 | Sacred Poems |  |
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A BIBLE-STORY FOR MOTHERS.
'Twas sunset in the land where Eden was—
Haran, the fertile in the times of old.
And now the flocks, from far-off field and hill,
Home followed to the fold at Laban's well;
And, when for them the stone was rolled away,
They drank, and Jacob numbered them. For such
As of its life had well fulfilled a day,
The sunset seemed the giving of it joy—
Joy for the hornèd cattle with their calves,
Joy for the goats with kids, the sheep with lambs;
Joy for the birds, that tilted on their nests,
Singing till twilight should enfold their young;
And, from the lowly hut beyond the well,
Rose the sweet laughter of the shepherd's babe;
And Zilpah's son, and Billah's, on the clean
Smooth floor between the household's circling tents
Play'd with the children of the unloved Leah.
Haran, the fertile in the times of old.
And now the flocks, from far-off field and hill,
Home followed to the fold at Laban's well;
And, when for them the stone was rolled away,
They drank, and Jacob numbered them. For such
As of its life had well fulfilled a day,
The sunset seemed the giving of it joy—
Joy for the hornèd cattle with their calves,
Joy for the goats with kids, the sheep with lambs;
Joy for the birds, that tilted on their nests,
Singing till twilight should enfold their young;
And, from the lowly hut beyond the well,
Rose the sweet laughter of the shepherd's babe;
And Zilpah's son, and Billah's, on the clean
Smooth floor between the household's circling tents
Play'd with the children of the unloved Leah.
But, in the shadow of the tallest palm,
There stood a tent, apart. Th' untrampled grass
Told of no frolic feet familiar there;
And silence reigned within its guarded room;
And, by the half-drawn curtain of the door,
Sat one who felt her life too sorrowful.
To let the greeting of the sunset in.
For, on the herds that watered at the well,
And on the children that played joyous by,
And on the flowers, and birds, and laden trees—
Each lacking naught of life that was its own—
How could she look and feel she was of them—
Rachel—the childless?
There stood a tent, apart. Th' untrampled grass
Told of no frolic feet familiar there;
And silence reigned within its guarded room;
And, by the half-drawn curtain of the door,
Sat one who felt her life too sorrowful.
To let the greeting of the sunset in.
For, on the herds that watered at the well,
And on the children that played joyous by,
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Each lacking naught of life that was its own—
How could she look and feel she was of them—
Rachel—the childless?
'Twas another eve;
And other summers had on Haran smiled—
An eve of golden glory, that, again,
Found Jacob with his flocks at Laban's well.
And now—uncovered, as at prayer—he stood,
And look'd where glowed the Bethel of his dream;
For, in the glory of that western sky,
He saw again the ladder rise to Heaven,
And the ascending and descending troop
That ministered to him who stood above—
The place none other than the house of God—
There, where he poured the oil upon the stone,
As he came East from Canaan. And, as wont,
In the devoutness of that evening hour,
He recognized the COVENANT fulfilled:
For he had food, and raiment to put on—
His cattle and his flocks in peace were there—
A God still with him, who increased his store,
And kept him in the way that he should go,
And who the holy promise would fulfill,
Dearest to Jacob in that stranger land,
To bring him to his father's house once more.
Thus prayed he, with the setting of the sun.
But, oh! there was another gift from God,
And far more precious, though unnamed with these;
Whose joy had waited not the sunset's glow
To kindle it to prayer, but whose fond fire
Burned a thanksgiving incense all the day—
She whom he loved had borne to him a child.
And other summers had on Haran smiled—
An eve of golden glory, that, again,
Found Jacob with his flocks at Laban's well.
And now—uncovered, as at prayer—he stood,
And look'd where glowed the Bethel of his dream;
For, in the glory of that western sky,
He saw again the ladder rise to Heaven,
And the ascending and descending troop
That ministered to him who stood above—
The place none other than the house of God—
There, where he poured the oil upon the stone,
As he came East from Canaan. And, as wont,
In the devoutness of that evening hour,
He recognized the COVENANT fulfilled:
For he had food, and raiment to put on—
His cattle and his flocks in peace were there—
A God still with him, who increased his store,
And kept him in the way that he should go,
And who the holy promise would fulfill,
Dearest to Jacob in that stranger land,
To bring him to his father's house once more.
Thus prayed he, with the setting of the sun.
But, oh! there was another gift from God,
And far more precious, though unnamed with these;
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To kindle it to prayer, but whose fond fire
Burned a thanksgiving incense all the day—
She whom he loved had borne to him a child.
And, to the tent that stood beneath the palm—
The tent apart, that was so shut and lone—
The glory of the evening entered now;
The silken cord drawn eagerly and far,
That the sun's greeting should be all let in—
The rosy record of a day fulfilled
Being the mirror of a mother's joy—
For, on the floor, rejoicing in its light,
Lay the boy babe of Rachel. She, of all
The daughters of the land most fair to see—
Most loved, and so most needing to bestow
A jewel from her heart on him she loved—
She who of women was reproached to be
Barren though beautiful—and thus unblest,
Refusing to be comforted—behold!
God had remembered her!
The tent apart, that was so shut and lone—
The glory of the evening entered now;
The silken cord drawn eagerly and far,
That the sun's greeting should be all let in—
The rosy record of a day fulfilled
Being the mirror of a mother's joy—
For, on the floor, rejoicing in its light,
Lay the boy babe of Rachel. She, of all
The daughters of the land most fair to see—
Most loved, and so most needing to bestow
A jewel from her heart on him she loved—
She who of women was reproached to be
Barren though beautiful—and thus unblest,
Refusing to be comforted—behold!
God had remembered her!
O mother loved—
You who have taken to your breast the child
New-given from your beauty unto him
Whose soul is mingled in its life, the link
Of an immortal spirit welded now
Betwixt you twain forever, read you here
How in the Scripture is your story writ!
The sands of gold, from nature's running brook,
Were singled truly in the olden time.
That which was holiest in our daily life,
Was, in inspired words, all wondrously
First written—as the stars are set to burn—
Small though they seem, of an undying brightness.
Jacob's for Rachel was a human love—
A heart won by the beauty of a maid
Met, with her flocks, beside her father's well.
How beautiful was Laban's daughter there,
'Tis written; and, how tenderly he loved,
Is of his lifetime made the golden thread;
And, of her sorrow that she bare no child,
And of the taking that reproach away,
'Tis lessoned for the world to learn by heart—
Sweet as a song—“God hearkened unto her.”
And oh, the bliss of Rachel in her child—
Its hallowed fountain was twice Scripture-told!
Look thou, oh mother, how again 'twas writ—
The story of thy babe as told in Heaven—
“And God remembered her.”
You who have taken to your breast the child
New-given from your beauty unto him
Whose soul is mingled in its life, the link
Of an immortal spirit welded now
Betwixt you twain forever, read you here
How in the Scripture is your story writ!
The sands of gold, from nature's running brook,
89
That which was holiest in our daily life,
Was, in inspired words, all wondrously
First written—as the stars are set to burn—
Small though they seem, of an undying brightness.
Jacob's for Rachel was a human love—
A heart won by the beauty of a maid
Met, with her flocks, beside her father's well.
How beautiful was Laban's daughter there,
'Tis written; and, how tenderly he loved,
Is of his lifetime made the golden thread;
And, of her sorrow that she bare no child,
And of the taking that reproach away,
'Tis lessoned for the world to learn by heart—
Sweet as a song—“God hearkened unto her.”
And oh, the bliss of Rachel in her child—
Its hallowed fountain was twice Scripture-told!
Look thou, oh mother, how again 'twas writ—
The story of thy babe as told in Heaven—
“And God remembered her.”
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