Classic Poem

And Abraham, son of Terah, in distress,
Bent low his brows, and in all wretchedness
Cried: “Lo! I, guardian of the Jewish nation,
Have cruelly and rashly sent away
The gentle offspring of my love this day
Unto the bitter desert's desolation!

“I, who am rich in flocks and many herds,
Have greatly sinned, for, with unfeeling words,
I Ishmael bade with Hagar, my handmaiden,
To seek Beersheba's solitudes of sands,
And leave the pleasure of my pasture lands,
With little bread, with water lightly laden.

“Far to the danger of an arid tomb
I sent them mournfully, for Sarah's womb,
Gladdened by Isaac, strangely born, was jealous.
Ah, God! I hearkened to her and repent!
Upon me visit not thy discontent;
To save and free them now my soul is zealous.

“No peaceful calm my wrinkled brows will bless,
Until the red and sultry wilderness
Restores to me the lives I have molested;
Remorseful, I am fain to kiss their feet,
And bow before them in my woe complete;
For days my guilty conscience has not rested.

“Oh Ishmael, my sweet son! I long to speak
My whole love to thee, injured and most meek
Of all the seed the Lord Jehovah sent me!
Thy form emaciate in phantasmal light
Haunts me with starving lips at dawn, at night.
Hear me, forgive me, son! I do repent me!

“Like the wind's ravage in a field of flowers,
Oh Ishmael, my beloved, in hapless hours
Heartless I did renounce the love I gave thee;
But now that thou art helpless and unclaimed,
Now that my every fiber throbs ashamed,
Ishmael, my child! I will depart to save thee!”

And Abraham, by a deep remorse possessed,
Was fain to hasten in paternal quest
Of Ishmael, and with diligence he bent him,
And much consoled by firm resolve and trust,
He bowed his weary brow unto the dust,
Praying for strength, and this Jehovah sent him.

And so, upon that day, it came to pass
He bade his servants load a nimble ass
With many meats and juicy figs delicious,
White leavened bread and hoards of golden wheat,
With healing herbs and gourds of water sweet,
Imploring of the Lord to be propitious.

And in his trembling age he left his tents,
Contrite and weeping for his grave offense,
By many prayers his many fears disarming,
And with him took unto Moriah's sod
Isaac, his son trained in the cult of God,
The child of prophecy, devout and charming,

Isaac, the love and promise of his eyes,
Isaac, his son, submissive, meekly wise,
To teach with kind solicitude and tender,
And show to him new countries, where Tamar's
Stupendous towers beneath the Orient stars
Shone in their haughty and embattled splendor.