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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.

It was noon

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

made

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.

NATHANIEL P. WILLIS

15

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

eyes,

Pouring forth water to the setting orb;

Next would have drunk, but Abraham saw, and

66

said,

'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

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God pardon me as He doth pardon thee!"

SIR EDWIN ARNOLD

16

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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