 | Poetry for children |  |
Moses.
There was a king of Egypt, and he madeA cruel law, that every infant son
Born to the Hebrew race, throughout his realm,
Should be destroyed. Think! what a cruel law,
That those sweet, sinless infants should be slain.
—But one fond mother hid her babe away,
So that they might not find him, and she went
Silent, and gave him food; and when he cried
She softly hush'd him, lest his voice should lead
The murderers to their prey. So he became
Exceeding fair, and health upon his cheek
Gleam'd like an opening rose.
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And his glad eye grew brighter, when he heard
His mother's footstep, though he did not know
Why she would press her finger on his lip
To check his joyous mirth. With bitter pang
She gaz'd upon the beauty of his smile,
And shuddering heard his laughter, for she felt
She could no longer hide him.
So, one morn,
She wrapt him safely in a cradle-ark,
And with a hurried foot-step laid him down
Among the rushes by the river's brink.
—Strangely the wild eye of the wondering babe,
Gaz'd on her from the water,—and his arms
Stretch'd from their reedy prison, sought in vain
To twine about her neck. She turn'd away,
Breathing that prayer, which none but mothers breathe,
For their endanger'd babes.
It was the Nile,
On which she laid her son in his slight ark
Of woven rushes. She remember'd well
The gaunt and wily crocodile, that loves
To haunt those slimy waters. But she knew
That He who made the crocodile could stay
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She put her trust. Close by the river's brink,
Her little mournful daughter staid to see
What would befal her brother, and her voice
Did sweetly struggle with her grief, to sing
The hymn that sooth'd the child.
But then there came
Proud Egypt's princess, with her flowing robes,
Walking that way. And when she saw the ark
Among the flags, she bade her maidens haste,
And bring it to her.
Lo! there lay a babe,
A weeping babe:—and when she saw its brow,
Polish'd and beautiful, all wet with tears,
And deadly pale, pity and love sprang up
In her kind bosom, and she took the boy
To her own palace-home. Yet still he wept,
Like an affrighted stranger.
Then she bade
To call a nurse; and lo! the mother came!
She, who had sown in tears, did reap in joy.
—And when she drew her nursling to her breast,
And fondly lull'd him to a gentle sleep,
Know ye how warm the thrill of praise went up
Unto the God of Israel?
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Of the poor Hebrew, 'neath the royal dome
Of Egypt's monarch grew,—in all the lore
Of that wise realm instructed. He became
A prophet, mighty both in word and deed.
And when you read, my children, how he broke
The yoke of bondage from his people's neck,
And smote with awful rod the parting sea,
And brought pure water from the rock, and stood
On Sinai, with Jehovah face to face,
You will bethink you of this simple tale,—
The Ark of rushes, and the Mother's prayer.
| Poetry for children | |