University of Virginia Library

Why are the valleys sere? Why are the hills
So bare and joyless? Wherefore stand the herds
Lowing beside the wells? Why are the flocks
Roaming along the beds of the dry brooks
And bleating piteously? Why are the vines
So light of clusters? Wherefore are the trees
So bare of leaves, or fruit? Why are the birds
So still amongst the boughs, with wings droop'd down?
Why is the husbandman so wo-begone,
And wherefore does he sow with bitter tears
His bare, and burning fields? [OMITTED]
There's blood upon the land; the guiltless blood
That Saul pour'd out at Gibeah, when he sought
(Regardless of the solemn covenant,
Sworn in Jehovah's name, by Israel's lords,)
To root the remnant of the Amorites
From their possessions, in their father land.
That blood now cries for vengeance; and the soil
In its pollution, asks of Heaven, in vain,
The shower and vernal dew. Heaven will not hear
Until these fatal stains are wash'd away,
With streams of the offender's lineal blood.
Who shall atone for Gibeah? Whose warm heart
Shall pour the dread oblation? Who shall go
From heaven's glad sunlight, from the hymning earth,
From all the fond entwining ties of love,
To death's cold silent shade, to give his blood
In expiation of ancestral crime?

Hark! there is mourning in the palace halls—
The voice of bitter weeping gushes forth
From arch'd and rich wreath'd casement. Michal, Queen?
King David's wife, and daughter of king Saul,
What wrings thy bosom now? See where she kneels,
All pale and negligent, with head bow'd down
Upon her broider'd cushions. Gold and gems
Lie strown around her, disregarded now.
Her haughty soul is humbled, for she prays,
And weeps, before Jehovah.—
Who is this
That steals into the chamber, spirit-like?
Her perfect face is wasted, and so pale
That one might deem it marble; and the hand,
That grasps her mourning drapery is so thin,—
So like a wither'd lily,—and her eyes,
Her large dark lustrous eyes, are full of wo,—
Of such expression, as if they had seen
The last of all they lov'd to look upon,
Wither'd away before them. Yet there dwells
A meek expression on her faded lips,
And in the bend of her majestic form,
That seems to say—Amen.
'Tis done—she said,
Advancing close to Michal, as she knelt,
And placing that thin hand, so piteously,
Upon her shining tresses—It is done,
The expiatory sacrifice is now
Accepted of Jehovah. Hush your moans,
And bid your tears cease flowing. God has heard
Our prayers, and seen the sorrows of our hearts;
And our submission, and deep penitence
Have risen like sweet incense to his throne,
And he has pitied us. Look up to heaven,
See how his swift-wing'd messengers of peace
Are gathering above us. Even now
They shake from dark'ning plumes, the cooling drops
Brighter than diamonds, and more precious far.
Let us adore his name, and humbly own
That he is just, that he is merciful,
Although our hearts are bleeding. Have we not
Been proud, profanely proud, and arrogant,
Although we are but frail and worthless weeds
Upon his pathway?
Michal—I have felt
The very bitterness of sin and wo,
As all alone I sat upon the rock,
Watching by day and night, to keep away
The hateful beasts and birds, that prowl'd around
With gloating glaring eyes—and screaming forth
Their horrid longings for the blackening flesh
Of our unconscious children. Oh! what hours
Of agony, passed o'er me—as the shades
Of night lay heavy round me, where I sat,
With dry and quivering eye-balls, glancing round,
In extreme terror—as the fox, the dog,
And fierce hyena, crouch'd with flaming eyes,
And low and sullen growlings; while the gleam
Of those dead faces, with their livid light
Added to terror all the pangs of grief.
Oh! it was dreadful! past the power of speech,
To picture to the mind. Yet still I kept
My watch unshrinking, for the fervent love
Which my heart cherish'd, for the beautiful,
The brave, but erring Saul. A love, which, since
Its chosen sanctuary in his breast,
Was cold and broken, has dwelt tremblingly
Amongst his children, and which hover'd still
Around the ruin'd temples of its hopes,
And kept its mournful watch. But yesternight
About the midnight hour, my weary frame
Sunk under its exhaustion. Yet the prayer
Still linger'd on my lips, and still my soul
Was wakeful on the watch. And, lo, there came
A rushing breeze, oh! sweeter than the breath
Of holy incense, in the golden vase,
Before the Mercy Seat; and with it blent
A wreathen melody, which fill'd my soul
With peace, and consolation. Mortal lips
Ne'er breath'd so soft a strain, and naught of earth
Could ever penetrate and sooth the mind
With such a flood of sweetness. I arose,
And lo! amid a halo of soft light,
Stood seven effulgent creatures. Oh! what bliss
Thrill'd through my spirit, as their glorious eyes
Beam'd lovingly upon me, and I knew
Our disembodied children. Oh! how vain
Poor Nature's joys, and sorrows, hopes and fears,
And loves, appear'd that moment, as I look'd
Upon the spiritual eternal world,
Where God is all in all, and where his will
Is understood; where these dark walls of clay,
No more can cast their shadows on the page
Of his wise purposes. I am content,
My children are at peace. Beyond the reach
Of envy and ambition, strife or death.
Could'st thou have seen the light of blessedness
Which play'd about their faces: could'st thou see
The smiles with which they beckon'd me; the bliss
Which was apparent, as they look'd to heaven,
And vanish'd from my sight, thou would'st bow down,
And pour thine ardent gratitude to God.
Day broke upon the earth, and I arose.
But oh! how different were my feelings now,
As once again I look'd upon the clay
That had enshrin'd my angels. That, was mine;
Alas! how weak, and vile, how worthless now!
To God belong the spirits, bright and strong,
And perfect, as I saw them.
I have thought
That you and I were cruelly bereft,
Of our own treasures, for I could not feel
That God is lord of all. And yet we know
That he who rears a bullock for himself
Will put it to his use, despite the moans
Of the poor dam that nurs'd it, and we feel
That he has done no wrong. Then should not God
The merciful, the perfect, use his own
At his good pleasure? Though to you or me
His creatures also, was assign'd the task
O swatching fondly for a little while
The beings of his will.