University of Virginia Library

'Twas burning summer o'er the wilderness,
And on the lofty mountains, that look up
With heads uncover'd reverently to heaven;
The shrubs were fainting in the noonday heat,
And weary song-birds droop'd their airy wings
In silence, midst the still and wilted leaves.
The herbage lay all languid on the rocks;
The sweet breath of the aromatic vines
And fair young flowers, of glorious forms and hues,
That grew in ravine, cleft, or narrow dell,
Lay on the still air, round the drooping cups
A very weight of fragrance, and a hush
Of sickly languor, brooded over all
The rough and thirsty landscape.
Lo! there comes
An aged wanderer from the wilderness.
With faltering step, he leaned upon his staff,
While toiling up the stern and rocky side
Of the majestic Horeb. His white locks
Were wet with perspiration, and his breast
Heav'd quick, and painfully; while his worn feet
Flinch'd from the heated rocks; yet on he climb'd,
Until the flutter of the breeze's wing,
Shook balm upon his parch'd and quivering lips,
And bath'd his burning eye-balls. Gratefully
He rais'd his face toward heaven, and then the breeze,
Lifted his damp white locks, and kiss'd his brow,
And wooed him sweetly to repose and peace.
He sat him down, that hungry, tired old man,
Whose tongue was swoll'n with thirst, and thank'd his God,
For that delicious airy visitant,
Which sporting now amongst the vines that grew
In tufts upon the rock, by which he sat
Show'd ripe red berries clustering 'mongst the leaves.
His joy gush'd forth in praises, as he fed
Upon the cooling fruit, which quench'd his thirst,
And half appeas'd his hunger. Seeking then
A resting-place, he found a rugged cave
Extending deep into the mountain's breast;
He enter'd it, and laid him down to sleep
Upon its mossy floor.
And who was he
That silver-hair'd, lone wanderer?
He was one,
Whose spirit was so pure, that God, himself,
Held high communion with him. Yet the world
Hated and hunted him, from place to place,
Dogging his steps, and thirsting for his life,
And he had pray'd for death. Yet now he lay
Calmly in that lone cavern. Holy peace
Was nestling in his bosom, and his brow
Was placid as the moonlit summer sky.
Sleep lay upon his eyelids, as the dew,
Lies on the clos'd corolla of the flow'rs,
In cool refreshing beauty. No fond friend
Was there, to watch his slumber, yet the God
Who fills all space, was with his servant there
In that vast solitude. With august voice,
He woke him from his sleep, bade him go forth
And stand upon the rock, before the Lord.

He rose—went forth—and stood on the sheer rock,
Waiting for God's appearing.
Hark! From far
A fearful rushing sound. The heavens grew dark—
Is God approaching? Lo! a strong fierce wind
Rushes upon the mountain, tearing up
The shrubs, and herbage, from its arid breast,
Lifting huge rocks from their eternal beds,
And dashing them adown the fearful steeps,
With such appalling sound as if the world,
Were falling into atoms; while the wind
Shriek'd terribly amongst the caves, and clefts,
And splinter'd rocks. 'Tis past—and all is still—
God was not in the wind.
Now wakes a sound—
A low deep moaning, in the mountain's breast,
Which trembles fearfully, as if she felt
The fearful presence. Now her bosom heaves
With strange convulsions, and she bellows forth
Her agony, while the eternal rock
On which the servant of Jehovah stood
Shook like a leaf, upon an aspen bough,
And mighty rocks fell down, and caverns yawn'd,
And the whole mountain totter'd.
It is past—
God was not in the earthquake.
Lo! there comes
A more appalling wonder.—Surely now
The Terrible is near. Surging along
Above the wilderness, a flood of fire
Is sweeping toward old Horeb. In its way
The atmosphere burts into whirls of fire
With frightful detonations. 'Tis too much
For mortal man to meet. With pallid fear
He shrunk within his cave. The fire rush'd past,
And vanish'd—But God was not in the fire.

A pure breeze follow'd the fierce element,
Heaven was serene, and on Mount Horeb lay
The downy wing of silence.—On that calm
There came a still small voice.
'Tis God. The servant felt his sovereign nigh;
He wrapp'd his face within his mantle folds,
And at the entrance of that hallow'd cave,
With head bow'd down, and meek attentive soul
Held converse with Jehovah.