Tall in his vigorous strength; and, like a tree Rooted in Lebanon, his frame bent not. His thin white hairs had yielded to the wind, And left his brow uncover'd; and his face, Impress'd with the stern majesty of grief Nerved to a solemn duty, now stood forth Like a rent rock, submissive, yet sublime. But the young boy-he of the laughing eye And ruby lip-the pride of life was on him. He seemed to drink the morning. Sun and dew, And the aroma of the spicy trees,
And all that giveth the delicious East Its fitness for an Eden, stole like light Into his spirit, ravishing his thoughts With love and beauty. Everything he met, Buoyant or beautiful, the lightest wing Of bird or insect, or the palest dye
Of the fresh flowers, won him from his path; And joyously broke forth his tiny shout, As he flung back his silken hair, and sprung Away to some green spot or clustering vine, To pluck his infant trophies. Every tree And fragrant shrub was a new hiding-place; And he would crouch till the old man came by, Then bound before him with his childish laugh, Stealing a look behind him playfully,
To see if he had made his father smile.
The sun rode on in heaven. The dew stole up From the fresh daughters of the earth, and heat Came like a sleep upon the delicate leaves,
And bent them with the blossoms to their dreams.
Still trod the Patriarch on, with that same step, Firm and unfaltering; turning not aside
To seek the olive shades, or lave their lips In the sweet waters of the Syrian wells, Whose gush hath so much music. Weariness Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot To toss his sunny hair from off his brow, And spring for the fresh flowers and bright wings As in the early morning; but he kept
Close by his father's side, and bent his head
Upon his bosom like a drooping bud,
Lifting it not, save now and then to steal
A look up to the face whose sternness awed His childishness to silence.
And Abraham on Moriah bowed himself, And buried up his face and prayed for strength. He could not look upon his son and pray; But, with his hand upon the clustering curls
Of the fair, kneeling boy, he prayed that God Would nerve him for that hour. Oh! man was
For the stern conflict. In a mother's love
There is more tenderness; the thousand chords, Woven with every fibre of her heart,
Complain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath; But love in man is one deep principle, Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock, Abides the tempest. He rose up, and laid
The wood upon the altar. All was done.
He stood a moment-and a deep, quick flush Passed o'er his countenance; and then he nerved His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke- "Isaac, my only son!"-The boy look'd up, And Abraham turned his face away and wept. "Where is the lamb, my father?"-Oh, the tones, The sweet, the thrilling music of a child!— How it doth agonize at such an hour!— It was the last, deep struggle. Abraham held His loved, his beautiful, his only son,
And lifted up his arm, and called on God- And lo! God's angel stayed him—and he fell Upon his face and wept.
ABRAHAM'S OFFENCE
Once, it is written, Abraham, “God's Friend,” Angered his Lord; for there had ridden in Across the burning yellow desert-flats
An aged man, haggard with two days' drouth. The water-skin swung from his saddle-fork Wrinkled and dry; the dust clove to his lids, And clogged his beard; his parched tongue and black lips
Moved to say, "Give me drink," yet uttered naught;
And that gaunt camel which he rode upon,
Sank to the earth at entering of the camp,
Too spent except to lay its neck along The sand, and moan.
To whom when they had given
The cool wet jar, asweat with diamond drops Of sparkling life, that way-worn Arab laved The muzzle of his beast, and filled her mouth; Then westward turned with bloodshot, worshipping
Pouring forth water to the setting orb;
Next would have drunk, but Abraham saw, and
'Let not this unbeliever drink, who pours
God's gift of water forth unto the sun, Which is but creature of the living Lord."
But while the man still clutched the precious jar, Striving to quaff, a form of grace drew nigh, Beauteous, majestic. If he came afoot, None knew, or if he glided from the sky. With gentle air he filled a gourd and gave The man to drink, and Abraham-in wrath That one should disobey him in his tents- Made to forbid; when full upon him smote Eyes of divine light, eyes of high rebuke- For this was Michael, Allah's messenger- "Lo! God reproveth thee, thou Friend of God! Forbiddest thou gift of the common stream To this idolater, spent with the heat, Who, in his utmost need, watered his beast, And bowed the knee in reverence ere he drank? Allah hath borne with him these three-score years,— Bestowed upon him corn and wine, and made His household fruitful, and his herds increase;
And findest thou not patience to pity him Whom God hath pitied, waiting for the end, Since none save He wotteth what end will come, Or who shall find the light? Thou art rebuked! Seek pardon, for thou hast much need to seek."
Thereat the Angel vanished as he came;
But Abraham, with humble countenance,
Kissed reverently the heathen's hand, and spake
Leading him to the chief seat in the tent
God pardon me as He doth pardon thee!"
THE TENT OF ABRAHAM
The shadows of an Eastern day Lengthened along the sandy way, When, toiling faint and lone, An agèd wanderer crossed the plain, As if his every step were pain,
His every breath a groan!
Till Abraham's tent appeared in view, And slowly towards his rest he drew. And Abraham met his wayworn look With pity, for the old man shook
With years at every tread; For he the wrinkled impress bore
Of full one hundred years or more
Upon his silvery head;
Then Abraham washed his aching feet,
Assuaged their pain, and brought him meat.
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