 | Poems |  |
And with the glory came an angel voice,
“Hagar, what ailest? rouse thee, and rejoice!
“Look up, and live! God's ever opened ear
“Hath patient hearing for a mother's prayer.
“Arise—take up the boy—his pleading cry
“Came up to God, and had its end on high;
“And God shall make him, in his own good time,
“A mighty people, in a pleasant clime.”
“Hagar, what ailest? rouse thee, and rejoice!
“Look up, and live! God's ever opened ear
“Hath patient hearing for a mother's prayer.
“Arise—take up the boy—his pleading cry
“Came up to God, and had its end on high;
“And God shall make him, in his own good time,
“A mighty people, in a pleasant clime.”
Then was her sight unsealed, and lo! at hand
A spring was sparkling in the desert sand;
Sparkling with crystal water to the brim,
Fringed with the date, and rimmed with lilied rim.
Swiftly she speeded to the fountain's brink,
And drew a draught, and gave her boy to drink,
And watched the little lips that lingered still,
Nor tasted drop till he had drunk his fill.
Then on bent knees, with tear and smile at strife,
Mother and child, they quaffed the liquid life;
And stayed to smile, and drank to smile again,
Till sweet and cheerful seemed the silent plain;
And young leaves dancing on the desert trees
To the low music of the passing breeze,
And birds of passage with their homeward wings,
And fire-flies wheeling in their lighted rings,
And flowers unfolding where the glare was gone
Spake but one tale—Hope ever, and Hope on!
A spring was sparkling in the desert sand;
Sparkling with crystal water to the brim,
Fringed with the date, and rimmed with lilied rim.
Swiftly she speeded to the fountain's brink,
And drew a draught, and gave her boy to drink,
And watched the little lips that lingered still,
Nor tasted drop till he had drunk his fill.
Then on bent knees, with tear and smile at strife,
Mother and child, they quaffed the liquid life;
And stayed to smile, and drank to smile again,
Till sweet and cheerful seemed the silent plain;
67
To the low music of the passing breeze,
And birds of passage with their homeward wings,
And fire-flies wheeling in their lighted rings,
And flowers unfolding where the glare was gone
Spake but one tale—Hope ever, and Hope on!
| Poems | |