University of Virginia Library

Lo! it is twilight in the wilderness;
And while the graceful shadows of the trees
Nod to the whispering boughs, an aged man,
Whose faltering footstep fails him in the gloom,
Sinks wearily beneath a juniper.
He is alone, and sorrowful. But hush!
The anguish of his heart o'erflows:
“Enough!
I would not longer bear the load of life!
Alone, alone! I have not craved the smile
Of human sympathy. It has been mine
To talk with God as friend communes with friend.
And now, how terrible that word ‘alone!’
Through sunset clouds, the manes of winged steeds,
And glancing wheels, and white-robed charioteers,
Have flashed before me, while I caught a glimpse
Of a bright, upward road I hoped to tread,
A glorious outlet from the earth to God.
Yet were it only that mine eyes grew dim,
Holden to see what common mortals see,
I would not murmur. But alas, to feel
This heart, that scarce knew craven fear by name,
Fluttering and cowering like a hunted bird;—
To know my being of that Presence shorn,
Which made my soul a sun to other souls:
Jehovah! if Thou leave me, let me die!”
Now hath he laid his aching head to rest
In the dark shadow of the juniper.
The light winds gently move his silvery locks
That stream, like moonbeams, o'er the sombre turf;
His lips yet tremble with a moaning prayer;
But God hath given his beloved sleep.
Can this be he whose dauntless word withstood
The boast of Baal's prophets? whom the pomp
Of Ahab's regal throne could not abash?
Whose prayer brought down the living fire from heaven,
And made the blessed rain forsake the clouds?
What, he this pale old man who sighs for death?

'Tis even so. By sudden flight escaped
The cruel fangs of fiendish Jezebel,
It is the man of God,—but yet a man.
Is he alone? Nay, listen to the rush
Of angel wings; and see the starry eyes
That guard the slumberer, oh, how tenderly!
Sleep veils to him the watcher bending there.
But a voice calls, “Elijah, rise and eat!”
He wakes, and in the cake and water-cruse,
He reads his Master's answer, “Thou must live!”
Again he sleeps; and lo, again the voice:
“Rise, eat, Elijah, there is work to do.”
And now, fresh vigor darting through his limbs,
Strengthened, and glad of heart, the prophet goes
To Horeb, to await Jehovah's will.

How it consoles the tempted one, to know
That holy men of old, the men of God,
Passed through the same dark conflicts, and were saved.
The prayer of faith can never, never fail;
But the wild burst of mortal agony,
The wish that heedlessly would thwart His plans,
Our Father hears, refuses, and forgives.
Say, pilgrim to the New Jerusalem,
Into the darkness hast thou wandered far,
And weeping, counted thy dark unbelief
For God's forgetfulness? Ingrate and blind!
And yet thou hast a pitying Friend above,
Who knows thy weakness, and will surely chide.
Behold his promise through the gloom descend,
Like manna dropping in the wilderness:
Receive into thy soul that bread from heaven,
And thus grow strong to bear the journey home.
Needful to thee, oh pilgrim, is the night,
The trial-hour; needful to test thy faith
To quell thy pride, and teach thee where to lean.
Our Father often lets his children stray
In their own paths, that they may humbly come
Back to the way He shows them.

And 'tis thus,
By bitter anguish and temptation strong,
He fits them through the earthquake and the wind,
Calmly to listen to the “still, small voice;”
And after, to go bravely through the world,
Bearing the banner with a steadfast hand,
Counting all shame and sorrow light,
Since they have known the hiding of his face.