 | Moses in the Bulrushes |  |
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1. PART I.
JOCHÈBED, MIRIAM.JOCHÈBED.
Why was my pray'r accepted? why did heav'n
In anger hear me when I ask'd a son?
Ye dames of Egypt! happy, happy mothers!
No tyrant robs you of your fondest hopes;
You are not doom'd to see the babes you bore,
The babes you nurture bleed before your eyes!
You taste the transports of maternal love,
And never know its anguish! Happy mothers!
How diff'rent is the lot of thy sad daughters,
O wretched Israel! Was it then for this?
Was it for this the righteous arm of God
Rescued his chosen people from the jaws
Of cruel want, by pious Joseph's care?
Joseph! th' elected instrument of heav'n,
Decreed to save illustrious Abraham's race,
What time the famine rag'd in Canaan's land.
Israel, who then was spar'd, must perish now!
In anger hear me when I ask'd a son?
Ye dames of Egypt! happy, happy mothers!
No tyrant robs you of your fondest hopes;
You are not doom'd to see the babes you bore,
The babes you nurture bleed before your eyes!
You taste the transports of maternal love,
And never know its anguish! Happy mothers!
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O wretched Israel! Was it then for this?
Was it for this the righteous arm of God
Rescued his chosen people from the jaws
Of cruel want, by pious Joseph's care?
Joseph! th' elected instrument of heav'n,
Decreed to save illustrious Abraham's race,
What time the famine rag'd in Canaan's land.
Israel, who then was spar'd, must perish now!
Oh thou mysterious pow'r! who hast involv'd
Thy wise decrees in darkness, to perplex
The pride of human wisdom, to confound
The daring scrutiny, and prove the faith
Of thy presuming creatures! clear this doubt;
Teach me to trace this maze of Providence:
Why save the fathers if the sons must perish?
Thy wise decrees in darkness, to perplex
The pride of human wisdom, to confound
The daring scrutiny, and prove the faith
Of thy presuming creatures! clear this doubt;
Teach me to trace this maze of Providence:
Why save the fathers if the sons must perish?
MIRIAM.
Ah me, my mother! whence these floods of grief?
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My son! my son! I cannot speak the rest.
Ye who have sons can only know my fondness!
Ye who have lost them, or who fear to lose,
Can only know my pangs! none else can guess them.
A mother's sorrows cannot be conceiv'd
But by a mother—Wherefore am I one?
MIRIAM.
With many pray'rs thou didst request this son,
And heav'n has granted him.
JOCHÈBED.
O sad estate
Of human wretchedness! so weak is man,
So ignorant and blind, that did not God
Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask,
We shou'd be ruin'd at our own request.
Of human wretchedness! so weak is man,
So ignorant and blind, that did not God
Sometimes withhold in mercy what we ask,
We shou'd be ruin'd at our own request.
Too well thou know'st, my child, the stern decree,
Of Egypt's cruel king, hard-hearted Pharaoh;
“That ev'ry male, of Hebrew mother born,
“Must die.” Oh! do I live to tell it thee?
Must die a bloody death! My child, my son,
My youngest born, my darling must be slain!
Of Egypt's cruel king, hard-hearted Pharaoh;
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“Must die.” Oh! do I live to tell it thee?
Must die a bloody death! My child, my son,
My youngest born, my darling must be slain!
MIRIAM.
The helpless innocent! and must he die?
JOCHÈBED.
No: if a mother's tears, a mother's pray'rs,
A mother's fond precautions can prevail,
He shall not die. I have a thought, my Miriam!
And sure the God of mercies who inspir'd,
Will bless the secret purpose of my soul,
To save his precious life.
MIRIAM.
Hop'st thou that Pharaoh—
JOCHÈBED.
I have no hope in Pharaoh, much in God;
Much in the Rock of Ages.
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Think, O think,
What perils thou already hast incurr'd,
And shun the greater which may yet remain.
Three months, three dang'rous months thou hast preserv'd
Thy infant's life, and in thy house conceal'd him!
Shou'd Pharaoh know!
JOCHÈBED.
Oh! let the tyrant know,
And feel what he inflicts! Yes, hear me, Heav'n!
Send thy right aiming thunderbolts—But hush,
My impious murmurs! Is it not thy will;
Thou, infinite in mercy? Thou permitt'st
This seeming evil for some latent good.
Yes, I will laud thy grace, and bless thy goodness
For what I have, and not arraign thy wisdom
For what I fear to lose. Oh, I will bless thee,
That Aaron will be spar'd! that my first-born
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Before this impious persecution rag'd!
MIRIAM.
And yet who knows but the fell tyrant's rage
May reach his precious life?
JOCHÈBED.
I fear for him,
For thee, for all. A doating parent lives
In many lives; thro' many a nerve she feels;
From child to child the quick affections spread,
For ever wand'ring, yet for ever fix'd.
Nor does division weaken, nor the force
Of constant operation e'er exhaust
Parental love. All other passions change
With changing circumstances; rise or fall,
Dependant on their object; claim returns;
Live on reciprocation, and expire
Unfed by hope. A mother's fondness reigns
Without a rival, and without an end.
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But say what Heav'n inspires to save thy son?
JOCHÈBED.
Since the dear fatal morn which gave him birth,
I have revolv'd in my distracted mind
Each means to save his life: and many a thought
Which fondness prompted, prudence has oppos'd
As perilous and rash. With these poor hands
I've fram'd a little ark of slender reeds;
With pitch and slime I have secur'd the sides.
In this frail cradle I intend to lay
My little helpless infant, and expose him
Upon the banks of Nile.
MIRIAM.
'Tis full of danger.
JOCHÈBED.
'Tis danger to expose, and death to keep him.
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Yet, Oh! reflect. Shou'd the fierce crocodile,
The native and the tyrant of the Nile,
Seize the defenceless infant!
JOCHÈBED.
Oh, forbear!
Spare my fond heart. Yet not the crocodile,
Nor all the deadly monsters of the deep,
To me are half so terrible as Pharaoh,
That heathen king, that royal murderer!
MIRIAM.
Shou'd he escape, which yet I dare not hope,
Each sea-born monster, yet the winds and waves
He cannot 'scape.
JOCHÈBED.
Know, God is ev'ry where;
Not to one narrow, partial spot confin'd;
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Thro' all the vast infinitude of space.
At his command the furious tempests rise,
The blasting of the breath of his displeasure:
He tells the world of waters when to roar;
And at his bidding, winds and seas are calm.
In HIM, not in an arm of flesh, I trust;
In HIM, whose promise never yet has fail'd,
I place my confidence.
MIRIAM.
What must I do?
Command thy daughter, for thy words have wak'd
An holy boldness in my youthful breast.
JOCHÈBED.
Go then, my Miriam! go, and take the infant.
Buried in harmless slumbers there he lies:
Let me not see him—spare my heart that pang.
Yet sure, one little look may be indulg'd,
One kiss—perhaps the last. No more, my soul!
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I cou'd not doom to death the babe I clasp'd:
Did ever mother kill her sleeping boy?
I dare not hazard it—The task be thine.
Oh! do not wake my child; remove him softly;
And gently lay him on the river's brink.
MIRIAM.
Did those magicians, whom the sons of Egypt
Consult, and think all potent, join their skill,
And was it great as Egypt's sons believe;
Yet all their secret wizard arts combin'd,
To save this little ark of Bulrushes,
Thus fearfully expos'd, cou'd not effect it.
Their spells, their incantations, and dire charms
Cou'd not preserve it.
JOCHÈBED.
Know this ark is charm'd
With spells, which impious Egypt never knew.
With invocations to the living God
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And with a pray'r did every ozier weave.
MIRIAM.
I go.
JOCHÈBED.
Yet e'er thou go'st, observe me well.
When thou hast laid him in his watry bed,
O leave him not; but at a distance wait
And mark what Heaven's high will determines for him.
Lay him among the flags on yonder beach,
Just where the royal gardens meet the Nile.
I dare not follow him, Suspicion's eye
Wou'd note my wild demeanor; Miriam, yes,
The mother's fondness wou'd betray the child.
Farewell! God of my fathers, oh protect him!
| Moses in the Bulrushes | |