The Poetical Works of Robert Montgomery :: :: University of Virginia Library

And must a father slay his only child?
Dark thought in which ten thousand deaths abide!
Was ever parent with such blood defiled,
Or such a victim to a God supplied?

And Isaac too! the promised heir of age,
The child of covenant, by heaven bestow'd
To cheer the sire in his sad pilgrimage,
At whose glad birth his full heart overflow'd.—

'Tis thus, whate'er in living depths of love
Haunts the pure heart, parental as profound,
Might well have shudder'd at the Voice above,
“Let Isaac for my human lamb be bound!”

If dies the son, then how shall Abram's seed
Inherit Canaan's heaven-distinguish'd land?
Or, if the child must by the parent bleed,
How can the covenant in Isaac stand?

Reason and conscience, shall they both arise,
And shrinking heart-blood grow with terror pale
When looks the patriarch in loved Sara's eyes,
And on his lip expires the awful tale?

The savage heathen, will they not abhor
A God of blood, and call the deed profane
Beyond the fury of the fiercest war,
That strews a battle-field with tombless slain?

And thus, if nature be the only guide
Of what a patriarch in such hour should be,
Rebellion had the tempting God denied,
And back recoiled from vocal Deity.

But faith the hoary friend of God inspired,
And mortal Will before a Voice divine
Fell like a sacrifice, by love attired
And offer'd freely on Religion's shrine.

Obedience absolute, submission's law,
On this alone the patriarch's eye was bent,
And God was greater than the grief he saw,
Whose Hand recall'd the mercy He had lent.

Perchance, 'twas in the hush of holy night
The dread command to offer Isaac came,
E'en while the father, lull'd with fond delight,
In dreams parental murmur'd Isaac's name.

For, soon as Morning o'er the orient hills
Shook the bright dewdrops from her beaming hair,
Behold, the sire his sacred work fulfils,
Strong with resolve, and sanctified by prayer.

But ah! forgive him, if from Sara's eye
His shrinking heart refused to take farewell;
He could not trust the cadence of a sigh
Which might have hinted, what he dared not tell.

Three days they travell'd on, that son and sire,
And sought together Christ's prophetic hill,
Where this must bleed in sacrificial fire,
And that His own devoted offspring kill.

It was indeed a spectacle profound
And touch'd with majesty, and truth how meek!
When the hoar'd Patriarch on bland Isaac bound
The wood for sacrifice,—and did not speak.

Part II. THE MORAL.

But when at length a signal cloud reposed
On the lone hill, where God would have the deed,
Did not the hand which then a knife enclosed
Tremble, and all the father in him bleed?

And, hark, how piercing, like a thrill of death,
Clave through his soul one simple cry of love,
“My father!”—in the fondness of that breath
How did the patriarch seek for strength above!

“My father!” and he answer'd, “Here I am;”
“The wood behold, and here the needed fire,
But where is found the sacrificial lamb
Which God ordain'd should in the flame expire?”

“God will provide!”—'twas all he dared to speak;
So went the pilgrims to their awful task,
The blood grew paler on the patriarch's cheek,
But no deliv'rance did cold reason ask.

The Lord had spoken! He who cannot err,
His fiat issued, “Slay thy son for Me;”
True to his God,—rebellion shall not stir.
But Faith adore Him on submissive knee.

And ne'er did infant with its clinging form
And tiny limbs of tenderness, embrace
The fondling circle of a mother's arms,
When she enclasps it,—with a blander grace,

Than did calm Isaac to the cordage yield
His frame for havoc on the burning pile;
Not once outcried he at the coming death,
But gazed on Slaughter with religious smile.

His limbs are bound, and on the altar laid
Behold the parent sees an only son!
And now, both hand and heart display'd
A faith unparagon'd, since time begun.

But God is mercy: hark! like thunder mild
From clouds of golden beauty rolls the cry,
“Friend of Jehovah! spare thine offer'd child,
And mark yon victim, in the thicket nigh.”

Believer! Christ was in that angel-voice,
And His atonement typed in all the scene,—
Child of Jehovah's everlasting choice
Who hath the Isaac of salvation been.

But would we in some lower range of truth
Search for the holy spells our hearts require?
Then may we trace them on that sainted youth,
And see them mirror'd in his matchless sire.

By large devotion of our loving will,
Like the meek Isaac's let our spirit bend,
And with unreas'ning faith at once fulfil
Whate'er the fiat of our God may send:

To live, or die, be healthy, sick, or sad,
In wealth to bask, or poverty to bleed,
In gloom to perish, or in peace be glad,—
Let God decide, who understands our need.

And ye, who clasp with such intense desire
Of fond retention in life's vale below,
The breathing Idols whom your souls admire,
Think of the patriarch in some night of woe!

The fondest heart, round which affection twines,
Is most obtain'd when most in God enjoy'd,
And happiness with sacred lustre shines,
When not by shades of selfish will alloy'd.

Disciples must not, like the godless, cleave
To aught created in this world of sense;
Nor round the ruins of the present grieve,
As though the future had no Providence!

The cherish'd Isaacs of our heart and creed
Like a pure holocaust of grace must fall,
And on Love's altar, while we inly bleed,
To heaven and duty Faith must offer all.

The dearest sacrifice is aye the best,
And let us yield it, though severe the rod;
For on this truth may bleeding Anguish rest,—
We lose an idol, but we gain a God.