PART SECOND.
S ARAH , alone .
Who will have pity on me? Who will tell me
How my son fares? Servants and shepherds forth
I have sent on every side, and none returns.
Alas! belike for pity each avoids me;
Belike, already in his father's hands
He hath breathed out his innocent soul. Ah me!
Of all I love, there is none to comfort me.
Mine eyes do fill with tears, my strength dries up.
My heart is turned within me, while I look,
And there is none to help. Whither shall I turn?
How doth the house sit solitary; once
So full of people, busy and rejoicing;
The ways do mourn; the gates are desolate;
The flocks in vain for their lost keeper seek;
Wandering they go, without their wonted guide.
The shepherd smitten, scattered are the sheep!
But one at least of such a multitude,
One only — Ha! behold one. I will seek him,
I will demand, — but my heart fails. I dread
To hear his answer. Wherefore do they come
Thus in disorder? Where is Abraham?
What have ye witnessed? God support me! speak!
S ARAH . G AMARI . Shepherds .
Sar . Oh speak! your silence is to me
More cruel than your words can be!
Forbear — your tidings I have read;
Say not to me — " thy son is dead! "
Yes — on the altar-stone I know
Ere this his precious blood must flow:
'Tis in my heart, and in my brain,
The knife with which my son was slain!
Gam . 'Tis not through my own fault, that I return
So tardily from doing thy commands.
Know —
Sar . Ah! I know it all — already; all,
I know, Gamari. I have no more a son.
Isaac is dead.
Gam . How? When myself beheld him
Even now, at Mount Moriah's foot.
Sar . Ha! then —
Does he yet live? Dost thou not mock me?
Gam . Soon
Thou shalt embrace him.
Sar . Everlasting God!
Has then my sorrow moved thee to compassion!
Can thy command be altered or revoked;
What victim, then, was offered to the Lord?
Gam . By this time, or I err, the sacrifice
Must be complete; but when I parted thence,
It was not.
Sar . Was not yet? What then detained
Abraham at the mountain's foot so long?
Gam . Me too this much amazed, nor did I dare
Nearer approach, the cause of their delay
To ask. Perhaps he waited for a sign
From heaven. For suddenly, towards the mountain
I marked him going, with firm steps. He left us
All on the plain. He bore the sacred fire
In one hand; in the other was the knife —
Sar . And Isaac?
Gam . Isaac, meek and lowly went,
Bending beneath the burden of hewn boughs,
Bound up, a cumbrous load, with weary steps
Up the steep pathway following.
Sar . Ah, how often
Am I to die this day!
Gam . When my dear lord,
Wearied and toiling like a bondsman thus
I saw, what love, what sorrow filled my heart!
Beneath his heavy load, at every step,
I dreaded to behold him sink oppress'd.
I felt that heavy load weigh down my soul,
And so much of his agony on that mount
I felt, that even yet upon my brow
Thick stands the sweat that anguish wrung from me.
Sar . In pity, from thy sad detail forbear,
Nor fret the deep wounds of my soul.
Gam . Behold
Abraham is returning.
Sar . Wo is me!
The sacrifice is then complete.
Gam . Of a certainty
'Tis finished. And in Abraham's right hand
The knife yet drips with blood.
Sar . Oh! let me fly
The cruel sight.
S ARAH . A BRAHAM . I SAAC . G AMARI . Shepherds, &c.
Is. Mother!
Ab. Wife!
Is. Whither goest thou?
Ab. Whom dost thou fly?
Sar. Isaac! Almighty God!
Do I dream. Is it thyself?
Is. Mother, 'tis I.
I came to bring thee peace. To thine embrace
Again I come. God has unlocked for us
The treasures of his grace.
Sar. My son!
Is. Thou art faint.
Sar. My son! alas, I die!
Ab. Support her, Isaac.
Is. Alas! that deadly paleness — these cold drops —
Ab. Be not cast down nor troubled, oh, my son!
Of great and sudden joy the effect thou seest
Is no unwonted issue. Brief repose
Her o'erfraught soul requires, that to herself
And certainty of peace she may return.
Is. How is it that a soul, which could bear up.
Unyielding against evils numberless,
One happy moment thus can quite o'erpower?
Ab. Grief wears, my son, a known familiar face,
While joy is ever but a transient guest.
Cast on a sea of care and pain,
Where storms for ever rage,
Man learns from childhood to sustain
Sorrow, his heritage.
So rarely Good his portion is,
The smile of Joy so rare,
The glad surprise of sudden bliss
He never learns to bear!
Gam. Lo! Sarah breathes again; and on the light
Her eyelids are reopened.
Sar. Abraham!
Isaac! Can it be true.
Is. Yes. Oh my mother!
Thou art in Isaac's arms.
Sar. Thy name be blessed
Oh Lord most merciful! now and for ever!
But Abraham, how —
Ab. Hearken thou, and adore
Infinite goodness. On the instant when
I lifted up mine eyes, and afar off
Beheld the place the Lord revealed to me,
Straightway I arose; and to the appointed hill,
With my son only, following near at hand,
And with a heart whose throbbings thou may'st guess,
Went forward. On the journey Isaac spake,
Saying, father, behold here the fire and wood,
But where the lamb for a burnt-offering?
Sadly I answered, meeting not his eye,
My son, God will provide himself a lamb
For a burnt-offering. And we went on both
Together, climbing the ascent. And when
We came to the place which God had told me of,
I built an altar there; and laid the wood
In order. I bound Isaac.
Sar. Ah! 'twas then
He knew the whole. And how, then, unto God
Did he present himself a sacrifice?
Ab. Even as a lamb that to the slaughter goes,
Innocent, meek, and opening not his mouth.
Sar. Alas! I can imagine all the pangs
Of that most bitter moment.
Ab. Sarah, no:
I felt an unknown strength support me then,
His own mysterious gift. No more the father,
No more the man possessed me. For the power
Of faith had conquered nature. A clear light,
Unseen by mortal wisdom, to my thought
Showed marvellously linked with my son's death
The promises of God . With love and faith
And hope, my heart was glowing in one blaze
Of wondrous ecstasy, wherein I seemed
To hold communion with the Eternal Mind,
And now already on the upturned brow
Of kneeling Isaac was my left hand laid;
My eyes were bent on heaven; and I stretched forth
My hand, and took the knife to slay my son,
When a bright radiance, with a sudden burst
Of glory kindled all the air, A voice
Called to me out of heaven, saying, Abraham,
Lay not thy hand upon the lad, nor do thou
Any thing unto him; for now I know
How much thou fearest God, seeing thou has not
Withheld thy son, thine only son from me.
Sar. I breathe once more.
Ab. At these awakening words,
My heart was moved within me. I became
Again the man, the father. That kind voice
With angel tones disarmed my steeled breast,
The barriers that encircled it were broken,
And the full flood of human sympathies
Gushed in with overflowing waves, Amazement,
Joy, gratitude, love, fear, yearnings profound,
Tenderness, pity, almost in one tide
O'erwhelmed my soul. Fain would I have poured out
My thanks unto the Lord; but not a sound
My lips could frame. Then to unbind the lad
With hasty hands I strove; but those same knots
Which they unshaking formed, trembling they had not
The cunning to undo. Half-murmured words,
Broken with sobs of rapture, fond embraces,
Mingled with many tears — even while I speak,
Again the strong convulsion overcomes
My senses. Isaac, finish thou the tale.
Is. The victim yet was wanting for the rite,
But God provided one, as Abraham
Foretold. At noise of branches rustling near,
We lifted up our eyes and looked, and lo!
Behind us a white ram, caught by his horns,
In an entangled thicket's thorny brake,
Strove vainly to set free his armed front.
On him my bonds were fastened. He being slain,
With guiltless blood supplied the sacred fire.
Gam. Thrice happy Abraham! who hath to God
Given such clear proof of faith.
Sar. No, not therein
The blessing lies. Already known to God
Without such proof was Abraham. Himself
Did Abraham not know, nor the full power
Of his own confidence in God , who willed
To instruct him in its strength; willed that in him
Of faith and constancy the world should have
A glorious example, memorable
Through all succeeding ages. Oh henceforth
Pregnant be all the examples of his faith
With generous fruits; and often, in ourselves,
May we repeat this solemn sacrifice!
May every heart an altar prove,
Where burns the flame of sacred love;
And be the victims of its fires
Our earth-born longings and desires:
These let us slay, and offer whole
The cherished offspring of the soul.
A son devoted, in his eyes
Is not a worthier sacrifice,
Than to subdue the hosts of sin,
That ever press the soul to win,
And give the heart, in follies lost,
To him entire, a holocaust!
Ab. Be silent. Heaven is opening
The angel appears.
Angel . Abraham,
I come to thee again, a messenger
From God . With thine obedience, and thy proof
Of perfect faith, he is well pleased. Because
Thou hast done this thing, and not withheld thy son,
Thine only son, he doth renew to thee
His promises. In blessing he will bless thee,
In multiplying he will multiply
Thy seed even as the stars of heaven, or sands
On the sea shore; and in them, in due time,
Shall all the nations of the earth be bless'd.
In the fulness of ages
Thy progeny glorious,
Shall come o'er his enemies
Trampling victorious:
Their gates shall fly open,
Their hosts shrink before him,
In the face of the nations
Who shall kneel and adore him!
From God is the promise,
His foes long shall mourn it;
He can swear by no greater,
By H IMSELF he hath sworn it.
Sar. Hast thou heard, Abraham?
Is. He hears not. Father!
Sar. What glory lightens o'er his features!
Ab. God
Omnipotent! with what mysterious types
This day thou makest known thy will. The father
Offers his only son. The son accepts
Of his free will the dreadful penalty,
Which he had never merited. Oh why
Bears he the fatal instrument of death,
On his own bending shoulder? For what end,
Among so many, chosen is that mount?
Why is the victim's head plucked from the thorns?
In visions of the future I am rapt:
With other blood I see that mountain stained;
Another Son I see, bowing his head
Meekly, unto his Father's hand commend
His spirit. The hills shake! The graves are opened!
And the thick blackness of profoundest night
Covers all heaven! — I read the mystery!
Thanks, thanks, redeeming God! This is that day,
I have desired to see! This is that blood,
An infinite recompense for infinite guilt!
This is that sacrifice which must be made,
That satisfies and reconciles at once
Eternal Justice and Eternal Love!
This is that death which unto man redeemed
Unfolds the gates of everlasting life!
CHORUS OF SHEPHERDS, ETC .
So long does the Most High,
Ere rolling ages in their order staid
Shall bring forth the ripe time of prophecy,
Prepare to break the bonds that sin has wrought.
Is such the costly ransom to be paid,
Ere man's immortal freedom can be bought,
His guilty race from thraldom to deliver?
Thus in its counsels wills the Eternal Mind.
Oh let us lose the purchased blessings never,
Of his dear care, who hath so loved mankind!
S ARAH , alone .
Who will have pity on me? Who will tell me
How my son fares? Servants and shepherds forth
I have sent on every side, and none returns.
Alas! belike for pity each avoids me;
Belike, already in his father's hands
He hath breathed out his innocent soul. Ah me!
Of all I love, there is none to comfort me.
Mine eyes do fill with tears, my strength dries up.
My heart is turned within me, while I look,
And there is none to help. Whither shall I turn?
How doth the house sit solitary; once
So full of people, busy and rejoicing;
The ways do mourn; the gates are desolate;
The flocks in vain for their lost keeper seek;
Wandering they go, without their wonted guide.
The shepherd smitten, scattered are the sheep!
But one at least of such a multitude,
One only — Ha! behold one. I will seek him,
I will demand, — but my heart fails. I dread
To hear his answer. Wherefore do they come
Thus in disorder? Where is Abraham?
What have ye witnessed? God support me! speak!
S ARAH . G AMARI . Shepherds .
Sar . Oh speak! your silence is to me
More cruel than your words can be!
Forbear — your tidings I have read;
Say not to me — " thy son is dead! "
Yes — on the altar-stone I know
Ere this his precious blood must flow:
'Tis in my heart, and in my brain,
The knife with which my son was slain!
Gam . 'Tis not through my own fault, that I return
So tardily from doing thy commands.
Know —
Sar . Ah! I know it all — already; all,
I know, Gamari. I have no more a son.
Isaac is dead.
Gam . How? When myself beheld him
Even now, at Mount Moriah's foot.
Sar . Ha! then —
Does he yet live? Dost thou not mock me?
Gam . Soon
Thou shalt embrace him.
Sar . Everlasting God!
Has then my sorrow moved thee to compassion!
Can thy command be altered or revoked;
What victim, then, was offered to the Lord?
Gam . By this time, or I err, the sacrifice
Must be complete; but when I parted thence,
It was not.
Sar . Was not yet? What then detained
Abraham at the mountain's foot so long?
Gam . Me too this much amazed, nor did I dare
Nearer approach, the cause of their delay
To ask. Perhaps he waited for a sign
From heaven. For suddenly, towards the mountain
I marked him going, with firm steps. He left us
All on the plain. He bore the sacred fire
In one hand; in the other was the knife —
Sar . And Isaac?
Gam . Isaac, meek and lowly went,
Bending beneath the burden of hewn boughs,
Bound up, a cumbrous load, with weary steps
Up the steep pathway following.
Sar . Ah, how often
Am I to die this day!
Gam . When my dear lord,
Wearied and toiling like a bondsman thus
I saw, what love, what sorrow filled my heart!
Beneath his heavy load, at every step,
I dreaded to behold him sink oppress'd.
I felt that heavy load weigh down my soul,
And so much of his agony on that mount
I felt, that even yet upon my brow
Thick stands the sweat that anguish wrung from me.
Sar . In pity, from thy sad detail forbear,
Nor fret the deep wounds of my soul.
Gam . Behold
Abraham is returning.
Sar . Wo is me!
The sacrifice is then complete.
Gam . Of a certainty
'Tis finished. And in Abraham's right hand
The knife yet drips with blood.
Sar . Oh! let me fly
The cruel sight.
S ARAH . A BRAHAM . I SAAC . G AMARI . Shepherds, &c.
Is. Mother!
Ab. Wife!
Is. Whither goest thou?
Ab. Whom dost thou fly?
Sar. Isaac! Almighty God!
Do I dream. Is it thyself?
Is. Mother, 'tis I.
I came to bring thee peace. To thine embrace
Again I come. God has unlocked for us
The treasures of his grace.
Sar. My son!
Is. Thou art faint.
Sar. My son! alas, I die!
Ab. Support her, Isaac.
Is. Alas! that deadly paleness — these cold drops —
Ab. Be not cast down nor troubled, oh, my son!
Of great and sudden joy the effect thou seest
Is no unwonted issue. Brief repose
Her o'erfraught soul requires, that to herself
And certainty of peace she may return.
Is. How is it that a soul, which could bear up.
Unyielding against evils numberless,
One happy moment thus can quite o'erpower?
Ab. Grief wears, my son, a known familiar face,
While joy is ever but a transient guest.
Cast on a sea of care and pain,
Where storms for ever rage,
Man learns from childhood to sustain
Sorrow, his heritage.
So rarely Good his portion is,
The smile of Joy so rare,
The glad surprise of sudden bliss
He never learns to bear!
Gam. Lo! Sarah breathes again; and on the light
Her eyelids are reopened.
Sar. Abraham!
Isaac! Can it be true.
Is. Yes. Oh my mother!
Thou art in Isaac's arms.
Sar. Thy name be blessed
Oh Lord most merciful! now and for ever!
But Abraham, how —
Ab. Hearken thou, and adore
Infinite goodness. On the instant when
I lifted up mine eyes, and afar off
Beheld the place the Lord revealed to me,
Straightway I arose; and to the appointed hill,
With my son only, following near at hand,
And with a heart whose throbbings thou may'st guess,
Went forward. On the journey Isaac spake,
Saying, father, behold here the fire and wood,
But where the lamb for a burnt-offering?
Sadly I answered, meeting not his eye,
My son, God will provide himself a lamb
For a burnt-offering. And we went on both
Together, climbing the ascent. And when
We came to the place which God had told me of,
I built an altar there; and laid the wood
In order. I bound Isaac.
Sar. Ah! 'twas then
He knew the whole. And how, then, unto God
Did he present himself a sacrifice?
Ab. Even as a lamb that to the slaughter goes,
Innocent, meek, and opening not his mouth.
Sar. Alas! I can imagine all the pangs
Of that most bitter moment.
Ab. Sarah, no:
I felt an unknown strength support me then,
His own mysterious gift. No more the father,
No more the man possessed me. For the power
Of faith had conquered nature. A clear light,
Unseen by mortal wisdom, to my thought
Showed marvellously linked with my son's death
The promises of God . With love and faith
And hope, my heart was glowing in one blaze
Of wondrous ecstasy, wherein I seemed
To hold communion with the Eternal Mind,
And now already on the upturned brow
Of kneeling Isaac was my left hand laid;
My eyes were bent on heaven; and I stretched forth
My hand, and took the knife to slay my son,
When a bright radiance, with a sudden burst
Of glory kindled all the air, A voice
Called to me out of heaven, saying, Abraham,
Lay not thy hand upon the lad, nor do thou
Any thing unto him; for now I know
How much thou fearest God, seeing thou has not
Withheld thy son, thine only son from me.
Sar. I breathe once more.
Ab. At these awakening words,
My heart was moved within me. I became
Again the man, the father. That kind voice
With angel tones disarmed my steeled breast,
The barriers that encircled it were broken,
And the full flood of human sympathies
Gushed in with overflowing waves, Amazement,
Joy, gratitude, love, fear, yearnings profound,
Tenderness, pity, almost in one tide
O'erwhelmed my soul. Fain would I have poured out
My thanks unto the Lord; but not a sound
My lips could frame. Then to unbind the lad
With hasty hands I strove; but those same knots
Which they unshaking formed, trembling they had not
The cunning to undo. Half-murmured words,
Broken with sobs of rapture, fond embraces,
Mingled with many tears — even while I speak,
Again the strong convulsion overcomes
My senses. Isaac, finish thou the tale.
Is. The victim yet was wanting for the rite,
But God provided one, as Abraham
Foretold. At noise of branches rustling near,
We lifted up our eyes and looked, and lo!
Behind us a white ram, caught by his horns,
In an entangled thicket's thorny brake,
Strove vainly to set free his armed front.
On him my bonds were fastened. He being slain,
With guiltless blood supplied the sacred fire.
Gam. Thrice happy Abraham! who hath to God
Given such clear proof of faith.
Sar. No, not therein
The blessing lies. Already known to God
Without such proof was Abraham. Himself
Did Abraham not know, nor the full power
Of his own confidence in God , who willed
To instruct him in its strength; willed that in him
Of faith and constancy the world should have
A glorious example, memorable
Through all succeeding ages. Oh henceforth
Pregnant be all the examples of his faith
With generous fruits; and often, in ourselves,
May we repeat this solemn sacrifice!
May every heart an altar prove,
Where burns the flame of sacred love;
And be the victims of its fires
Our earth-born longings and desires:
These let us slay, and offer whole
The cherished offspring of the soul.
A son devoted, in his eyes
Is not a worthier sacrifice,
Than to subdue the hosts of sin,
That ever press the soul to win,
And give the heart, in follies lost,
To him entire, a holocaust!
Ab. Be silent. Heaven is opening
The angel appears.
Angel . Abraham,
I come to thee again, a messenger
From God . With thine obedience, and thy proof
Of perfect faith, he is well pleased. Because
Thou hast done this thing, and not withheld thy son,
Thine only son, he doth renew to thee
His promises. In blessing he will bless thee,
In multiplying he will multiply
Thy seed even as the stars of heaven, or sands
On the sea shore; and in them, in due time,
Shall all the nations of the earth be bless'd.
In the fulness of ages
Thy progeny glorious,
Shall come o'er his enemies
Trampling victorious:
Their gates shall fly open,
Their hosts shrink before him,
In the face of the nations
Who shall kneel and adore him!
From God is the promise,
His foes long shall mourn it;
He can swear by no greater,
By H IMSELF he hath sworn it.
Sar. Hast thou heard, Abraham?
Is. He hears not. Father!
Sar. What glory lightens o'er his features!
Ab. God
Omnipotent! with what mysterious types
This day thou makest known thy will. The father
Offers his only son. The son accepts
Of his free will the dreadful penalty,
Which he had never merited. Oh why
Bears he the fatal instrument of death,
On his own bending shoulder? For what end,
Among so many, chosen is that mount?
Why is the victim's head plucked from the thorns?
In visions of the future I am rapt:
With other blood I see that mountain stained;
Another Son I see, bowing his head
Meekly, unto his Father's hand commend
His spirit. The hills shake! The graves are opened!
And the thick blackness of profoundest night
Covers all heaven! — I read the mystery!
Thanks, thanks, redeeming God! This is that day,
I have desired to see! This is that blood,
An infinite recompense for infinite guilt!
This is that sacrifice which must be made,
That satisfies and reconciles at once
Eternal Justice and Eternal Love!
This is that death which unto man redeemed
Unfolds the gates of everlasting life!
CHORUS OF SHEPHERDS, ETC .
So long does the Most High,
Ere rolling ages in their order staid
Shall bring forth the ripe time of prophecy,
Prepare to break the bonds that sin has wrought.
Is such the costly ransom to be paid,
Ere man's immortal freedom can be bought,
His guilty race from thraldom to deliver?
Thus in its counsels wills the Eternal Mind.
Oh let us lose the purchased blessings never,
Of his dear care, who hath so loved mankind!