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MICAH AND THE LEVITE.
Judges, 17th and 18th Chapters.
“Mother! the hoarded silver, at whose lossThou cursedest bitterly, behold! 'tis here!—
I took it.”
Thus unhumbled Micah spake—
Nor she reproved, but blessed him, and well pleased
With her recovered pelf, exulting cried,
“The treasure all was dedicate, my son,
Unto a sacred purpose. I had vowed
To make a graven and a molten god,
That we might have our household deities
Always beside us.”
So, she counted out
The shekels in his hand, and he, unmoved
At her idolatry, with impious zeal
An ephod and a teraphim prepared.
And then, a wandering Levite—strange to say—
For hireling gain, consented to conduct
The mingled rites, to image, and to God,
Idolatrous and vain. For in those days
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Lived as he listed, doing what was right
In his own eyes.
Forth from the tribe of Dan,
A lawless multitude, intent on spoil,
Marauding o'er the country, in a glen
Of cedar-wrapped Mount Ephraim, found the abode
Of Micah, and upon his cherished gods
Laid sacrilegious hands.
“What dost thou here,
Thou son of Levi?” arrogantly asked
The renegado leader.
“Here I dwell,
Even as a priest, and father to mine host—
Cared for, and paid by him, and well content
To worship at his altar.”
“Hold thy peace—
Lay hand upon thy mouth, and come with us—
For whether it is better thus to serve
A solitary house, or be the priest
O'er a whole tribe of Israel, thou canst judge
As well as we.”
With dull and earth-bowed eye
The plodding man considered. On one side
Were his ten yearly shekels, robes, and bread
At Micah's table. On the other seemed
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Perhaps no sacrificial lamb—not even
A mess of pottage, rich with lentiles brown,
Savory and well beloved. His stupid brow
Long wrought with struggles of unwonted thought,
And longer still had wrought, by doubt perplexed,
Had not ambition, which may find a place
Even with ignoble natures, thrown its bait,
Secret and sure—the priesthood of a tribe—
And tithe of victor-spoils.
Quick, upward flew
In lightened scale, the fireside and the board,
All grateful memories—all uttered vows,
That bound him to his patrons and their shrine.
So with the stolen goods he went his way,
Unquestioned still by conscience, if, indeed,
Such monitor he had. In swift pursuit,
With gathered neighbors, sudden roused to arms,
Indignant Micah came. To his sharp words,
Upbraiding bitterly, the Danite chief
Laconic spake, as sworded men are wont,
Who have the power:
“Let not thy voice be heard
Among us here, lest angry fellows rush
On thee, and on thy kindred, and the end
Be worse than the beginning.”
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Of vengeful hatred on the recreant priest,
Who, shrinking in the centre of the host,
Scarce raised a cowering glance, chafed Micah turned
Back to his mother, the contempt and loss
Bearing, as best he might.
Such were the times
In Israel, when each man did what seemed right
In his own eyes. Ill fares it with a land
Where lust of gold, and wayward passions fill
The place of righteous law.
May our own realm,
By Heaven's blest page instructed, give its aid
To order, and authority, and peace,
And heartfelt worship of the God from whom
All blessings flow.
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