 | Sacred Poems |  |
73
CHRIST BLESSING LITTLE CHILDREN.
“Then were there brought unto him little children, that he should put his hands on them, and pray: and the disciples rebuked them.
“But Jesus said, Suffer little children, and forbid them not, to come unto me; for of such is the kingdom of heaven.”—
Matthew xix 13, 14.“At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?
“And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them,
“And said, Verily, I say unto you, Except ye be converted and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.
“Whosoever, therefore, shall humble himself as this little child, the same is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”—
Matthew xviii. 1–4.
The errand upon earth was well nigh done.
A little more, and that dread passer-on—
Time, that not even at the Cross stood still—
Must come, with Calvary's ninth hour. And Christ
Turn'd tow'rd Jerusalem. Galilee was sweet,
With its fair Mount, that was the step of heaven—
(Whereon He had but just now stood, and through
The door flung open to the throne of God,
Drank strength in the transfiguring light)—and here
Dwelt Mary, holy mother; and 'twas here
His childhood had been passed; and here the life
E'en Christ must learn to love, to be “like us,”
Had been most sweet to him. But not where life
So gently beautiful is known—oh, not
Where Nature with her calm rebuke is heard—
Could the Great Wrong be done! in Mammon's mar:—
The crowded city, where the small, still voice
Is, like the leaf's low whisper, overborne—
Where the dark shadow, which before us falls
When we are turning from the light away,
Seems at another's feet and not our own—
Where, 'mid the multitude's bewildering shout,
Anguish may moan unheedly and even
Lama sabacthani go up unheard—
There, only, could the Son of God be slain!
And when to his disciples Jesus said
“Behold, we go up to Jerusalem,”
Then turned His path from peaceful Galilee;
Thence—to the scourge, the buffet, and the scorn,
Gethsemane's last conflict, and the Cross—
The meek first step to Calvary was there!
A little more, and that dread passer-on—
Time, that not even at the Cross stood still—
Must come, with Calvary's ninth hour. And Christ
Turn'd tow'rd Jerusalem. Galilee was sweet,
With its fair Mount, that was the step of heaven—
(Whereon He had but just now stood, and through
The door flung open to the throne of God,
Drank strength in the transfiguring light)—and here
Dwelt Mary, holy mother; and 'twas here
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E'en Christ must learn to love, to be “like us,”
Had been most sweet to him. But not where life
So gently beautiful is known—oh, not
Where Nature with her calm rebuke is heard—
Could the Great Wrong be done! in Mammon's mar:—
The crowded city, where the small, still voice
Is, like the leaf's low whisper, overborne—
Where the dark shadow, which before us falls
When we are turning from the light away,
Seems at another's feet and not our own—
Where, 'mid the multitude's bewildering shout,
Anguish may moan unheedly and even
Lama sabacthani go up unheard—
There, only, could the Son of God be slain!
And when to his disciples Jesus said
“Behold, we go up to Jerusalem,”
Then turned His path from peaceful Galilee;
Thence—to the scourge, the buffet, and the scorn,
Gethsemane's last conflict, and the Cross—
The meek first step to Calvary was there!
And Christ passed over Jordan, to the coast
Of populous Judea; and there came
Multitudes to Him, listening as He taught,
And wondering at His miracles; for lo!
His calm word healed all sicknesses; the blind
Rose up and gazed upon the luminous brow
Whose glory had shone through their darkened lids;
The dumb spoke; and the leper became clean;
And devils were cast out which had defied
The word of His disciples. With new awe,
Touched with compassionating love, looked these
Upon their Master now; for, near at hand,
They felt the shadow of His coming hour.
And though His face shone, with the strength new given
By the celestial sacrament of light
Upon the Mount administered, they still
Trembled, as men, for One who, as a man,
Must pass through death—death of such agony
As for a world's transgressions might atone—
Whose bitter cup even the Son of God
Must shrink from, with a prayer that it might pass!
Of populous Judea; and there came
Multitudes to Him, listening as He taught,
And wondering at His miracles; for lo!
His calm word healed all sicknesses; the blind
Rose up and gazed upon the luminous brow
Whose glory had shone through their darkened lids;
The dumb spoke; and the leper became clean;
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The word of His disciples. With new awe,
Touched with compassionating love, looked these
Upon their Master now; for, near at hand,
They felt the shadow of His coming hour.
And though His face shone, with the strength new given
By the celestial sacrament of light
Upon the Mount administered, they still
Trembled, as men, for One who, as a man,
Must pass through death—death of such agony
As for a world's transgressions might atone—
Whose bitter cup even the Son of God
Must shrink from, with a prayer that it might pass!
Christ had told o'er His sorrows, to the end.
They knew what must befall. In silence sad,
Listened the Twelve, while jeered the Pharisee,
And tempted Him the Scribe—for so must He
To His last victory come; but eager still,
Looked they where they might minister to Him,
Or, watchfully, from that dark path of woe,
Pluck out the needless thorn.
They knew what must befall. In silence sad,
Listened the Twelve, while jeered the Pharisee,
And tempted Him the Scribe—for so must He
To His last victory come; but eager still,
Looked they where they might minister to Him,
Or, watchfully, from that dark path of woe,
Pluck out the needless thorn.
The eventide
Found Him among his questioners—the same;
Patient and meek as in the morning hour—
And while the Scribes, with His mild answers foiled,
Sat by and reasoned in their hearts, behold
There was a stir in the close multitude,
And voices pleaded to come nigh; and, straight,
The crowd divided, and a mother came,
Holding her babe before her, and on Christ
Fixing her moist eyes steadfastly. He turned,
Benignant, as she tremblingly came near;
And the sad earnestness His face had worn
While He disputed with the crafty scribes,
Was touched with the foreshadowing of a smile.
And, lo! another, and another still,
Led by this sweet encouragement to come,
Pressed where the first had made her trusting way;
And soon, a fair young company they stood—
A band, who (by a lamp of love, new lit,
And fed by oil of tenderness from Heaven—
By recognition, instinct as the eye
To know, 'mid clouds, the twinkle of a star—
By mother's love) knew what must holiest be,
And where to bring their children to be blest.
And as Christ looked upon them, where they stood,
And each would lay her infant in His arms,
To see it there, and know that He had borne
Her burden on His bosom, there rose up
Some of the Twelve; and, mindful of the night,
And of the trials of the weary day,
They came between, and bade them to depart,
And trouble not the Master. Then did Christ,
Reproving His disciples, call again
The mothers they had turned from Him away,
And, leaning gently tow'rd them as they came,
Tenderly took the babes unto His arms,
And laid His hand upon their foreheads fair,
And blest them, saying: Suffer them to come;
For, in my Father's kingdom, such are they.
Whoso is humble as a little child,
The same is greatest in the courts of heaven.
Spotless is infancy, we fondly feel.
Angels in heaven are like it, He hath said.
Mothers have dreamed the smile upon the lips
Of slumbering babes to be the memory
Of a bright world they come from; and that, here,
'Mid the temptations of this fallen star,
They bide the trial for a loftier sphere—
Ever progressing. Fearfully, if so,
Give we, to childhood, guidance for high heaven!
But, be this lofty vision as it may,
Christ blest them, here. And, oh! if in the hour
Of his first steps to Calvary, and 'mid
The tempters, who, He knew, had thus begun
The wrongs that were to lead Him to the cross;
If here, 'mid weariness and gathering woe,
The heart of Christ turned meltingly to them,
And, for a harsh word to these little ones,
Though uttered but with sheltering care for Him,
He spoke rebukingly to those He loved—
If babes thus pure and priceless were to Christ—
Holy, indeed, the trust to whom they're given!
Sacred are they!
Found Him among his questioners—the same;
Patient and meek as in the morning hour—
And while the Scribes, with His mild answers foiled,
Sat by and reasoned in their hearts, behold
There was a stir in the close multitude,
And voices pleaded to come nigh; and, straight,
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Holding her babe before her, and on Christ
Fixing her moist eyes steadfastly. He turned,
Benignant, as she tremblingly came near;
And the sad earnestness His face had worn
While He disputed with the crafty scribes,
Was touched with the foreshadowing of a smile.
And, lo! another, and another still,
Led by this sweet encouragement to come,
Pressed where the first had made her trusting way;
And soon, a fair young company they stood—
A band, who (by a lamp of love, new lit,
And fed by oil of tenderness from Heaven—
By recognition, instinct as the eye
To know, 'mid clouds, the twinkle of a star—
By mother's love) knew what must holiest be,
And where to bring their children to be blest.
And as Christ looked upon them, where they stood,
And each would lay her infant in His arms,
To see it there, and know that He had borne
Her burden on His bosom, there rose up
Some of the Twelve; and, mindful of the night,
And of the trials of the weary day,
They came between, and bade them to depart,
And trouble not the Master. Then did Christ,
Reproving His disciples, call again
The mothers they had turned from Him away,
And, leaning gently tow'rd them as they came,
Tenderly took the babes unto His arms,
And laid His hand upon their foreheads fair,
77
For, in my Father's kingdom, such are they.
Whoso is humble as a little child,
The same is greatest in the courts of heaven.
Spotless is infancy, we fondly feel.
Angels in heaven are like it, He hath said.
Mothers have dreamed the smile upon the lips
Of slumbering babes to be the memory
Of a bright world they come from; and that, here,
'Mid the temptations of this fallen star,
They bide the trial for a loftier sphere—
Ever progressing. Fearfully, if so,
Give we, to childhood, guidance for high heaven!
But, be this lofty vision as it may,
Christ blest them, here. And, oh! if in the hour
Of his first steps to Calvary, and 'mid
The tempters, who, He knew, had thus begun
The wrongs that were to lead Him to the cross;
If here, 'mid weariness and gathering woe,
The heart of Christ turned meltingly to them,
And, for a harsh word to these little ones,
Though uttered but with sheltering care for Him,
He spoke rebukingly to those He loved—
If babes thus pure and priceless were to Christ—
Holy, indeed, the trust to whom they're given!
Sacred are they!
78
CHRIST'S MOTHER.
THOUGHTS UPON THE PROBABLE DAILY RECIPROCITIES OF DUTY AND TENDERNESS BETWEEN CHRIST AND HIS MOTHER, IN THE SAVIOUR'S CHILDHOOD—SUGGESTED BY THE READING OF THAT EXQUISITE NARRATIVE, THE SECOND CHAPTER OF LUKE.
The boy was sad, yet fair.
The marvels of his birth were strange to hear,
And, to regard his gentle face and speak
Some fond word of him to his youthful mother
Seemed kindness to the humble Nazarenes
Who stopp'd at Mary's door; but thoughtfully,
She listen'd to their praises of the child—
So less than all she knew—and let her heart
Look with its answer up to God. And day
Followed on day, like any childhood's passing;
And silently sat Mary at her wheel,
And watched the boy Messiah as she spun;
And—as a human child, unto his mother
“Subject” the while—he did her low-voiced bidding,
Or gently came to lean upon her knee
And asked her of the thoughts that in him stirred
Dimly as yet, or with affection sweet,
Tell murmuring of his weariness; and there,
All tearful-hearted, as a human mother
Unutterably fond, while touch'd with awe—
She paused, or with a tremulous hand spun on,
The blessing that her lips instinctive gave,
Asked of Him with an instant thought again.
And when they “went up to Jerusalem,
After the custom of the feast,” and there
“Fulfilled the days,” and back to Nazareth
Went a day's journey, and sought Jesus there,
Among their kinsfolk who had gone before,
And found him not—the mother's heart of Mary
Well knew, that wheresoever strayed the child,
He could not go by angels unattended;
But, therefore, was her tenderness untroubled? No.
Though in her memory lay Gabriel's words,
Brought her on wings at God's own throne unfolded;
Though in rapt speech, Anna the prophetess
Had named him the Redeemer, newly born—
And Simeon, forbidden to see death
Till he had seen the Christ, had taken Him
Into his arms, and prayed that he might now
Depart in peace—though of the song they sang,
(That host, who, while the glory of the Lord
Shone round about, told of his birth by night
Unto the shepherds as they watched,) she knew
The burden was a work yet unfulfilled—
To Him the Saviour given, and yet, to do.—
Still was the child she loved gone from her now
And Mary “SOUGHT HIM SORROWING.”
The marvels of his birth were strange to hear,
And, to regard his gentle face and speak
Some fond word of him to his youthful mother
Seemed kindness to the humble Nazarenes
Who stopp'd at Mary's door; but thoughtfully,
She listen'd to their praises of the child—
So less than all she knew—and let her heart
Look with its answer up to God. And day
Followed on day, like any childhood's passing;
And silently sat Mary at her wheel,
And watched the boy Messiah as she spun;
And—as a human child, unto his mother
“Subject” the while—he did her low-voiced bidding,
Or gently came to lean upon her knee
And asked her of the thoughts that in him stirred
Dimly as yet, or with affection sweet,
Tell murmuring of his weariness; and there,
All tearful-hearted, as a human mother
Unutterably fond, while touch'd with awe—
She paused, or with a tremulous hand spun on,
The blessing that her lips instinctive gave,
Asked of Him with an instant thought again.
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After the custom of the feast,” and there
“Fulfilled the days,” and back to Nazareth
Went a day's journey, and sought Jesus there,
Among their kinsfolk who had gone before,
And found him not—the mother's heart of Mary
Well knew, that wheresoever strayed the child,
He could not go by angels unattended;
But, therefore, was her tenderness untroubled? No.
Though in her memory lay Gabriel's words,
Brought her on wings at God's own throne unfolded;
Though in rapt speech, Anna the prophetess
Had named him the Redeemer, newly born—
And Simeon, forbidden to see death
Till he had seen the Christ, had taken Him
Into his arms, and prayed that he might now
Depart in peace—though of the song they sang,
(That host, who, while the glory of the Lord
Shone round about, told of his birth by night
Unto the shepherds as they watched,) she knew
The burden was a work yet unfulfilled—
To Him the Saviour given, and yet, to do.—
Still was the child she loved gone from her now
And Mary “SOUGHT HIM SORROWING.”
And who
“Kept all his sayings in her heart” but Mary?
It was not with unnatural brightness beaming
From the fair forehead of the boy, nor yet
By revelations from his infant lips
Too wondrous to deny, that Jesus first
Gave out the dawn of the Messiah morn
Breaking within his soul. With wisdom only
Reached by the child's simplicity—so oft
Truer than sage's lore—and outward pressed
By the divinity half conscious now,
He argued in the Temple, and amazed
The elders, seated in their midst—but none
In these first teachings saw the Son of God,
And he went back to Nazareth—a child—
Unsought by the disputing priests again,
And his strange words forgotten but by Mary,
Who “KEPT THEM IN HER HEART.”
“Kept all his sayings in her heart” but Mary?
It was not with unnatural brightness beaming
From the fair forehead of the boy, nor yet
By revelations from his infant lips
80
Gave out the dawn of the Messiah morn
Breaking within his soul. With wisdom only
Reached by the child's simplicity—so oft
Truer than sage's lore—and outward pressed
By the divinity half conscious now,
He argued in the Temple, and amazed
The elders, seated in their midst—but none
In these first teachings saw the Son of God,
And he went back to Nazareth—a child—
Unsought by the disputing priests again,
And his strange words forgotten but by Mary,
Who “KEPT THEM IN HER HEART.”
Oh, not alone
In his pure teachings and in Calvary's woe,
Lay the blest errand of the Saviour here.
His walk through life's dark pathway blessed yet more.
Distant from God so infinitely far
Was human weakness, till He came to bear,
With us, our weaknesses awhile, that fear
Had heard Jehovah's voice, in thunder only,
And worshipped trembling. Heaven is nearer now.
At God's right hand sits One who was a child,
Born as the humblest, and who here abode
Till of our sorrows he had suffered all.
They who now weep, remember that he wept.
The tempted, the despised, the sorrowing, feel
That Jesus, too, drank of these cups of woe.
And oh, if of our joys he tasted less—
If all but one passed from his lips away—
That one—A MOTHER'S LOVE—by his partaking
Is like a thread of heaven spun through our life,
And we, in the untiring watch, the tears,
The tenderness and fond trust of a mother,
May feel a heavenly closeness unto God—
For such, all human in its blest excess,
Was Mary's love for Jesus.
In his pure teachings and in Calvary's woe,
Lay the blest errand of the Saviour here.
His walk through life's dark pathway blessed yet more.
Distant from God so infinitely far
Was human weakness, till He came to bear,
With us, our weaknesses awhile, that fear
Had heard Jehovah's voice, in thunder only,
And worshipped trembling. Heaven is nearer now.
At God's right hand sits One who was a child,
Born as the humblest, and who here abode
Till of our sorrows he had suffered all.
They who now weep, remember that he wept.
The tempted, the despised, the sorrowing, feel
That Jesus, too, drank of these cups of woe.
And oh, if of our joys he tasted less—
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That one—A MOTHER'S LOVE—by his partaking
Is like a thread of heaven spun through our life,
And we, in the untiring watch, the tears,
The tenderness and fond trust of a mother,
May feel a heavenly closeness unto God—
For such, all human in its blest excess,
Was Mary's love for Jesus.
HANNAH AND SAMUEL;
OR, CONSECRATION OF A CHILD TO GOD.
(Book of Samuel. )
Day dawned, and Hannah look'd upon her boy.
She had arisen while the morning star
Shone through the parted curtain of the tent,
And wak'd the fair young sleeper; and, once more
—That fondest of a mother's tasks to be
Her blessed happiness but this once more—
Had wash'd the slight limbs of her perfect child,
And, combing the soft ringlets that her vow
Would keep unshorn till death, had strained him close
In his unblemish'd beauty to her breast;
And now she girded the new vestments on,
Which, to his frolic infancy, were strange;
Smoothing the knots of the uneven threads,
And half caressing him as to his form
Of symmetry she shap'd each spotless fold;
Smiling her sweet assurances the while,
In answer to his lisp of wondering words;
Until, as rose the sun, her fair boy stood
Brave in his new apparel at her knee—
Only the little feet as yet left bare
That press'd their rosy dimples to the ground.
This, and no more, of mother's tasks to do!
But, as she stoop'd to bind the sandals on—
Her face a moment hidden from her child,
And the o'erburdened eyelids giving way
With the lost balance of the cup too full—
The tears rain'd on her hands! Of three sweet years'
Lone tending of the offspring ask'd of God—
Offspring, as if her heart's pulse, brought to light,
Had proved to be an angel, hidden there
To take her bitterest reproach away—
This was the last fond office!
She had arisen while the morning star
Shone through the parted curtain of the tent,
And wak'd the fair young sleeper; and, once more
—That fondest of a mother's tasks to be
Her blessed happiness but this once more—
Had wash'd the slight limbs of her perfect child,
And, combing the soft ringlets that her vow
Would keep unshorn till death, had strained him close
In his unblemish'd beauty to her breast;
And now she girded the new vestments on,
Which, to his frolic infancy, were strange;
Smoothing the knots of the uneven threads,
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Of symmetry she shap'd each spotless fold;
Smiling her sweet assurances the while,
In answer to his lisp of wondering words;
Until, as rose the sun, her fair boy stood
Brave in his new apparel at her knee—
Only the little feet as yet left bare
That press'd their rosy dimples to the ground.
This, and no more, of mother's tasks to do!
But, as she stoop'd to bind the sandals on—
Her face a moment hidden from her child,
And the o'erburdened eyelids giving way
With the lost balance of the cup too full—
The tears rain'd on her hands! Of three sweet years'
Lone tending of the offspring ask'd of God—
Offspring, as if her heart's pulse, brought to light,
Had proved to be an angel, hidden there
To take her bitterest reproach away—
This was the last fond office!
Brightly shone
The sun upon the Tabernacle now;
And, from the holy altar in the midst
Rose the white smoke into the cloudless air,
While the wayfarers with their bullocks slain,
Gather'd from tents without. They had come up
From Ramah, a day's journey, to the courts
Of Shiloh—Elkanah and all his house—
To pay unto the Lord their yearly vows,
The incense, the burnt-offerings, oil and wine;
And Hannah, who, in answer to the prayer
Here utter'd, when her barrenness she mourn'd,
Had borne unto her husband “a man child”—
Thus numbered among women well-belov'd—
And who had tarried till the infant boy,
Wean'd from her breast and nurtured by her care,
Could from his mother's hands be let to go,
Had come, in the fulfillment of her vow,
To consecrate her first-born unto God.
It was the hour of prayer. And Eli came
Forth where the Tabernacle's vail, of blue,
Purple and scarlet, hung beneath the sky,
With hooks of silver on its brazen posts,
Girding the altar in. The cleansing priests
Laid the slain bullocks on the burning coals;
The wine and oil were brought; and spices rare
Were swung in golden censers, to and fro,
While blood was sprinkled on the hallow'd ground.
And tow'rd the ark—(holding the Aaron's rod,
The golden pot of manna, and the Book
Of Moses' law—that Ark of many vails;
Its ten of fine-twin'd linen loop'd with gold,
Its ten of goats'-hair with the loops of brass,
Its guarding leather of the hide of beasts,
Its rams'-skins scarlet-dyed, and, round them all,
The many-colored vail of outer work)—
Toward this Ark, made fearful by the cloud
That floated high betwixt the cherubim,
Whose wings, miraculously still, reveal'd
The place where dwelt the presence of the Lord—
Turn'd Eli with his prayer.
The sun upon the Tabernacle now;
And, from the holy altar in the midst
Rose the white smoke into the cloudless air,
While the wayfarers with their bullocks slain,
Gather'd from tents without. They had come up
From Ramah, a day's journey, to the courts
Of Shiloh—Elkanah and all his house—
To pay unto the Lord their yearly vows,
The incense, the burnt-offerings, oil and wine;
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Here utter'd, when her barrenness she mourn'd,
Had borne unto her husband “a man child”—
Thus numbered among women well-belov'd—
And who had tarried till the infant boy,
Wean'd from her breast and nurtured by her care,
Could from his mother's hands be let to go,
Had come, in the fulfillment of her vow,
To consecrate her first-born unto God.
It was the hour of prayer. And Eli came
Forth where the Tabernacle's vail, of blue,
Purple and scarlet, hung beneath the sky,
With hooks of silver on its brazen posts,
Girding the altar in. The cleansing priests
Laid the slain bullocks on the burning coals;
The wine and oil were brought; and spices rare
Were swung in golden censers, to and fro,
While blood was sprinkled on the hallow'd ground.
And tow'rd the ark—(holding the Aaron's rod,
The golden pot of manna, and the Book
Of Moses' law—that Ark of many vails;
Its ten of fine-twin'd linen loop'd with gold,
Its ten of goats'-hair with the loops of brass,
Its guarding leather of the hide of beasts,
Its rams'-skins scarlet-dyed, and, round them all,
The many-colored vail of outer work)—
Toward this Ark, made fearful by the cloud
That floated high betwixt the cherubim,
Whose wings, miraculously still, reveal'd
84
Turn'd Eli with his prayer.
The blessing sought,
Uprose the High Priest in his sacred robe;
And took the boy, who, by his mother's hand,
Was led before the altar; and, with oil
From out the brazen laver and with blood
From the burnt-offering, he anointed there
The tiny fingers of the chosen child—
The fingers that should trim the sacred lamps,
And lay the show-bread on the golden stands,
And in the temple minister with oil—
Thus hallowing for God those infant hands!
But lo! as o'er his beautiful young head
The “linen ephod” sacredly was thrown—
The garment in whose spotless folds there lay
The symbol of his service for the Lord—
The Holy Spirit enter'd to the child!
As Eli's blessing died upon the lip,
Lo! with the uplifted hands, the child at prayer!
'Twas to be told, that such are heard in Heaven.
'Twas to be written in the Holy Book,
And read by mothers till the world should end,
That, on the day when consecrated first,
An Infant “WORSHIPP'D God!”
Uprose the High Priest in his sacred robe;
And took the boy, who, by his mother's hand,
Was led before the altar; and, with oil
From out the brazen laver and with blood
From the burnt-offering, he anointed there
The tiny fingers of the chosen child—
The fingers that should trim the sacred lamps,
And lay the show-bread on the golden stands,
And in the temple minister with oil—
Thus hallowing for God those infant hands!
But lo! as o'er his beautiful young head
The “linen ephod” sacredly was thrown—
The garment in whose spotless folds there lay
The symbol of his service for the Lord—
The Holy Spirit enter'd to the child!
As Eli's blessing died upon the lip,
Lo! with the uplifted hands, the child at prayer!
'Twas to be told, that such are heard in Heaven.
'Twas to be written in the Holy Book,
And read by mothers till the world should end,
That, on the day when consecrated first,
An Infant “WORSHIPP'D God!”
And Hannah look'd
On her lov'd child, as, in his prayer, he knelt,
Accepted of the Lord. The morrow's sun
Would see her on her journey to the home
Which his bright playfulness would light no more—
The silken curls, so dear to her awaking,
Miss'd from the pressure of her cheek at morn—
His tiny footfall listen'd for in vain—
His voice, his laugh, his murmur, silent all.
And for her lord—who lov'd her, before ev'n
Her womanhood's reproach had passed away,
But who, in happier days, she knew so well,
Lov'd more to see the mother of his boy—
Her lonely chamber would be silent now!
Childless in Ramah she would once more be.
But, mourn'd the mother?
On her lov'd child, as, in his prayer, he knelt,
Accepted of the Lord. The morrow's sun
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Which his bright playfulness would light no more—
The silken curls, so dear to her awaking,
Miss'd from the pressure of her cheek at morn—
His tiny footfall listen'd for in vain—
His voice, his laugh, his murmur, silent all.
And for her lord—who lov'd her, before ev'n
Her womanhood's reproach had passed away,
But who, in happier days, she knew so well,
Lov'd more to see the mother of his boy—
Her lonely chamber would be silent now!
Childless in Ramah she would once more be.
But, mourn'd the mother?
Of the joy of one
Whose son can thus be “lent unto the Lord—”
Joy in His strength, who thus, in Samuel,
Proclaim'd, by miracle, the child His care—
Of joy for mothers, while the world should last—
Sang Hannah, then, the Heaven-inspir'd first song—
And Revelation took those mother's words;
And by their hymning, now divinely writ,
In Holy Scripture, as with pen of fire—
An anthem for eternity—WE KNOW
That joy is for the child that's “lent to God!”
Whose son can thus be “lent unto the Lord—”
Joy in His strength, who thus, in Samuel,
Proclaim'd, by miracle, the child His care—
Of joy for mothers, while the world should last—
Sang Hannah, then, the Heaven-inspir'd first song—
And Revelation took those mother's words;
And by their hymning, now divinely writ,
In Holy Scripture, as with pen of fire—
An anthem for eternity—WE KNOW
That joy is for the child that's “lent to God!”
The description of the Tabernacle at Shiloh, and the particulars of the consecration of Samuel, are as collated from the sacred writers.
86
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,
87
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;
88
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.”
| Sacred Poems | |