 | Sacred Poems |  |
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,
82
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;
83
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
85
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!”
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