University of Virginia Library

Scene IX.

—A Field at Beersheba.
Jacob asleep, amidst great splendour. A Voice speaketh from above. The wind dies away.
Hear, Jacob!—I am He!—Thy father's God!
To go down into Egypt, fear thou not;
For I will there make of thee a great nation.
Lo! into Egypt will I go with thee;
And I will surely bring thee up again:
Joseph shall put his hand upon thine eyes.

Jacob riseth, and boweth down.
Jacob.
Yea, I am confident and much rejoic'd.
I am not worthy of Thy grace, O God!
Who would not be a servant of the Lord's,
Who loveth men when they are grey and old?
And cheereth the sad heart, and pours His voice
Into our human ears? Spirit of God,
Who seest the evil things of Jacob's days
And art not wroth therewith, behold he bows,
Feeling the weight of so much goodness fall
All suddenly upon his agèd head.
God's love's a tree of grace that never dies;
All men may pluck thereof, whose sight is clear
To look to heaven, His bright pavilion:—
It nourisheth the soul, and the red heart.—
Since God hath said it, surely I shall see
My goodly Joseph favour'd in His sight;
And from the tribe of Jacob shall arise
A famous nation, favour'd of the Lord.

Enter Benjamin.
Benjamin.
What, ho! father, arise—the morning breaks,
And all our tribe are eager to depart.

Jacob.
How fares my boy? is it the morning yet?
For darkness was but now upon the earth.

Benjamin.
The moon retir'd in black embattled clouds,
And 'twixt her passing and the morning's light
There was a sable pause. The birds are up,
And in the woodland, skirting 'round our tents,
With rich and mellow notes sing forth the morn,
As handmaids do, that bring the maid abroad
Early, before the splendour of the day
Shall see her wedded to some graceful youth.—
How did my father sleep?

Jacob.
Well—very well.—
The air is free and cool, and it bids fair
To be a cheerful day.

Benjamin.
The sun did sink
Amidst a gentle breeze, behind yon line
Of umber mountains, crowning their rude heads
With showers of light, of a mild roseate hue;
Not angry-hot, chequer'd with partial gloom,
As when in wrathful muteness he retires,
Foreboding suddenly of wind and storm.—
See, in transparent vapour veil'd he rises,
Shifting the huge grey clouds from out his path,—
Just as a giant, 'merging from a cave,
Rolleth the rocky barriers from his hold.
He burneth his own incense, for that mist
Is gather'd from the eastern mountain's brow,
Where it hath laid in drops of early dew,
Nurs'd in the fragrant laps of swathèd flowers:
Of such sweet moisture doth he make his bath.
What a fine Spirit is our father's God,
Who moulded all this subtle beauty forth!

Jacob.
Ah! ponder well on that, my Benjamin:
Thou'lt find the doer greater than the deed.

Benjamin.
Now he doth look like me, both young and strong:
But ere he sinks he will be like to thee,
Fading, my father, as we all must do.
Behold him rise again more fresh and bright,—
Not like a golden garment, that doth fret
From its frail brightness, being worn too oft—
Therein he is so high above our heads.
It is long since a morning like to this
Has cheer'd our drooping hopes; nor can it last;
For Joseph says, five years of famine yet
Will linger o'er the land.

Jacob.
Yea, God is good.

Benjamin.
Yet why should God put us to want and pain,
Seeing we can but moan, nor help ourselves?

Jacob.
A little evil doth instruct much good.
The mind of man is stubborn to control,
And must be scourg'd into obedience.
The Spirit of God would fain be friends with man,
But man presumeth on God's temperance,
And drives His angel from his threshold forth
That he may sink to grossness and to vice;
Therefore, lest man should fail into the beast
And quite destroy himself from off the earth,
God in His power and mercy doth compel,
Through sore affliction, that men's evil thoughts
Should be cast forth, seeing the pain they bring;
And that they should incline their ear to good.
Whereat the love of God descends on them
As it would woo them to respect themselves.
All this is mercy; for hard sufferance
Alone can curb and sway our wilfulness.
A moral given is worth ten thousand lives!—
Oh! think not, boy, that pestilence or plague
Is idle execution at God's hand;
He is Almighty Power, though great yet good.
It is a principle of power to feel
A portion of affliction, and our God
Can grieve. There's not a man His wrath doth bend,
But, ere He breaks him, He doth weigh his heart,
Hoping to find him worthy of that bliss
That honesty inherits.

Benjamin.
How say you, then?
I have not yet had years to do offence;
But save for him, my brother, I had starv'd.

Jacob.
Thy question is offence enough alone;
For it lacks faith, which is a boundless space.
Each man that doth wear flesh upon his bones,
Offendeth Heaven both by night and day.

Benjamin.
Why, then there is no hope to be belov'd.

Jacob.
Go to—go to—God's mercy is so great
That He accepts the will beyond the deed,
When that the will doth struggle to do well:—
How dost thou know that thou shouldst have been starv'd?

Benjamin.
Father, five years of famine are to come:
No means to gain our food remain'd for us.

Jacob.
Could not the Power that made thy brother lord
And ruler over Egypt also make
The earth to gape and render food to us,
In spite of famine and the shade of death?—
Come hither, boy, and let me kiss thy cheek,—
How couldst thou say God would abandon thee?
He is the Father both of old and young,
And loveth us as I love thee, my boy.
Therefore do have a care thou ne'er again
Cast doubts upon His mercy and His power,
Lest that He should forget thee. I am prone
To think—nay, I am well convinc'd of it,
(Therefore look to it, and be virtuous)—
That God is scrutinous to shield or grieve,
According to men's goodness, or their vice.
The evils and the passions we allow
To get the better of the heart and blood,
Do plague us to the allowance of our fault;
Whilst, like thy brother, those we practise on,
According to their meekness and content,
Do wear a happy crown compar'd to them.—
Nay, do not weep—I did not mean it thus.
See that in future thou dost honour God.
Yea, Lord, these tears I dedicate to Thee.—
Come, sit upon my knee,—I will unfold
The nature of God's goodness unto me.
My father, Isaac, bless'd me in his age,
And sent me forth from Esau, by the way
That leads to Padan-Aram: for he said,
‘Thou shalt not take a Canaanite to wife.’
And lo! I journey'd onward to the well
Of fruitful Haran, where I met withal
Thy mother Rachel, whom I did espouse,—
Yea, her whom God has taken to His rest:
But, ere I came, I gather'd me some stones
And laid me down to rest upon the plain,
For it was dark; and when I was asleep
A vision came upon me from the clouds:
There was a silence almost to be felt,
And lo! a mist was clearing from the land;
And all the air, and all the herbage round,
Was of sere umber colour, like to that
Which in the deepest shade of autumn dwells,
And mingled with the colour of my dream.
And lo! there was a ladder on the earth,
The top of which did reach unto the heavens,
In faint obscurity; and angels bright,
Like stars in ether veil'd, descended it,
And did ascend, glancing the heavy shade
With saffron-fire, such as the morning sheds.
And all the place did brighten at the top,
For God did stand there in His majesty;
And I, who slumber'd at the gloomy foot,
Did feel God's voice descend unto my ear.
Said He, ‘Behold I am the Lord, the God
Of Abraham, thy father, and the God
Of Isaac. And the land whereon thou liest,
On thee will I bestow it and thy seed.
Countless thy seed shall be as is the dust,
And thou shall spread abroad into the west,
The east, the north, yea even to the south:
In thee and all thy seed for evermore
My blessing on the families shall fall.
I am with thee, and I will keep thee safe
In all those places whither thou shalt go,
And bring thee back into this land again.
I will not leave thee until I have done
All that which I have spoken unto thee.’
Then the same deadly silence did ensue,
And all this shade and brightness was engloom'd
And veil'd in utter darkness from my sight.
And as I woke my joints did shake with dread;
For sure, said I, the Lord was in this place,
And I did know it not. This is God's house,—
The gate of heaven is here. And in the morn
I took my pillows up, of gather'd stones,
And rais'd a pillar, and pour'd oil thereon,
And made an oath, vowing that if the Lord
Would be with me, and keep me in the way,
And give me bread, and raiment to put on,
So I might come unto my father's house
In peace once more, that God should ever be
My Lord and God.—Now mark herein, my son,
How far He doth o'erpay His servant's worth.
He did exalt me unto wealth and ease,
Gave me a numerous and goodly tribe,
And ever hath been bountiful to me.
Thy brother he hath raisèd from a slave
To be a lord and prophet, and to save
Our lives, amongst a million, from this wreck
Which He has seen it wise to bring about.
He promis'd us we should increase and thrive,
And be a mighty nation: and behold,
Even now He doth prepare us for His will,
And brings us up to Egypt. Therefore, boy,
See that thou love His ways, and worship Him;
That also thou and thine, when I am dead,
May be belov'd and nourish'd in the land.

Benjamin.
I shall lay up within my memory
The counsels of my father, and fear God.

Jacob.
Why, that is well; and thou shalt reap the fruit.
The tribe of Israel shall multiply;
Their breath be sweet with honey, and their teeth
Whiten'd with milk, and their lips red with wine;
The vines they pluck of by the wells shall grow,
And spread their trails luxuriously for them;
And plenty they shall have as they fear God.

[Exeunt.