Classic Poem

PART FIRST.

ABRAHAM. ISAAC .

Ab . No more, my son; now more than half the night
O'er us, forgetful of the hours, and held
In sweet discourse, hath pass'd. Thee the desire
Of knowledge, me the love to see thee thus
Hang on my lips attentive, hath so long
Beguiled from sleep. Dear Isaac, to thy couch.
Now ask not further. To their wonted rest
Give we our weary limbs. Some other time,
What yet remains I will in full recount.
Is . Whene'er, O father, thou resum'st the tale,
In its miraculous order, of thy life,
Such pleasing wonder wraps my spirit round,
I feel no sense of weariness, nor wish
For rest. My being I forget: with thee
Borne on through each event, beside thee ever
I could assert myself to be. When first,
Obedient to the call of the Most High,
Thy native soil forsaking, I with thee
Leave the Chaldean plains: in woods and hills
Of Charran and of Palestine, with thee
A stranger I sojourn. And when there comes
A famine in that land, and thou dost rove
Far, seeking food, I journey on with thee
To Gerar and to Egypt, shuddering still
At thine and at my mother's perilous way.
When on the kings o'erthrown thou sett'st thy foot,
Conqueror, near Jordan's double-founted source,
I follow thy victorious steps. But when
Thou dost disclose the promises of God ,
The Covenant stablished 'twixt Him and thee, —
With the dread presence overwhelmed, I hear
The Deep Voice of Jehovah; and my heart
Is filled with sacred awe.
Ab . Those promises
Of the Eternal now unfold in thee,
And in thy seed shall be fulfilled. This land
Wherein thou wanderest as a stranger now,
From Nilus to Euphrates, shall to them
Be subject.
Is . Then my issue —
Ab . Than the stars,
And than the sands, shall be more numerous. Them
Will the Most High declare his chosen race,
Will make them kings and princes of the earth;
And all that dwell therein, that yet shall come,
Through the long future, shall be blest in us.
Is . What glory, fortune, happiness!
Ab . Ah! my son,
Let not such glory dazzle thee! Our joy
Is often sinful, when beneath it hid,
Pride, like a serpent, creeps into the heart,
And turns to poison the best gifts of Heaven.
Is . I feel my soul from such contagion free.
I feel — but I may be deceived; for who
Knows thoroughly his own heart? Thou didst not speak
Thus undesignedly. Thou makest me tremble.
Ab . (O holy fear of God, the true beginning
Of wisdom!) Be thou quieted, my son,
Thy father warns thee, but accuses not.
Go — such as now thou art, God keep thee still.

A BRAHAM , alone .

Oh! how, and in what language, bounteous God,
For all thy mercies shall I render thanks?
Great was thy goodness which vouchsafed to me
A son when old, and stricken far in age,
But such a son, depository meet
Of my o'erflowing tenderness, — my hope, —
The dear prop of my many years, — Oh! this,
This is a gift — But whence this sudden light
That pours its blaze around? Does the sun bring
The flood of day so soon? Ah no! the sun
Hath not such living splendour in his beams.
I know the glorious rays — I feel who comes!

Angel . Abraham! Abraham!
Ab . Behold I am here.
Angel . Hearken to the commandment which I bring
From the Everlasting God . Take now thy son,
Thine only son, Isaac, whom thou so lovest,
And get thee with him to Moriah. There,
His blood being shed, offer thou up the lad
For a burnt-offering, on that mountain's top
Which H E shall show thee, by a certain sign.

Thine innocent child, in thy late years,
Vouchsafed by heaven to thy desires,
Whom love so just, so strong endears,
God at thy hand requires;

Requires thine offspring's blood to flow,
Beneath thy sacrificing knife,
Requires the priest to strike the blow,
Who gave the victim life.

A BRAHAM , alone .

Eternal God ! how sudden thy command!
How terrible its purport. 'Tis thy will
That I should slay my son; and thou art pleased
Even in thine awful message to rehearse
The exceeding value of the gift recalled;
Repeating all the names that can awake
The tenderest yearnings towards the thing I lose.
But Thou commandest it: It is enough.
I bow my forehead to the dust. I adore
Thine awful mandate. I will shed his blood —
But Isaac dead — my hopes — where then are they?
Runs not the promise counter to the command?
No! for T HOU canst not lie, and I am bound
To hearken and obey. To doubt is sin;
'Tis sin to search thy ways, past finding out.
My God ! I do obey, believe, and hope.
But in this terrible strait, be Thou my help,
Oh Lord! behold me ready for the work
I must perform and will.
But who can tell?
When I must strike the blow — his pleading looks
My heart may agitate — my hand may tremble,
Unless Thou giv'st me strength. I am a man,
I am a father. Thou, Lord, knowest all.
What ho! within!

A BRAHAM . Servants .

Ab . Wake Isaac from his sleep.
Saddle an ass; call two of the young men
To follow me — But let not Sarah hear,
Nor break her slumbers. Yet unknown to her
Be the dread secret. Let me spare her yet
A mother's agony. Too soon — Oh God!
She comes. How shall I speak?

A BRAHAM . S ARAH .

Sar . So long before
The dawn, is Abraham forth? What care anew —
Ab . Sarah, I am bound to offer up to God
The blood of a pure victim. I go forth
To cut dry branches from the neighbouring wood,
To kindle on the altar. Stay me not —
Farewell!
Sar . May I not bear thee company?
Ab . Not this time. Let it please thee to remain.
Sar . And have I walked with thee so many years,
Partner in all thy joys, and all thy griefs,
And must I in thy pious offices
Partake no longer?
Ab . (Just is the reproof.
She should not be defrauded of her part
In this great sacrifice. She must know all.)
Sar . (What hath he to unfold?)
Ab . Beloved wife,
Tell me, — in present memory dost thou bear
The unnumbered mercies God hath showered upon us?
Sar . Ah! how can I forget them?
Ab . Art thou grateful?
Sar . He knows my heart.
Ab . But should he ask from thee
To give some difficult proof of gratitude,
Most trying to the heart?
Sar . Content I were
To meet all dangers, to lay down my life.
Ab . And if he should demand thy son?
Sar . Isaac!
Ab . Even Isaac.
Sar . Alas! though it might cost the pangs of death —
Unto the hand which gave, I would restore
The precious gift.
Ab . Then, Sarah, be it so.
Restore him. God requires it.
Sar . Ha!
Ab . Even so.
I must offer up the lad a sacrifice
To H IM . Such his behest; and absolute
Was the commandment.
Sar . Abraham! sayest thou?
Thy words amaze me. Can it be His will
Our son should die, so dear to Him, — His own
Peculiar gift — who was to be the sire
Of many and mighty nations? How? and why?
Ab . It hath not pleased the Almighty to reveal
His purposes. A mandate from His lips
Issued, 'tis our in silence to obey,
Not reason of its cause.
Sar . And Isaac then
Full soon —
Ab . Must on the altar yield his life.
Sar . The father too himself —
Ab . The father too
With his own hand must offer him. Oh wife!
If in the merit of this sacrifice
Thou wouldst partake, let thy free will attend
In this great action. But no further now
A yearning mother's presence I invite,
Nor can permit. Farewell! From Isaac hide
The secret — 'tis from me that he must learn —
Alas! thou weepest. Be firm! if thou art willing,
And in thy will art strongly resolute,
God ever merciful will with his grace
Help thee, and afterward for righteousness
It shall be accounted to thee. Ponder this,
That better than ourselves can know, He knows
Whate'er is good for us, whate'er is ill.
Wealth, honour, length of days, and progeny,
Are all His gifts; nor, rendering unto Him
That which Himself bestowed, is man bereaved.

Let peace o'er thy sad bosom move,
And teach thy spirit to obey;
Dearer to God the task shall prove,
Than any victim thou couldst slay.
Another's blood we only pay,
For tribute when the victim dies;
We render up, when we obey ,
The Will, a nobler sacrifice.

S ARAH , alone .

Yet then, a little while —
Miserable, afflicted, sorrow-stricken mother,
Mother no longer shall I be? That bosom,
That seat of truth — upon the altar-stone
Transpierced, must all its innocent blood be shed?
Already in my soul I feel the edge
Of that dividing knife. Eternal Father,
Accept with favour all my anguish! Here
In this sad heart the sacrifice begins.
Nor less the sacrifice of grief, perchance,
Than of the blood thou biddest to be shed.

S ARAH . I SAAC . G AMARI . Servants .

Is . Mother.
Sar . (That name! that image!)
Is . I am summoned
By Abraham. Is he not with thee? Swift
I must speed to find him.
Sar . Hearken — (Strengthen me,
O God!)
Is . Thou dost not know that they prepare
A sacrifice, whereat I must attend.
Sar . I know my son, I know. Yet hold! (I feel
The pangs of death.) Do not forsake me thus!
Is . My mother, why art thou disquieted,
And wherefore dost thou weep?
Sar . Alas! I am left
Childless.
Is . But I will soon return to thee.
Surely for the first time I do not quit
Thy much-loved presence.
Sar . But this time — (Oh God!
What agony hath ever equalled mine!)
Is . Gamari, thou whom I have ever loved,
Who on my bosom hath so often leaned,
Do thou watch over her when I am gone.
Mother, till I return, behold thy son!
Thou weepest still. What shall — what must I do?
Thou knowest my father's will.
Sar . Yes, go my son;
His will be done. My will it shall be too,
Though in a thousand parts my heart be rent.
Go — list — one last embrace, and then farewell!

Isaac.

Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid,
Though absent I am with you still, to cheer you and to aid;
I will not leave you comfortless, to sorrow here in vain,
I go unto my father now, and I will come again.
As I am in the Father, and in me the Father is,
Believe the words I speak to you; not mine they are, but
His.
Believe, though for a little while, my face ye may not see,
My promise, that where'er I am, there you shall also be.

CHORUS OF SHEPHERDS, ETC .

Oh! daughter of humility!
Friend of each virtue that adorns the heart,
Obedience! who like thee
Can to the faithful soul rich grace impart!
A wild and savage plant, the human will
In its gross soil springs up, and puts forth still
Rank shoots, till each excrescence thou dost prune,
And graft the scions of the Maker's pleasure:
Then the old trunk acquires fresh vigour soon,
God nourishes it in abundant measures;
And free and fair its branches round are thrown,
When thus H IS will becomes our own.