Classic Poem

J OCHERED , M IRIAM .

Joch. Why was my prayer accepted? why did Heaven
In anger hear me, when I ask'd a son?
Ye dames of Egypt! ye triumphant mothers!
You no imperial tyrant marks for ruin;
You are not doom'd to see the babes you bore,
The babes you fondly nurture, bleed before you!
You taste the transports of a mother's love,
Without a mother's anguish! wretched Israel!
Can I forbear to mourn the different lot
Of thy sad daughters! — Why did God's own hand
Rescue his chosen race by Joseph's care?
Joseph! th' elected instrument of Heaven,
Dearned to save illustrious Abraham's sons,
What time the famine raged in Canaan's land.
Israel, who then was spared, must perish now!

Thou great mysterious Power, 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 I hear me now:
O vindicate thy honour; clear this doubt,
Teach me to trace this maze of Providence:
Why save the fathers, if the sons must perish?
Mir. Ah me, my mother! whence these floods of grief!
Joch. 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. — Would I were not one!
Mir. With earnest prayers thou didst request this son,
And Heaven has granted him.
Joch. 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 should 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 every male, of Hebrew mother horn,
" 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.
Mir. The helpless innocent! and must he die?
Joch. No: if a mother's tears, a mother's prayers,
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.
Mir. Hop'st thou that Pharaoh —
Joch. I have no hope in Pharaoh, much in God;
Much in the Rock of ages.
Mir. Think, O think,
What perils thou already hast incurr'd,
And shun the greater which may yet remain.
Three months, three dangerous months thou hast preserv'd
Thy infant's life, and in thy house conceal'd him!
Should Pharaoh know!
Joch. Oh! let the tyrant know,
And feel what he inflicts! Yes, hear me, Heaven!
Send thy right-aiming thunderholts — 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. O, I will bless thee,
That Aaron will he spar'd! that my first-born
Lives safe and undisturb'd! that he was given me
Before this impious persecution raged!
Mir. And yet who knows, but the fell tyrant's rage
May reach his precious life.
Joch. I fear for him,
For thee, for all. A doting parent lives
In many lives; through 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,
Dependent 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.
Mir. But say what Heaven inspires to save thy son?
Joch. 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 opposed
As perilous and rash. With these poor hands
I've framed a little ark of slender reads;
With pitch and slime I have secured the sides.
In this frail cradle I intend to lay
My little helpless infant, and expose him
Upon the banks of Nile.
Mir. 'Tis full of danger.
Joch. 'Tis danger to expose, and death to keep him.
Mir. Yet, oh! reflect. Should the fierce crocodile,
The native and the tyrant of the Nile,
Seize the defenceless infant!
Joch. 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!
Mir. Should he escape, which yet I dare not hope,
Each sea-born monster, yet the winds and waves
He cannot 'scape.
Joch. Know, God is everywhere;
Not to one narrow, partial spot confined;
No, not to chosen Israel: he extends
Through 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.
Mir. What must I do?
Command thy daughter; for thy words have waked
An holy boldness in my youthful breast.
Joch. 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,
And I may feast my fondness with his smiles,
And snatch one last, last kiss. — No more, my heart;
That rapture would he fatal — I should keep him.
I could not doom to death the babe I clasp'd:
Did ever mother kill her sleeping boy?
I dare not hazard it — the task he thine.
Oh, do not wake my child; remove him softly;
And gently lay him on the river's brink.
Mir. 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 exposed, could not effect it.
Their spells, their incantations, and dire charms
Could not preserve it.
Joch. Know this ark is charm'd
With incantations Pharaoh ne'er employ'd;
With spells which impious Egypt never knew:
With invocations to the living God,
I twisted every slender reed together,
And with a prayer did every ozier weave.
Mir. I go.
Joch. Yet ere thou go'st, observe me well:
When thou hast laid him in his watery 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 bench,
Just where the royal gardens meet the Nile.
I dare not follow him, suspicion's eye
Would note my wild demeanour! Miriam, yes,
The mother's fondness would betray the child.
Farewell! God of my fathers, oh protect him!