’s daughter had claimed

Him as her own, and her mother wept for joy

Above her rescued son. Then again she saw

Him choosing “’twixt Israel’s pain and sorrow

And Egypt’s pomp and pride.” But now he stood

Their leader triumphant on that shore, and loud

She struck the cymbals as she led the Hebrew women

In music, dance and song, as they shouted out

Triumphs in sweet and glad refrains.

MIRIAM’S SONG.

A wail in the palace, a wail in the hut,

The midnight is shivering with dread,

And Egypt wakes up with a shriek and a sob

To mourn for her first-born and dead.

In the morning glad voices greeted the light,

As the Nile with its splendor was flushed;

At midnight silence had melted their tones,

And their music forever is hushed.

In the morning the princes of palace and court

To the heir of the kingdom bowed down;

’Tis midnight, pallid and stark in his shroud

He dreams not of kingdom or crown.

As a monument blasted and blighted by God,

Through the ages proud Pharaoh shall stand,

All seamed with the vengeance and scarred with the wrath

That leaped from God’s terrible hand.

CHAPTER VII.

They journeyed on from Zuphim’s sea until

They reached the sacred mount and heard the solemn

Decalogue. The mount was robed in blackness,—

Heavy and deep the shadows lay; the thunder

Crashed and roared upon the air; the lightning

Leaped from crag to crag; God’s fearful splendor

Flowed around, and Sinai quaked and shuddered

To its base, and there did God proclaim

Unto their listening ears, the great, the grand,

The central and the primal truth of all

The universe—the unity of God.

Only one God,—

This truth received into the world’s great life,

Not as an idle dream nor a speculative thing,

But as a living, vitalizing thought,

Should bind us closer to our God and link us

With our fellow man, the brothers and co-heirs

With Christ, the elder brother of our race.

Before this truth let every blade of war

Grow dull, and slavery, cowering at the light,

Skulk from the homes of men; instead

Of war bring peace and freedom, love and joy,

And light for man, instead of bondage, whips

And chains. Only one God! the strongest hands

Should help the weak who bend before the blasts

Of life, because if God is only one

Then we are the children of his mighty hand,

And when we best serve man, we also serve

Our God. Let haughty rulers learn that men

Of humblest birth and lowliest lot have

Rights as sacred and divine as theirs, and they

Who fence in leagues of earth by bonds and claims

And title deeds, forgetting land and water,

Air and light are God’s own gifts and heritage

For man—who throw their selfish lives between

God’s sunshine and the shivering poor—

Have never learned the wondrous depth, nor scaled

The glorious height of this great central truth,

Around which clusters all the holiest faiths

Of earth. The thunder died upon the air,

The lightning ceased its livid play, the smoke

And darkness died away in clouds, as soft

And fair as summer wreaths that lie around

The setting sun, and Sinai stood a bare

And rugged thing among the sacred scenes

Of earth.

CHAPTER VIII.

It was a weary thing to bear the burden

Of that restless and rebellious race. With

Sinai’s thunders almost crashing in their ears,

They made a golden calf, and in the desert

Spread an idol’s feast, and sung the merry songs

They had heard when Mizraim’s songs bowed down before

Their vain and heathen gods; and thus for many years

Did Moses bear the evil manners of his race—

Their angry murmurs, fierce regrets and strange

Forgetfulness of God. Born slaves, they did not love

The freedom of the wild more than their pots of flesh.

And pleasant savory things once gathered

From the gardens of the Nile.

If slavery only laid its weight of chains

Upon the weary, aching limbs, e’en then

It were a curse; but when it frets through nerve

And flesh and eats into the weary soul,

Oh then it is a thing for every human

Heart to loathe, and this was Israel’s fate,

For when the chains were shaken from their limbs

They failed to strike the impress from their souls

While he who’d basked beneath the radiance

Of a throne, ne’er turned regretful eyes upon

The past, nor sighed to grasp again the pleasures

Once resigned; but the saddest trial was

To see the light and joy fade from their faces

When the faithless spies spread through their camp

Their ill report; and when the people wept

In hopeless unbelief and turned their faces

Egyptward, and asked a captain from their bands

To lead them back where they might bind anew

Their broken chains, when God arose and shut

The gates of promise on their lives, and left

Their bones to bleach beneath Arabia’s desert sands

But though they slumbered in the wild, they died

With broader freedom on their lips, and for their

Little ones did God reserve the heritage

So rudely thrust aside.

THE DEATH OF MOSES.—CHAPTER IX.

His work was done; his blessing lay

Like precious ointment on his people’s head,

And God’s great peace was resting on his soul.

His life had been a lengthened sacrifice,

A thing of deep devotion to his race,

Since first he turned his eyes on Egypt’s gild

And glow, and clasped their fortunes in his hand

And held them with a firm and constant grasp.

But now his work was done; his charge was laid

In Joshua’s hand, and men of younger blood

Were destined to possess the land and pass

Through Jordan to the other side. He too

Had hoped to enter there—to tread the soil

Made sacred by the memories of his

Kindred dead, and rest till life’s calm close beneath

The sheltering vines and stately palms of that

Fair land; that hope had colored all his life’s

Young dreams and sent its mellowed flushes o’er

His later years; but God’s decree was otherwise.

And so he bowed his meekened soul in calm

Submission to the word, which bade him climb

To Nebo’s highest peak, and view the pleasant land

From Jordan’s swells unto the calmer ripples

Of the tideless sea, then die with all its

Loveliness in sight.

As he passed from Moab’s grassy vale to climb

The rugged mount, the people stood in mournful groups,

Some, with quivering lips and tearful eyes,

Reaching out unconscious hands, as if to stay

His steps and keep him ever at their side, while

Others gazed with reverent awe upon

The calm and solemn beauty on his aged brow,

The look of loving trust and lofty faith

Still beaming from an eye that neither care

Nor time had dimmed. As he passed upward, tender

Blessings, earnest prayers and sad farewells rose

On each wave of air, then died in one sweet

Murmur of regretful love; and Moses stood

Alone on Nebo’s mount.

Alone! not one

Of all that mighty throng who had trod with him

In triumph through the parted flood was there.

Aaron had died in Hor, with son and brother

By his side; and Miriam too was gone.

But kindred hands had made her grave, and Kadesh

Held her dust. But he was all alone; nor wife

Nor child was there to clasp in death his hand,

And bind around their bleeding hearts the precious

Parting words. And yet he was not all alone,

For God’s great presence flowed around his path

And stayed him in that solemn hour.

He stood upon the highest peak of Nebo,

And saw the Jordan chafing through its gorges,

Its banks made bright by scarlet blooms

And purple blossoms. The placid lakes

And emerald meadows, the snowy crest

Of distant mountains, the ancient rocks

That dripped with honey, the hills all bathed

In light and beauty; the shady groves

And peaceful vistas, the vines opprest

With purple riches, the fig trees fruit-crowned

Green and golden, the pomegranates with crimson

Blushes, the olives with their darker clusters,

Rose before him like a vision, full of beauty

And delight. Gazed he on the lovely landscape

Till it faded from his view, and the wing

Of death’s sweet angel hovered o’er the mountain’s

Crest, and he heard his garments rustle through

The watches of the night.

Then another, fairer, vision

Broke upon his longing gaze; ’twas the land

Of crystal fountains, love and beauty, joy

And light, for the pearly gates flew open,

And his ransomed soul went in. And when morning

O’er the mountain fringed each crag and peak with light,

Cold and lifeless lay the leader. God had touched

His eyes with slumber, giving his beloved sleep.

Oh never on that mountain

Was seen a lovelier sight

Than the troupe of fair young angels

That gathered ’round the dead.

With gentle hands they bore him

That bright and shining train,

From Nebo’s lonely mountain

To sleep in Moab’s vale.

But they sung no mournful dirges

No solemn requiems said,

And the soft wave of their pinions

Made music as they trod.

But no one heard them passing,

None saw their chosen grave;

It was the angels secret

Where Moses should be laid.

And when the grave was finished

They trod with golden sandals

Above the sacred spot,

And the brightest, fairest flowers

Sprang up beneath their tread.

Nor broken turf, nor hillock

Did e’er reveal that grave,

And truthful lips have never said

We know where he is laid.

THE MISSION OF THE FLOWERS.

In a lovely garden, filled with fair and blooming flowers, stood a beautiful rose tree. It was the centre of attraction, and won the admiration of every eye; its beauteous flowers were sought to adorn the bridal wreath and deck the funeral bier. It was a thing of joy and beauty, and its earth mission was a blessing. Kind hands plucked its flowers to gladden the chamber of sickness and adorn the prisoner’s lonely cell. Young girls wore them ’mid their clustering curls, and grave brows relaxed when they gazed upon their wondrous beauty. Now the rose was very kind and generous hearted, and, seeing how much joy she dispensed, wished that every flower could only be a rose, and like herself have the privilege of giving joy to the children of men; and while she thus mused, a bright and lovely spirit approached her and said, “I know thy wishes and will grant thy desires. Thou shalt have power to change every flower in the garden to thine own likeness. When the soft winds come wooing thy fairest buds and flowers, thou shalt breathe gently o’er thy sister plants, and beneath thy influence they shall change to beautiful roses.” The rose tree bowed her head in silent gratitude to the gentle being who had granted her this wondrous power. All night the stars bent over her from their holy homes above, but she scarcely heeded their vigils. The gentle dews nestled in her arms and kissed the cheeks of her daughters; but she hardly noticed them;—she was waiting for the soft airs to awaken and seek her charming abode. At length the gentle airs greeted her, and she hailed them with a joyous welcome, and then commenced her work of change. The first object that met her vision was a tulip superbly arrayed in scarlet and gold. When she was aware of the intention of her neighbor, her cheeks flamed with anger, her eyes flashed indignantly, and she haughtily refused to change her proud robes for the garb the rose tree had prepared for her; but she could not resist the spell that was upon her, and she passively permitted the garments of the rose to enfold her yielding limbs. The verbenas saw the change that had fallen upon the tulip and dreading that a similar fate awaited them, crept closely to the ground, and, while tears gathered in their eyes, they felt a change pass through their sensitive frames, and instead of gentle verbenas they were blushing roses. She breathed upon the sleepy poppies; a deeper slumber fell upon their senses, and when they awoke, they too had changed to bright and beautiful roses. The heliotrope read her fate in the lot of her sisters, and, bowing her fair head in silent sorrow, gracefully submitted to her unwelcome destiny. The violets, whose mission was to herald the approach of spring, were averse to losing their identity. “Surely,” said they, “we have a mission as well as the rose;” but with heavy hearts they saw themselves changed like their sister plants. The snow drop drew around her her robes of virgin white; she would not willingly exchange them for the most brilliant attire that ever decked a flower’s form; to her they were the emblems of purity and innocence; but the rose tree breathed upon her, and with a bitter sob she reluctantly consented to the change. The dahlias lifted their heads proudly and defiantly; they dreaded the change, but scorned submission; they loved the fading year, and wished to spread around his dying couch their brightest, fairest flowers; but vainly they struggled, the doom was upon them, and they could not escape. A modest lily that grew near the rose tree shrank instinctively from her; but it was in vain, and with tearful eyes and trembling limbs she yielded, while a quiver of agony convulsed her frame. The marygolds sighed submissively and made no remonstrance. The garden pinks grew careless, and submitted without a murmur, while other flowers, less fragrant or less fair, paled with sorrow or reddened with anger; but the spell of the rose tree was upon them, and every flower was changed by her power, and that once beautiful garden was overrun with roses; it had become a perfect wilderness of roses; the garden had changed, but that variety which had lent it so much beauty was gone, and men grew tired of roses, for they were everywhere. The smallest violet peeping faintly from its bed would have been welcome, the humblest primrose would have been hailed with delight,—even a dandelion would have been a harbinger of joy; and when the rose saw that the children of men were dissatisfied with the change she had made, her heart grew sad within her, and she wished the power had never been given her to change her sister plants to roses, and tears came into her eyes as she mused, when suddenly a rough wind shook her drooping form, and she opened her eyes and found that she had only been dreaming. But an important lesson had been taught; she had learned to respect the individuality of her sister flowers, and began to see that they, as well as herself, had their own missions,—some to gladden the eye with their loveliness and thrill the soul with delight; some to transmit fragrance to the air; others to breathe a refining influence upon the world; some had power to lull the aching brow and soothe the weary heart and brain into forgetfulness; and of those whose mission she did not understand, she wisely concluded there must be some object in their creation, and resolved to be true to her own earth mission, and lay her fairest buds and flowers upon the altars of love and truth.

THE RAGGED STOCKING.

Do you see this ragged stocking,

Here a rent and there a hole?

Each thread of this little stocking

Is woven around my soul.

Do you wish to hear my story?

Excuse me, the tears will start,

For the sight of this ragged stocking

Stirs the fountains of my heart.

You say that my home is happy;

To me ’tis earth’s fairest place,

But its sunshine, peace and gladness

Back to this stocking I trace.

I was once a wretched drunkard;

Ah! you start and say not so;

But the dreadful depths I’ve sounded,

And I speak of what I know.

I was wild and very reckless

When I stood on manhood’s brink,

And, joining with pleasure-seekers

Learned to revel and drink.

Strong drink is a raging demon,

In his hands are shame and woe;

He mocketh the strength of the mighty

And bringeth the strong man low.

The light of my home was darkened

By the shadow of my sin;

And want and woe unbarr’d the door,

And suffering entered in.

·       ·       ·       ·       ·

The streets were full one Christmas eve,

And alive with girls and boys,

Merrily looking through window-panes

At bright and beautiful toys.

And throngs of parents came to buy

The gifts that children prize,

And homeward trudged with happy hearts,

The love-light in their eyes.

I thought of my little Charley

At home in his lowly bed,

With the shadows around his life,

And in shame I bowed my head.

I entered my home a sober man,

My heart by remorse was wrung,

And there in the chimney corner,

This little stocking was hung.

Faded and worn as you see it;

To me ’tis a precious thing,

And I never gaze upon it

But unbidden tears will spring.

I began to search my pockets,

But scarcely a dime was there;

But scanty as was the pittance,

This stocking received its share.

For a longing seized upon me

To gladden the heart of my boy,

And I bought him some cakes and candy,

And added a simple toy.

Then I knelt by this little stocking

And sobbed out an earnest prayer,

And arose with strength to wrestle

And break from the tempter’s snare.

And this faded, worn-out stocking,

So pitiful once to see,

Became the wedge that broke my chain,

And a blessing brought to me.

Do you marvel then I prize it?

When each darn and seam and hole

Is linked with my soul’s deliverance

From the bondage of the bowl?

And to-night my wife will tell you,

Though I’ve houses, gold and land,

He holds no treasure more precious

Than this stocking in my hand.

THE FATAL PLEDGE.

“Pledge me with wine,” the maiden cried,

Her tones were gay and light;

“From others you have turned aside,

I claim your pledge to-night.”

The blood rushed to the young man’s cheek

Then left it deadly pale;

Beneath the witchery of her smile

He felt his courage fail.

For many years he’d been a slave

To the enchanting bowl,

Until he grasped with eager hands

The reins of self-control;

And struggled with his hated thrall,

Until he rent his chain,

And strove to stand erect and free,

And be a man again.

When others came with tempting words

He coldly turned aside,

But she who held the sparkling cup

Was his affianced bride;

And like a vision of delight,

Bright, beautiful and fair,

With thoughtless words she wove for him

The meshes of despair.

From jeweled hands he took the cup,

Nor heard the serpent’s hiss;

Nor saw beneath its ruby glow

The deadly adder’s hiss.

Like waves that madly, wildly dash,

When dykes are overthrown,

The barriers of his soul gave way,

Each life with wrecks was strewn.

And she who might have reached her hand

To succor and to save,

Soon wept in hopeless agony

Above a drunkard’s grave.

And bore through life with bleeding heart

Remembrance of that night,

When she had urged the tempted man

With wine to make his plight.

CHRIST’S ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.

He had plunged into our sorrows,

And our sin had pierced his heart,

As before him loomed death’s shadow,

And he knew he must depart.

But they hailed him as a victor

As he into Salem came,

And the very children shouted

Loud hosannas to his name.

But he knew behind that triumph,

Rising gladly to the sky,

Soon would come the cries of malice:

Crucify him! Crucify!

Onward rode the blessed Saviour,

Conscious of the coming strife

Soon to break in storms of hatred

Round his dear, devoted life.

Ghastly in its fearful anguish

Rose the cross before his eyes,

But he saw the joy beyond it,

And did all the shame despise.

Joy to see the cry of scorning

Through the ages ever bright,

And the cross of shame transfigured

To a throne of love and light.

Joy to know his soul’s deep travail

Should not be a thing in vain,

And that joy and peace should blossom

From his agonizing pain.

THE RESURRECTION OF JESUS.

It was done, the deed of horror;

Christ had died upon the cross,

And within an upper chamber

The disciples mourned their loss.

Peter’s eyes were full of anguish,

Thinking sadly of the trial

When his boasted self-reliance

Ended in his Lord’s denial.

Disappointment, deep and heavy,

Shrouded every heart with gloom,

As the hopes so fondly cherished

Died around the garden tomb.

And they thought with shame and sorrow

How they fled in that dark hour,

When they saw their Lord and Master

In the clutch of Roman power.

We had hoped, they sadly uttered,

He would over Israel reign,

But to-day he lies sepulchred,

And our cherished hopes are vain.

In the humble home of Mary

Slowly waned the hours away,

Till she rose to seek the garden

And the place where Jesus lay.

Not the cross with all its anguish

Could her loving heart restrain,

But the tomb she sought was empty,

And her heart o’erflowed with pain.

To embalm my Lord and Master

To this garden I have strayed,

But, behold, I miss his body,

And I know not where he’s laid.

Then a wave of strange emotion

Swept her soul, as angels said,

“Wherefore do ye seek the living

’Mid the chambers of the dead?”

Unperceived, her Lord stood by her,

Silent witness of her grief,

Bearing on his lips the tidings

Sure to bring a glad relief.

But her tear-dimmed eyes were holden

When she heard the Master speak;

Thought she, only ’tis the gardener

Asking whom her soul did seek.

Then a sudden flush of gladness

O’er her grief-worn features spread;

When she knew the voice of Jesus

All her bitter anguish fled.

Forth she reached hands in rapture.

Touch me not, the Saviour said;

Take the message to my brethren,

I have risen from the dead.

Take them words of joy and comfort,

Which will all their mourning end;

To their Father and my Father,

Tell them that I will ascend.

“Brethren, I have seen the Master:

He is risen from the dead.”

But like words of idle meaning

Seemed the glorious words she said.

Soon they saw the revelation

Which would bid their mourning cease:

Christ, the risen, stood before them

Breathing words of love and peace.

Timid men were changed to heroes,

Weakness turned to wondrous might,

And the cross became their standard,

Luminous with love and light.

From that lonely upper chamber,

Holding up the rugged cross,

With a glad and bold surrender

They encountered shame and loss.

In these days of doubt and error,

In the conflict for the right,

May our hearts be ever strengthened

By the resurrection’s might.

SIMON’S COUNTRYMEN.

They took away his seamless robe,

With thorns they crowned his head,

As harshly, fiercely cried his foes:

“Barabbas in his stead.”

The friends he loved unto the end,

Who shared his daily bread,

Before the storms of wrath and hate

Forsook their Lord and fled.

To rescue men from death and sin

He knew the awful cost,

As wearily he bent beneath

The burden of the cross.

When Pilate had decreed his fate,

And Jews withheld their aid,

Then Simon, the Cyrenean, came:

On him the cross was laid.

Not his to smite with cruel scorn,

Nor mock the dying one,

That helpful man came from the land

Kissed by the ardent sun—

The land within whose sheltering arms

The infant Jesus lay

When Herod vainly bared his sword

And sought the child to slay.

Amid the calendar of saints

We Simon’s name may trace,

On history’s page thro’ every age

He bears an honored place.

He little knew that cross would change

Unto a throne of light;

The crown of thorns upon Christ’s brow

Would be forever bright.

Beneath the shadow of that cross

Brave men with outstretched hands

Have told the wondrous tale of love

In distant heathen lands.

And yet within our favored land,

Where Christian churches rise,

The dark-browed sons of Africa

Are hated and despised.

Can they who speak of Christ as King,

And glory in his name,

Forget that Simon’s countrymen

Still bear a cross of shame?

Can they forget the cruel scorn

Men shower on a race

Who treat the hues their Father gives

As emblems of disgrace?

Will they erect to God their fanes

And Christ with honor crown,

And then with cruel weights of pain

The African press down?

Oh, Christians, when we faint and bleed

In this our native land,

Reach out to us when peeled, opprest,

A kindly helping hand,

And bear aloft that sacred cross,

Bright from the distant years,

And say for Christ’s and Simon’s sake,

We’ll wipe away your tears.

For years of sorrow, toil and pain

We’ll bring you love and light,

And in the name of Christ our Lord

We’ll make your pathway bright.

That seamless robe shall yet enfold

The children of the sun,

Till rich and poor and bond and free

In Christ shall all be one.

And for his sake from pride and scorn

Our spirits shall be free,

Till through our souls shall sound the words

He did it unto me.

DELIVERANCE.

Rise up! rise up! Oh Israel,

Let a spotless lamb be slain;

The angel of death will o’er you bend

And rend your galling chain.

Sprinkle its blood upon the posts

And lintels of your door;

When the angel sees the crimson spots

Unharmed he will pass you o’er.

Gather your flocks and herds to-night,

Your children by your side:

A leader from Arabia comes

To be your friend and guide.

With girded loins and sandled feet

Await the hour of dread,

When Mizraim shall wildly mourn

Her first-born and her dead.

The sons of Abraham no more

Shall crouch ’neath Pharoah’s hand,

Trembling with agony and dread,

He’ll thrust you from the land.

And ye shall hold in unborn years

A feast to mark this day,

When joyfully the fathers rose

And cast their chains away.

When crimson tints of morning flush

The golden gates of day,

Or gorgeous hue of even melt

In sombre shades away,

Then ye shall to your children teach

The meaning of this feast,

How from the proud oppressor’s hand

Their fathers were released,

And ye shall hold through distant years

This feast with glad accord,

And children’s children yet shall learn

To love and trust the Lord.

Ages have passed since Israel trod

In triumph through the sea,

And yet they hold in memory’s urn

Their first great jubilee.

When Moses led the ransomed hosts,

And Miriam’s song arose,

While ruin closed around the path

Of their pursuing foes.

Shall Israel thro’ long varied years

These memories cherish yet,

And we who lately stood redeemed

Our broken chains forget?

Should we forget the wondrous change

That to our people came,

When justice rose and sternly plead

Our cause with sword and flame?

And led us through the storms of war

To freedom’s fairer shore,

When slavery sank beneath a flood

Whose waves were human gore.

Oh, youth and maidens of the land,

Rise up with one accord,

And in the name of Christ go forth

To battle for the Lord.

Go forth, but not in crimson fields,

With fratricidal strife,

But in the name of Christ go forth

For freedom, love and life.

Go forth to follow in his steps,

Who came not to destroy,

Till wastes shall blossom as the rose,

And deserts sing for joy.

SIMON’S FEAST.

He is coming, she said, to Simon’s feast,

The prophet of Galilee,

Though multitudes around him throng

In longing his face to see.

He enters the home as Simon’s guest,

But he gives no welcome kiss;

He brings no water to bathe his feet—

Why is Simon so remiss?

The prophet’s face is bright with love,

And mercy beams from his eye;

He pities the poor, the lame and blind,

An outcast, I will draw nigh.

If a prophet, he will surely know

The guilt of my darkened years;

With broken heart I’ll seek his face,

And bathe his feet with my tears.

No holy rabbi lays his hand

In blessing on my head;

No loving voice floats o’er the path,

The downward path I tread.

Unto the Master’s side she pressed,

A penitent, frail and fair,

Rained on his feet a flood of tears,

And then wiped them with her hair.

Over the face of Simon swept

An air of puzzled surprise;

Can my guest a holy prophet be,

And not this woman despise?

Christ saw the thoughts that Simon’s heart

Had written upon his face,

Kindly turned to the sinful one

In her sorrow and disgrace.

Where Simon only saw the stains,

Where sin and shame were rife,

Christ looked beneath and saw the germs

Of a fair, outflowering life.

Like one who breaks a galling chain,

And sets a prisoner free,

He rent her fetters with the words,

“Thy sins are forgiven thee.”

God be praised for the gracious words

Which came through that woman’s touch

That souls redeemed thro’ God’s dear Son

May learn to love him so much;

That souls once red with guilt and crime

May their crimson stains outgrow;

The scarlet spots upon their lives

Become whiter than driven snow.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Page

Changed from

Changed to

28

The king’s degree hung like a gloomy pall

The king’s decree hung like a gloomy pall

- Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.

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Table of Contents

Idylls of the Bible

MOSES A STORY OF THE NILE

THE PARTING.—Chapter I.

Chapter II.

FLIGHT INTO MIDIAN.—Chapter III.

Chapter IV.

Chapter V.

Chapter VI.

MIRIAM’S SONG.

Chapter VII.

Chapter VIII.

THE DEATH OF MOSES.—Chapter IX.

THE MISSION OF THE FLOWERS.

THE RAGGED STOCKING.

THE FATAL PLEDGE.

CHRIST’S ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM.

THE RESURRECTION OF JESUS.

SIMON’S COUNTRYMEN.

DELIVERANCE.

SIMON’S FEAST.

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG™ LICENSE