University of Virginia Library

“All have I heard, great Pharaoh, of both ill,
And good, which unto Egypt, and to us,
Will come, as I thy will shall do, or do
As our God willeth. Ill would it beseem
Poor maiden such as I, by force of words
To strive for victory 'gainst a wiser far,
An elder, and a king, who graciously
Stoops to entreat. But, truly, reason none
Have I to render, wherefore all the good
And glory thou dost promise; all the ills
Which thou dost threaten, weigh with me as nought,—
Save this,—that in the hand of God, I know,
Are all events: that, howsoe'er man schemes,
God still directs: that His sole will to do,
Our duty is; in thought, in word, in act,
Or in endurance; to Him leaving all
Which thence may follow; certain that the worst,—
So seeming,—in the mighty plan unknown,
Still best must be. As duty bids me, then,
So must I do; regardless what the event.
God's will it is that Reuben and myself
Should be espoused. We feel it in our hearts
As a truth absolute, though nor word, nor sign
From heaven hath spoken it. We cannot tell,
How this we know; but not more could we tell
How 'tis we know that on this ground we stand;
Yet surely do we know it, with a force
No argument could reach. If word of man
We needed to confirm us,—from the lips
Of our great Moses, inspiration filled,
Such had we; for, with prophet's eye, and tongue,
Seeing, he knew us chosen; and, from us
Proceeding, to all Israel blessings spake.
But warning, too, he spake: ‘Plain as high-road
At noon,’ he said, ‘before you lies your way.
Even as your right hand from your left, ye know
The path of holiness, from path of sin.
Keep stedfast on the way which ye have trod:
To neither side,—though gardens as of heaven
Would tempt you—for one moment turn your eyes.
Before you straight is the clear road of God:
If thence ye turn,—though seeming angels call,—
From God ye turn; His chosen ones no more;
But lost, for ever lost!’ So us he warned,
Though fearing not; and we our clear path see.
From Reuben know I that I cannot part,
Save by God's will opposing; nor from me
Can he make severance: boldly for us both,—
For, in the soul, already are we one,
And, when I speak, he speaketh,—say I then;
There is no power on earth that him, or me,
Could move to disobedience. Earth's best lures,
Riches, and fame, power, honor, rank, and rule,
As wages for such sin, all worthless were
As dirt beneath the foot. For him, and me,
One life-rule only is,—our Maker's will.
On what earth stands, I know not; but, firm fixed
As on that base the earth,—so fixed stand we
On the known will of heaven. To disobey,
With us impossible alway. Hence, thy son
Never can be my husband; for the voice
Of God within my soul hath given to me
The humble Reuben. Likeway is he bound:
Me could he never leave; feeling that God
Our hands and hearts hath joined.

“Even were this all,—
Through solid rock might the weak body pass
Lightly as, through such obstacle, the soul:
Yet, greater far before us hast thou placed;
Not rock alone, but rock of adamant;
And wouldst that we pierce through it. Of God's will,
Unspoken, and unsigned,—in the heart alone
Felt as a living truth,—a doubt, perchance,
In hour of weakness, sickness, wretchedness,
Might, cloudlike, come, and go: but, of this globe,
The doubt to us not more impossible were,
Than of Jehovah, the one only God;
Maker of heaven, and earth, the sun, the stars,
And every thing that is. Yet, that great God
Thou wouldst we should deny: to other gods,
False deities, the imaginings of man,
Bow down,—the name of the living God exchange
For names of shadows!—and for what reward?
Riches, renown, high station, worship, power!
Ah, king! forgive a simple maiden's speech,
And let her tell thee,—couldst thou turn to gold
All valleys of the earth; her mountains turn
To ruby, sapphire, emerald, diamond, pearl;
Her oceans into silver,—and, of all,
Couldst make me queen; for husband give to me
A youth, than all man's race more glorious,
As sunshine is than blackness; and, to both,
Years twice a thousand give of happiest life;—
Or, couldst thou unto Reuben give the crown
Of the whole earth, and all those riches give;
For wife, a creature exquisite beyond
All earth's most lovely maidens, as the rose
More sweet than noisome fungus,—and, to both,
Life long as Lebanon's Cedars,—not for all,
Nor for all multiplied, till even as stars
In cloudless night for number they should be,—
Would he, or I, that Holiest Name forsake,
And to false gods, the dreams of man, bow down!”