The sun had well nigh set; The fire was on the altar, and the priest Of the High God was there. A pallid man Was stretching out his trembling hands to Heaven, As if he would have prayed, but had no words. The sun set And she was dead-but not by violence. NATHANIEL P. WILLIS 40 THE HEBREW MOTHER I Samuel i. 24 The rose was rich in bloom on Sharon's plain, When a young mother, with her first-born, thence Went up to Zion, for the boy was vowed Unto the Temple service. By the hand She led him, and her silent soul, the while, Of the broad sycamore made sounds at noon, The crimson deepening o'er his cheek's repose, And where a fount Lay like a twilight star 'mid palmy shades, And softly parting clusters of jet curls To bathe his brow. At last the Fane was reached,- But when that hour Waned to the farewell moment, when the boy Lifted, through rainbow-gleaming tears, his eye Turned from the white-robed priest, and round her arm Clung as the ivy clings-the deep spring-tide The bright tears quiver in thy pleading eyes, And silver cords again to earth have won me; "How the lonely paths retrace where thou wert playing So late, along the mountains, at my side? And I, in joyous pride, By every place of flowers my course delaying, Wove, e’en as pearls, the lilies round thy hair, “And oh! the home whence thy bright smile hath parted! Will it not seem as if the sunny day Turned from its door away? While through its chambers wandering, wearyhearted, I languish for thy voice, which past me still “Under the palm-trees thou no more shalt meet me, When from the fount at evening I return, With the full water-urn; Nor will thy sleep's low dove-like breathings greet me, As 'midst the silence of the stars I wake, And watch for thy dear sake. “And thou-will slumber's dewy cloud fall round thee, Without thy mother's hand to smooth thy bed? Wilt thou not vainly spread Thine arms, when darkness as a veil hath wound thee, To fold my neck, and lift up in thy fear A cry which none shall hear? "What have I said, my child?-Will He not hear thee, Who the young ravens heareth from their nest? Shall He not guard thy rest, And, in the hush of holy midnight near thee, Breathe o'er thy soul, and fill its dreams with joy? "I give thee to thy God-the God that gave thee, And pure as dew of Hermon, He shall have thee, And thou shalt be His child. "Therefore, farewell!-I go-my soul may fail me. As the hart panteth for the water-brooks, Yearning for thy sweet looks But thou, my first-born, droop not, nor bewail me; Thou in the shadow of the Rock shalt dwell, The Rock of Strength.-Farewell." FELICIA D. HEMANS 41 SAUL AND DAVID I Samuel xvi. 23 Deep was the furrow in the royal brow, In Pharaoh's realm; his brethren thither sent; And, with a sweep impetuous, swept the chords. Kindles the eye of Saul; his arm is poised; JAMES GRAHAME |