*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74527 *** Idylls of the Bible ...BY... MRS. F. E. W. HARPER PHILADELPHIA 1006 BAINBRIDGE STREET 1901 [Illustration: Frances E. W. Harper] MOSES A STORY OF THE NILE THE PARTING.—CHAPTER I. MOSES. Kind and gracious princess, more than friend, I’ve come to thank thee for thy goodness, And to breathe into thy generous ears My last and sad farewell. I go to join The fortunes of my race, and to put aside All other bright advantages, save The approval of my conscience and the meed Of rightly doing. PRINCESS. What means, my son, this strange election? What wild chimera floats across thy mind? What sudden impulse moves thy soul? Thou who Hast only trod the court of kings, why seek Instead the paths of labor? Thou, whose limbs Have known no other garb than that which well Befits our kingly state, why rather choose The badge of servitude and toil? MOSES. Let me tell thee, gracious princess; ’tis no Sudden freak nor impulse wild that moves my mind. I feel an earnest purpose binding all My soul unto a strong resolve, which bids Me put aside all other ends and aims, Until the hour shall come when God—the God Our fathers loved and worshipped—shall break our chains, And lead our willing feet to freedom. PRINCESS. Listen to me, Moses: thou art young, And the warm blood of youth flushes thy veins Like generous wine; thou wearest thy manhood Like a crown; but what king e’er cast His diadem in the dust, to be trampled Down by every careless foot? Thou hast Bright dreams and glowing hopes; could’st thou not live Them out as well beneath the radiance Of our throne as in the shadow of those Bondage-darkened huts? MOSES. Within those darkened huts my mother plies her tasks, My father bends to unrequited toil; And bitter tears moisten the bread my brethren eat. And when I gaze upon their cruel wrongs The very purple on my limbs seems drenched With blood, the warm blood of my own kindred race; And then thy richest viands pall upon my taste, And discord jars in every tone of song. I cannot live in pleasure while they faint In pain. PRINCESS. How like a dream the past floats back: it seems But yesterday when I lay tossing upon My couch of pain, a torpor creeping through Each nerve, a fever coursing through my veins. And there I lay, dreaming of lilies fair, Of lotus flowers and past delights, and all The bright, glad hopes, that give to early life Its glow and flush; and thus day after day Dragged its slow length along, until, one morn, The breath of lilies, fainting on the air, Floated into my room, and then I longed once more To gaze upon the Nile, as on the face Of a familiar friend, whose absence long Had made a mournful void within the heart. I summoned to my side my maids, and bade Them place my sandals on my feet, and lead Me to the Nile, where I might bathe my weary Limbs within the cooling flood, and gather Healing from the sacred stream. I sought my favorite haunt, and, bathing, found New tides of vigor coursing through my veins. Refreshed, I sat me down to weave a crown of lotus leaves And lilies fair, and while I sat in a sweet Revery, dreaming of life and hope, I saw A little wicker-basket hidden among The flags and lilies of the Nile, and I called My maidens and said, “Nillias and Osiria Bring me that little ark which floats beside The stream.” They ran and brought me a precious burden. ’Twas an ark woven with rushes and daubed With slime, and in it lay a sleeping child; His little hand amid his clustering curls, And a bright flush upon his glowing cheek. He wakened with a smile, and reached out his hand To meet the welcome of the mother’s kiss, When strange faces met his gaze, and he drew back With a grieved, wondering look, while disappointment Shook the quivering lip that missed the mother’s Wonted kiss, and the babe lifted his voice and wept. Then my heart yearned towards him, and I resolved That I would brave my father’s wrath and save The child; but while I stood gazing upon His wondrous beauty, I saw beside me A Hebrew girl, her eyes bent on me With an eager, questioning look, and drawing Near, she timidly said, “shall I call a nurse?” I bade her go; she soon returned, and with her Came a woman of the Hebrew race, whose Sad, sweet, serious eyes seemed overflowing With a strange and sudden joy. I placed the babe Within her arms and said, “Nurse this child for me;” And the babe nestled there like one at home, While o’er the dimples of his face rippled The brightest, sweetest smiles, and I was well Content to leave him in her care; and well Did she perform her part. When many days had Passed she brought the child unto the palace; And one morning, while I sat toying with His curls and listening to the prattle of his Untrained lips, my father, proud and stately, Saw me bending o’er the child and said, “Charmian, whose child is this? who of my lords Calls himself father to this goodly child? He surely must be a happy man.” Then I said, “Father, he is mine. He is a Hebrew child that I have saved from death.” He Suddenly recoiled, as if an adder Had stung him, and said, “Charmian, take that Child hence. How darest thou bring a member Of that mean and servile race within my doors? Nay, rather let me send for Nechos, whose Ready sword shall rid me of his hateful presence.” Then kneeling at his feet, and catching Hold of his royal robes, I said, “Not so, Oh! honored father, he is mine; I snatched Him from the hungry jaws of death, and foiled The greedy crocodile of his prey; he has Eaten bread within thy palace walls, and thy Salt lies upon his fresh young lips; he has A claim upon thy mercy.” “Charmian,” he said “I have decreed that every man child of that Hated race shall die. The oracles have said The pyramids shall wane before their shadow, And from them a star shall rise whose light shall Spread over earth a baleful glow; and this is why I root them from the land; their strength is weakness To my throne. I shut them from the light lest they Bring darkness to my kingdom. Now, Charmian, Give me up the child, and let him die.” Then clasping the child closer to my heart, I said, “the pathway to his life is through my own; Around that life I throw my heart, a wall Of living, loving clay.” Dark as the thunder Clouds of distant lands became my father’s brow, And his eyes flashed with the fierce lightnings Of his wrath; but while I plead, with eager Eyes upturned, I saw a sudden change come Over him; his eyes beamed with unwonted Tenderness, and he said, “Charmian, arise, Thy prayer is granted; just then thy dead mother Came to thine eyes, and the light of Asenath Broke over thy face. Asenath was the light Of my home; the star that faded out too Suddenly from my dwelling, and left my life To darkness, grief and pain, and for her sake, Not thine, I’ll spare the child.” And thus I saved Thee twice—once from the angry sword and once From the devouring flood. Moses, thou art Doubly mine; as such I claimed thee then, as such I claim thee now. I’ve nursed no other child Upon my knee, and pressed upon no other Lips the sweetest kisses of my love, and now, With rash and careless hand, thou dost thrust aside that love. There was a painful silence, a silence So hushed and still that you might have almost Heard the hurried breathing of one and the quick Throbbing of the other’s heart: for Moses, He was slow of speech, but she was eloquent With words of tenderness and love, and had breathed Her full heart into her lips; but there was Firmness in the young man’s choice, and he beat back The opposition of her lips with the calm Grandeur of his will, and again he essayed to speak. MOSES. Gracious lady, thou remembrest well The Hebrew nurse to whom thou gavest thy foundling. That woman was my mother: from her lips I Learned the grand traditions of our race that float. With all their weird and solemn beauty, around Our wrecked and blighted fortunes. How oft! With kindling eye and glowing cheek, forgetful Of the present pain, she would lead us through The distant past: the past, hallowed by deeds Of holy faith and lofty sacrifice. How she would tell us of Abraham, The father of our race, that he dwelt in Ur; Of the Chaldees, and when the Chaldean king Had called him to his sacrifice, that he Had turned from his dumb idols to the living God, and wandered out from kindred, home and race, Led by his faith in God alone; and she would Tell us,—(we were three,) my brother Aaron, The Hebrew girl thou sentest to call a nurse, And I, her last, her loved and precious child; She would tell us that one day our father Abraham heard a voice, bidding him offer Up in sacrifice the only son of his Beautiful and beloved Sarah; that the father’s Heart shrank not before the bitter test of faith, But he resolved to give his son to God As a burnt offering upon Moriah’s mount; That the uplifted knife glittered in the morning Sun, when, sweeter than the music of a thousand Harps, he heard a voice bidding him stay his hand, And spare the child; and how his faith, like gold Tried in the fiercest fire, shone brighter through Its fearful test. And then she would tell us Of a promise, handed down from sire to son, That God, the God our fathers loved and worshiped, Would break our chains, and bring to us a great Deliverance; that we should dwell in peace Beneath our vines and palms, our flocks and herds Increase, and joyful children crowd our streets; And then she would lift her eyes unto the far Off hills and tell us of the patriarchs Of our line, who sleep in distant graves within That promised land; and now I feel the hour Draws near which brings deliverance to our race. PRINCESS. These are but the dreams of thy young fancy; I cannot comprehend thy choice. I have heard Of men who have waded through slaughter To a throne; of proud ambitions, struggles Fierce and wild for some imagined good; of men Who have even cut in twain the crimson threads That lay between them and a throne; but I Never heard of men resigning ease for toil, The splendor of a palace for the squalor Of a hut, and casting down a diadem To wear a servile badge. Sadly she gazed Upon the fair young face lit with its lofty Faith and high resolves—the dark prophetic eyes Which seemed to look beyond the present pain Unto the future greatness of his race. As she stood before him in the warm Loveliness of her ripened womanhood, Her languid eyes glowed with unwonted fire, And the bright tropical blood sent its quick Flushes o’er the olive of her cheek, on which Still lay the lingering roses of her girlhood. Grief, wonder, and surprise flickered like shadows O’er her face as she stood slowly crushing With unconscious hand the golden tassels Of her crimson robe. She had known life only By its brightness, and could not comprehend The grandeur of the young man’s choice; but she Felt her admiration glow before the earnest Faith that tore their lives apart and led him To another destiny. She had hoped to see The crown of Egypt on his brow, the sacred Leopard skin adorn his shoulders, and his seat The throne of the proud Pharaoh’s; but now her Dream had faded out and left a bitter pang Of anguish in its stead. And thus they parted, She to brood in silence o’er her pain, and he To take his mission from the hands of God And lead his captive race to freedom. With silent lips but aching heart she bowed Her queenly head and let him pass, and he Went forth to share the fortune of his race, Esteeming that as better far than pleasures Bought by sin and gilded o’er with vice. And he had chosen well, for on his brow God poured the chrism of a holy work. And thus anointed he has stood a bright Ensample through the changing centuries of time CHAPTER II. It was a great change from the splendor, light And pleasure of a palace to the lowly huts Of those who sighed because of cruel bondage. As he passed Into the outer courts of that proud palace, He paused a moment just to gaze upon The scenes ’mid which his early life had passed— The pleasant haunts amid the fairest flowers,— The fountains tossing on the air their silver spray,— The statues breathing music soft and low To greet the first faint flushes of the morn,— The obelisks that rose in lofty grandeur From their stony beds—the sphynxes gaunt and grim, With unsolved riddles on their lips—and all The bright creation’s painters art and sculptors Skill had gathered in those regal halls, where mirth And dance, and revelry, and song had chased With careless feet the bright and fleeting hours. He was leaving all; but no regrets came Like a shadow o’er his mind, for he had felt The quickening of a higher life, as if his Soul had wings and he were conscious of their growth; And yet there was a tender light in those Dark eyes which looked their parting on the scenes Of beauty, where his life had been a joyous Dream enchanted with delight; but he trampled On each vain regret as on a vanquished foe, And went forth a strong man, girded with lofty Purposes and earnest faith. He journeyed on Till palaces and domes and lofty fanes, And gorgeous temples faded from his sight, And the lowly homes of Goshen came in view. There he saw the women of his race kneading Their tale of bricks; the sons of Abraham Crouching beneath their heavy burdens. He saw The increasing pallor on his sisters cheek, The deepening shadows on his mother’s brow, The restless light that glowed in Aaron’s eye, As if a hidden fire were smouldering In his brain; and bending o’er his mother In a tender, loving way, he said, “Mother, I’ve come to share the fortunes of my race,— To dwell within these lowly huts,—to wear The badge of servitude and toil, and eat The bitter bread of penury and pain.” A sudden light beamed from his mother’s eye, And she said, “How’s this, my son? but yesterday Two Hebrews, journeying from On to Goshen, Told us they had passed the temple of the Sun But dared not enter, only they had heard That it was a great day in On; that thou hadst Forsworn thy kindred, tribe and race; hadst bowed Thy knee to Egypt’s vain and heathen worship, Hadst denied the God of Abraham, of Isaac, And of Jacob, and from henceforth wouldst Be engrafted in Pharaoh’s regal line, And be called the son of Pharaoh’s daughter. When thy father Amram heard the cruel news He bowed his head upon his staff and wept. But I had stronger faith than that. By faith I hid thee when the bloody hands of Pharaoh Were searching ’mid our quivering heart strings Dooming our sons to death; by faith I wove The rushes of thine ark and laid thee ’mid The flags and lilies of the Nile, and saw The answer to that faith when Pharaoh’s daughter Placed thee in my arms, and bade me nurse the child For her; and by that faith sustained, I heard As idle words the cruel news that stabbed Thy father like a sword.” “The Hebrews did not hear aright; last week There was a great day in On, from Esoan’s gate Unto the mighty sea; the princes, lords And chamberlains of Egypt were assembled; The temple of the sun was opened. Isis And Osiris were unveiled before the people, Apis and Orus were crowned with flowers; Golden censers breathed their fragrance on the air; The sacrifice was smoking on the altar; The first fruits of the Nile lay on the tables Of the sun: the music rose in lofty swells, Then sank in cadences so soft and low Till all the air grew tremulous with rapture. The priests of On were there, with sacred palms Within their hands and lotus leaves upon their Brows; Pharaoh and his daughter sat waiting In their regal chairs; all were ready to hear Me bind my soul to Egypt, and to swear Allegiance to her gods. The priests of On Drew near to lay their hands upon my head And bid me swear, ‘Now, by Osiris, judge Of all the dead, and Isis, mother of us All,’ that henceforth I’d forswear my kindred, Tribe and race; would have no other gods Than those of Egypt; would be engrafted Into Pharaoh’s royal line, and be called The son of Pharaoh’s daughter. Then, mother Dear, I lived the past again. Again I sat Beside thee, my lips apart with childish Wonder, my eager eyes uplifted to thy Glowing face, and my young soul gathering Inspiration from thy words. Again I heard Thee tell the grand traditions of our race, The blessed hopes and glorious promises That weave their golden threads among the sombre Tissues of our lives, and shimmer still amid The gloom and shadows of our lot. Again I heard thee tell of Abraham, with his constant Faith and earnest trust in God, unto whom The promise came that in his seed should all The nations of the earth be blessed. Of Isaac Blessing with disappointed lips his first-born son, From whom the birthright had departed. Of Jacob, With his warm affections and his devious ways, Flying before the wrath of Esau; how he Slumbered in the wild, and saw amid his dreams A ladder reaching to the sky, on which God’s Angels did descend, and waking, with a solemn Awe o’ershadowing all, his soul exclaimed, ‘How Dreadful is this place. Lo! God is here, and I Knew it not.’ Of Joseph, once a mighty prince Within this land, who shrank in holy horror From the soft white hand that beckoned him to sin Whose heart, amid the pleasures, pomp and pride Of Egypt, was ever faithful to his race, And when his life was trembling on its frailest chord He turned his dying eyes to Canaan, and made His brethren swear that they would make his grave Among the patriarchs of his line, because Machpelah’s cave, where Abraham bowed before The sons of Heth, and bought a place to lay His loved and cherished dead, was dearer to his Dying heart than the proudest tomb amid The princely dead of Egypt. Then, like the angels, mother dear, who met Our father Jacob on his way, thy words Came back as messengers of light to guide My steps, and I refused to be called the son Of Pharaoh’s daughter. I saw the priests of On Grow pale with fear, an ashen terror creeping O’er the princess’ face, while Pharaoh’s brow grew Darker than the purple of his cloak. But I Endured, as seeing him who hides his face Behind the brightness of his glory. And thus I left the pomp and pride of Egypt To cast my lot among the people of my race.” FLIGHT INTO MIDIAN.—CHAPTER III. The love of Moses for his race soon found A stern expression. Pharaoh was building A pyramid; ambitious, cold and proud, He scrupled not at means to gain his ends. When he feared the growing power of Israel He stained his hands in children’s blood, and held A carnival of death in Goshen; but now He wished to hand his name and memory Down unto the distant ages, and instead Of lading that memory with the precious Fragrance of the kindest deeds and words, he Essayed to write it out in stone, as cold And hard, and heartless as himself. And Israel was The fated race to whom the cruel tasks Were given. Day after day a cry of wrong And anguish, some dark deed of woe and crime, Came to the ear of Moses, and he said, “These reports are ever harrowing my soul; I will go unto the fields where Pharaoh’s Officers exact their labors, and see If these things be so—if they smite the feeble At their tasks, and goad the aged on to toils Beyond their strength—if neither age nor sex Is spared the cruel smiting of their rods.” And Moses went to see his brethren. ’Twas eventide, And the laborers were wending their way Unto their lowly huts. ’Twas a sad sight,— The young girls walked without the bounding steps Of youth, with faces prematurely old, As if the rosy hopes and sunny promises Of life had never flushed their cheeks with girlish Joy; and there were men whose faces seemed to say We bear our lot in hopeless pain, we’ve bent unto Our burdens until our shoulders fit them, And as slaves we crouch beneath our servitude And toil. But there were men whose souls were cast In firmer moulds, men with dark secretive eyes, Which seemed to say, to-day we bide our time, And hide our wrath in every nerve, and only Wait a fitting hour to strike the hands that press Us down. Then came the officers of Pharaoh; They trod as lords, their faces flushed with pride And insolence, watching the laborers Sadly wending their way from toil to rest. And Moses’ heart swelled with a mighty pain; sadly Musing, he sought a path that led him From the busy haunts of men. But even there The cruel wrong trod in his footsteps; he heard A heavy groan, then harsh and bitter words, And, looking back, he saw an officer Of Pharaoh smiting with rough and cruel hand An aged man. Then Moses’ wrath o’erflowed His lips, and every nerve did tremble With a sense of wrong, and bounding forth he Cried unto the smiter, “Stay thy hand; seest thou That aged man? His head is whiter than our Desert sands; his limbs refuse to do thy Bidding because thy cruel tasks have drained Away their strength.” The Egyptian raised his eyes With sudden wonder; who was this that dared dispute His power? Only a Hebrew youth. His Proud lip curved in scornful anger, and he Waved a menace with his hand, saying, “back To thy task base slave, nor dare resist the will Of Pharaoh.” Then Moses’ wrath o’erleaped the bounds Of prudence, and with a heavy blow he felled The smiter to the earth, and Israel had One tyrant less. Moses saw the mortal paleness Chase the flushes from the Egyptian’s face, The whitening lips that breathed no more defiance And the relaxing tension of the well knit limbs; And when he knew that he was dead, he hid Him in the sand and left him to his rest. Another day Moses walked Abroad, and saw two brethren striving For mastery; and then his heart grew full Of tender pity. They were brethren, sharers Of a common wrong: should not their wrongs more Closely bind their hearts, and union, not division, Be their strength? And feeling thus, he said, “ye Are brethren, wherefore do ye strive together?” But they threw back his words in angry tones And asked if he had come to judge them, and would Mete to them the fate of the Egyptian? Then Moses knew the sand had failed to keep His secret, that his life no more was safe In Goshen, and he fled unto the deserts Of Arabia and became a shepherd For the priest of Midian. CHAPTER IV. Men grow strong in action, but in solitude Their thoughts are ripened. Like one who cuts away The bridge on which he has walked in safety To the other side, so Moses cut off all retreat To Pharaoh’s throne, and did choose the calling Most hateful to an Egyptian; he became A shepherd, and led his flocks and herds amid The solitudes and wilds of Midian, where he Nursed in silent loneliness his earnest faith In God and a constant love for kindred, tribe And race. Years stole o’er him, but they took No atom from his strength, nor laid one heavy weight Upon his shoulders. The down upon his face Had ripened to a heavy beard; the fire That glowed within his youthful eye had deepened To a calm and steady light, and yet his heart Was just as faithful to his race as when he had Stood in Pharaoh’s courts and bade farewell Unto his daughter. There was a look of patient waiting on his face, A calm, grand patience, like one who had lifted Up his eyes to God and seen, with meekened face, The wings of some great destiny o’ershadowing All his life with strange and solemn glory. But the hour came when he must pass from thought To action,—when the hope of many years Must reach its grand fruition, and Israel’s Great deliverance dawn. It happened thus: One day, as Moses led his flocks, he saw A fertile spot skirted by desert sands,— A pleasant place for flocks and herds to nip The tender grass and rest within its shady nooks; And as he paused and turned, he saw a bush with fire Aglow; from root to stem a lambent flame Sent up its jets and sprays of purest light, And yet the bush, with leaves uncrisped, uncurled, Was just as green and fresh as if the breath Of early spring were kissing every leaf. Then Moses said I’ll turn aside to see This sight, and as he turned he heard a voice Bidding him lay his sandals by, for Lo! he Stood on holy ground. Then Moses bowed his head Upon his staff and spread his mantle o’er His face, lest he should see the dreadful majesty Of God; and there, upon that lonely spot, By Horeb’s mount, his shrinking hands received The burden of his God, which bade him go To Egypt’s guilty king, and bid him let The oppressed go free. Commissioned thus He gathered up his flocks and herds and sought The tents of Jethro, and said “I pray thee Let me go and see if yet my kindred live;” And Jethro bade him go in peace, nor sought To throw himself across the purpose of his soul. Yet there was a tender parting in that home; There were moistened eyes, and quivering lips, And lingering claspings of the parting hand, as Jethro And his daughters stood within the light of that Clear morn, and gave to Moses and his wife And sons their holy wishes and their sad farewells. For he had been a son and brother in that home Since first with manly courtesy he had filled The empty pails of Reuel’s daughters, and found A shelter ’neath his tent when flying from The wrath of Pharaoh. They journeyed on, Moses, Zipporah and sons, she looking back With tender love upon the home she had left, With all its precious memories crowding round Her heart, and he with eager eyes tracking His path across the desert, longing once more To see the long-lost faces of his distant home, The loving eyes so wont to sun him with their Welcome, and the aged hands that laid upon His youthful head their parting blessing. They Journeyed on till morning’s flush and noonday Splendor glided into the softened, mellowed Light of eve, and the purple mists were deep’ning On the cliffs and hills, when Horeb, dual Crowned, arose before him; and there he met His brother Aaron, sent by God to be His spokesman and to bear him company To Pharaoh. Tender and joyous was their greeting They talked of home and friends until the lighter Ripple of their thoughts in deeper channels flowed; And then they talked of Israel’s bondage, And the great deliverance about to dawn Upon the fortunes of their race; and Moses Told him of the burning bush, and how the message Of his God was trembling on his lips. And thus They talked until the risen moon had veiled The mount in soft and silvery light; and then They rested until morn, and rising up, refreshed From sleep, pursued their way until they reached The land of Goshen, and gathered up the elders Of their race, and told them of the message Of their Father’s God. Then eager lips caught up The words of hope and passed the joyful “news Around, and all the people bowed their heads And lifted up their hearts in thankfulness To God.” That same day Moses sought an audience with the king. He found Him on his throne surrounded by the princes Of his court, who bowed in lowly homage At his feet. And Pharaoh heard with curving lip And flushing cheek the message of the Hebrew’s God, Then asked in cold and scornful tones, “Has Israel a God, and if so where has he dwelt For ages? As the highest priest of Egypt I have prayed to Isis, and the Nile has Overflowed her banks and filled the land With plenty, but these poor slaves have cried unto Their God, then crept in want and sorrow To their graves. Surely Mizraim’s God is strong And Israel’s is weak; then wherefore should I heed his voice, or at his bidding break A single yoke?” Thus reasoned that proud king, And turned a deafened ear unto the words Of Moses and his brother, and yet he felt Strangely awed before their presence, because They stood as men who felt the grandeur Of their mission, and thought not of themselves, But of their message. CHAPTER V. On the next day Pharaoh called a council Of his mighty men, and before them laid The message of the brethren: then Amorphel, Keeper of the palace and nearest lord Unto the king, arose, and bending low Before the throne, craved leave to speak a word. Amorphel was a crafty, treacherous man, With oily lips well versed in flattery And courtly speech, a supple reed ready To bend before his royal master’s lightest Breath—Pharaoh’s willing tool. He said “Gracious king, thou has been too lenient With these slaves; light as their burdens are, they Fret and chafe beneath them. They are idle And the blood runs riot in their veins. Now If thou would’st have these people dwell in peace, Increase, I pray thee, their tasks and add unto Their burdens; if they faint beneath their added Tasks, they will have less time to plot sedition And revolt.” Then Rhadma, oldest lord in Pharaoh’s court, Arose. He was an aged man, whose white And heavy beard hung low upon his breast, Yet there was a hard cold glitter in his eye, And on his face a proud and evil look. He had been a servant to the former king, And wore his signet ring upon his hand. He said, “I know this Moses well. Fourscore Years ago Princess Charmian found him By the Nile and rescued him from death, and did Choose him as her son, and had him versed in all The mysteries and lore of Egypt. But blood Will tell, and this base slave, with servile blood Within his veins, would rather be a servant Than a prince, and so, with rude and reckless hand, He thrust aside the honors of our dear Departed king. Pharaoh was justly wroth, But for his daughter’s sake he let the trespass Pass. But one day this Moses slew an Egyptian In his wrath, and then the king did seek his life; But he fled, it is said, unto the deserts Of Arabia, and became a shepherd for the priest Of Midian. But now, instead of leading flocks And herds, he aspires to lead his captive race To freedom. These men mean mischief; sedition And revolt are in their plans. Decree, I pray thee, That these men shall gather their own straw And yet their tale of bricks shall be the same.” And these words pleased Pharaoh well, and all his Lords chimed in with one accord. And Pharaoh Wrote the stern decree and sent it unto Goshen— That the laborers should gather their own straw, And yet they should not ’minish of their tale of bricks ’Twas a sad day in Goshen; The king’s decree hung like a gloomy pall Around their homes. The people fainted ’neath Their added tasks, then cried unto the king, That he would ease their burdens; but he hissed A taunt into their ears and said, “ye are Idle, and your minds are filled with vain And foolish thoughts; get you unto your tasks, And ye shall not ’minish of your tale of bricks.” And then they turned their eyes Reproachfully on Moses and his brother, And laid the cruel blame upon their shoulders. ’Tis an old story now, but then ’twas new Unto the brethren,—how God’s anointed ones Must walk with bleeding feet the paths that turn To lines of living light; how hands that bring Salvation in their palms are pierced with cruel Nails, and lips that quiver first with some great truth Are steeped in bitterness and tears, and brows Now bright beneath the aureola of God, Have bent beneath the thorny crowns of earth. There was hope for Israel, But they did not see the golden fringes Of their coming morn; they only saw the cold, Grey sky, and fainted ’neath the cheerless gloom. Moses sought again the presence of the king: And Pharaoh’s brow grew dark with wrath, And rising up in angry haste, he said, Defiantly, “If thy God be great, show Us some sign or token of his power.” Then Moses threw his rod upon the floor, And it trembled with a sign of life; The dark wood glowed, then changed into a thing Of glistening scales and golden rings, and green, And brown and purple stripes; a hissing, hateful Thing, that glared its fiery eye, and darting forth From Moses’ side, lay coiled and panting At the monarch’s feet. With wonder open-eyed The king gazed on the changed rod, then called For his magicians—wily men, well versed In sinful lore—and bade them do the same. And they, leagued with the powers of night, did Also change their rods to serpents; then Moses’ Serpent darted forth, and with a startling hiss And angry gulp, he swallowed the living things That coiled along his path. And thus did Moses Show that Israel’s God had greater power Than those dark sons of night. But not by this alone Did God his mighty power reveal: He changed Their waters; every fountain, well and pool Was red with blood, and lips, all parched with thirst, Shrank back in horror from the crimson draughts. And then the worshiped Nile grew full of life: Millions of frogs swarmed from the stream—they clogged The pathway of the priests and filled the sacred Fanes, and crowded into Pharaoh’s bed, and hopped Into his trays of bread, and slumbered in his Ovens and his pans. Then came another plague, of loathsome vermin; They were gray and creeping things, that made Their very clothes alive with dark and sombre Spots—things so loathsome in the land they did Suspend the service of the temple; for no priest Dared to lift his hand to any god with one Of these upon him. And then the sky grew Dark, as if a cloud were passing o’er its Changeless blue; a buzzing sound broke o’er The city, and the land was swarmed with flies. The murrain laid their cattle low; the hail Cut off the first fruits of the Nile; the locusts, With their hungry jaws, destroyed the later crops, And left the ground as brown and bare as if a fire Had scorched it through, Then angry blains And fiery boils did blur the flesh of man And beast; and then for three long days, nor saffron Tint, nor crimson flush, nor soft and silvery light Divided day from morn, nor told the passage Of the hours; men rose not from their seats, but sat In silent awe. That lengthened night lay like a burden On the air,—a darkness one might almost gather In his hand, it was so gross and thick. Then came The last dread plague—the death of the first-born. ’Twas midnight, And a startling shriek rose from each palace, Home and hut of Egypt, save the blood-besprinkled homes Of Goshen; the midnight seemed to shiver with a sense Of dread, as if the mystic angels wing Had chilled the very air with horror. Death! Death! was everywhere—in every home A corpse—in every heart a bitter woe. There were anxious fingerings for the pulse That ne’er would throb again, and eager listenings For some sound of life—a hurrying to and fro— Then burning kisses on the cold lips Of the dead, bitter partings, sad farewells, And mournful sobs and piercing shrieks, And deep and heavy groans throughout the length And breadth of Egypt. ’Twas the last dread plague, But it had snapped in twain the chains on which The rust of ages lay, and Israel was freed; Not only freed, but thrust in eager haste From out the land. Trembling men stood by, and longed To see them gather up their flocks and herds, And household goods, and leave the land; because they felt That death stood at their doors as long as Israel Lingered there; and they went forth in haste, To tread the paths of freedom. CHAPTER VI. But Pharaoh was strangely blind, and turning From his first-born and his dead, with Egypt’s wail Scarce still upon his ear, he asked which way had Israel gone? They told him that they journeyed Towards the mighty sea, and were encamped Near Baalzephn. Then Pharaoh said, “the wilderness will hem them in, The mighty sea will roll its barriers in front, And with my chariots and my warlike men I’ll bring them back, or mete them out their graves.” Then Pharaoh’s officers arose And gathered up the armies of the king And made his chariots ready for pursuit. With proud escutcheons blazoned to the sun, In his chariot of ivory, pearl and gold, Pharaoh rolled out of Egypt; and with him Rode his mighty men, their banners floating On the breeze, their spears and armor glittering In the morning light; and Israel saw, With fainting hearts, their old oppressors on their Track: then women wept in hopeless terror; Children hid their faces in their mothers’ robes, And strong men bowed their heads in agony and dread; And then a bitter, angry murmur rose,— “Were there no graves in Egypt, that thou hast Brought us here to die?” Then Moses lifted up his face, aglow With earnest faith in God, and bade their fainting hearts Be strong and they should his salvation see. “Stand still,” said Moses to the fearful throng Whose hearts were fainting in the wild, “Stand still.” Ah, that was Moses’ word, but higher and greater Came God’s watchword for the hour, and not for that Alone, but all the coming hours of time. “Speak ye unto the people and bid them Forward go; stretch thy hand across the waters And smite them with thy rod.” And Moses smote The restless sea; the waves stood up in heaps, Then lay as calm and still as lips that just Had tasted death. The secret-loving sea Laid bare her coral caves and iris-tinted Floor; that wall of flood which lined the people’s Way was God’s own wondrous masonry; The signal pillar sent to guide them through the wild Moved its dark shadow till it fronted Egypt’s Camp, but hung in fiery splendor, a light To Israel’s path. Madly rushed the hosts Of Pharaoh upon the people’s track, when The solemn truth broke on them—that God For Israel fought. With cheeks in terror Blenching, and eyes astart with fear, “let Us flee,” they cried, “from Israel, for their God Doth fight against us; he is battling on their side.” They had trusted in their chariots, but now That hope was vain; God had loosened every Axle and unfastened every wheel, and each Face did gather blackness and each heart stood still With fear, as the livid lightnings glittered And the thunder roared and muttered on the air, And they saw the dreadful ruin that shuddered O’er their heads, for the waves began to tremble And the wall of flood to bend. Then arose A cry of terror, baffled hate and hopeless dread, A gurgling sound of horror, as “the waves Came madly dashing, wildly crashing, seeking Out their place again,” and the flower and pride Of Egypt sank as lead within the sea Till the waves threw back their corpses cold and stark Upon the shore, and the song of Israel. Triumph was the requiem of their foes. Oh the grandeur of that triumph; up the cliffs And down the valleys, o’er the dark and restless Sea, rose the people’s shout of triumph, going Up in praise to God, and the very air Seemed joyous for the choral song of millions Throbbed upon its viewless wings. Then another song of triumph rose in accents Soft and clear; “’twas the voice of Moses’ sister Rising in the tide of song.” The warm blood Of her childhood seemed dancing in her veins; The roses of her girlhood were flushing On her cheek, and her eyes flashed out the splendor Of long departed days, for time itself seemed Pausing, and she lived the past again; again The Nile flowed by her; she was watching by the stream, A little ark of rushes where her baby brother lay; The tender tide of rapture swept o’er her soul again She had felt when Pharaoh’s daughter had claimed Him as her own, and her mother wept for joy Above her rescued son. Then again she saw Him choosing “’twixt Israel’s pain and sorrow And Egypt’s pomp and pride.” But now he stood Their leader triumphant on that shore, and loud She struck the cymbals as she led the Hebrew women In music, dance and song, as they shouted out Triumphs in sweet and glad refrains. MIRIAM’S SONG. A wail in the palace, a wail in the hut, The midnight is shivering with dread, And Egypt wakes up with a shriek and a sob To mourn for her first-born and dead. In the morning glad voices greeted the light, As the Nile with its splendor was flushed; At midnight silence had melted their tones, And their music forever is hushed. In the morning the princes of palace and court To the heir of the kingdom bowed down; ’Tis midnight, pallid and stark in his shroud He dreams not of kingdom or crown. As a monument blasted and blighted by God, Through the ages proud Pharaoh shall stand, All seamed with the vengeance and scarred with the wrath That leaped from God’s terrible hand. CHAPTER VII. They journeyed on from Zuphim’s sea until They reached the sacred mount and heard the solemn Decalogue. The mount was robed in blackness,— Heavy and deep the shadows lay; the thunder Crashed and roared upon the air; the lightning Leaped from crag to crag; God’s fearful splendor Flowed around, and Sinai quaked and shuddered To its base, and there did God proclaim Unto their listening ears, the great, the grand, The central and the primal truth of all The universe—the unity of God. Only one God,— This truth received into the world’s great life, Not as an idle dream nor a speculative thing, But as a living, vitalizing thought, Should bind us closer to our God and link us With our fellow man, the brothers and co-heirs With Christ, the elder brother of our race. Before this truth let every blade of war Grow dull, and slavery, cowering at the light, Skulk from the homes of men; instead Of war bring peace and freedom, love and joy, And light for man, instead of bondage, whips And chains. Only one God! the strongest hands Should help the weak who bend before the blasts Of life, because if God is only one Then we are the children of his mighty hand, And when we best serve man, we also serve Our God. Let haughty rulers learn that men Of humblest birth and lowliest lot have Rights as sacred and divine as theirs, and they Who fence in leagues of earth by bonds and claims And title deeds, forgetting land and water, Air and light are God’s own gifts and heritage For man—who throw their selfish lives between God’s sunshine and the shivering poor— Have never learned the wondrous depth, nor scaled The glorious height of this great central truth, Around which clusters all the holiest faiths Of earth. The thunder died upon the air, The lightning ceased its livid play, the smoke And darkness died away in clouds, as soft And fair as summer wreaths that lie around The setting sun, and Sinai stood a bare And rugged thing among the sacred scenes Of earth. CHAPTER VIII. It was a weary thing to bear the burden Of that restless and rebellious race. With Sinai’s thunders almost crashing in their ears, They made a golden calf, and in the desert Spread an idol’s feast, and sung the merry songs They had heard when Mizraim’s songs bowed down before Their vain and heathen gods; and thus for many years Did Moses bear the evil manners of his race— Their angry murmurs, fierce regrets and strange Forgetfulness of God. Born slaves, they did not love The freedom of the wild more than their pots of flesh. And pleasant savory things once gathered From the gardens of the Nile. If slavery only laid its weight of chains Upon the weary, aching limbs, e’en then It were a curse; but when it frets through nerve And flesh and eats into the weary soul, Oh then it is a thing for every human Heart to loathe, and this was Israel’s fate, For when the chains were shaken from their limbs They failed to strike the impress from their souls While he who’d basked beneath the radiance Of a throne, ne’er turned regretful eyes upon The past, nor sighed to grasp again the pleasures Once resigned; but the saddest trial was To see the light and joy fade from their faces When the faithless spies spread through their camp Their ill report; and when the people wept In hopeless unbelief and turned their faces Egyptward, and asked a captain from their bands To lead them back where they might bind anew Their broken chains, when God arose and shut The gates of promise on their lives, and left Their bones to bleach beneath Arabia’s desert sands But though they slumbered in the wild, they died With broader freedom on their lips, and for their Little ones did God reserve the heritage So rudely thrust aside. THE DEATH OF MOSES.—CHAPTER IX. His work was done; his blessing lay Like precious ointment on his people’s head, And God’s great peace was resting on his soul. His life had been a lengthened sacrifice, A thing of deep devotion to his race, Since first he turned his eyes on Egypt’s gild And glow, and clasped their fortunes in his hand And held them with a firm and constant grasp. But now his work was done; his charge was laid In Joshua’s hand, and men of younger blood Were destined to possess the land and pass Through Jordan to the other side. He too Had hoped to enter there—to tread the soil Made sacred by the memories of his Kindred dead, and rest till life’s calm close beneath The sheltering vines and stately palms of that Fair land; that hope had colored all his life’s Young dreams and sent its mellowed flushes o’er His later years; but God’s decree was otherwise. And so he bowed his meekened soul in calm Submission to the word, which bade him climb To Nebo’s highest peak, and view the pleasant land From Jordan’s swells unto the calmer ripples Of the tideless sea, then die with all its Loveliness in sight. As he passed from Moab’s grassy vale to climb The rugged mount, the people stood in mournful groups, Some, with quivering lips and tearful eyes, Reaching out unconscious hands, as if to stay His steps and keep him ever at their side, while Others gazed with reverent awe upon The calm and solemn beauty on his aged brow, The look of loving trust and lofty faith Still beaming from an eye that neither care Nor time had dimmed. As he passed upward, tender Blessings, earnest prayers and sad farewells rose On each wave of air, then died in one sweet Murmur of regretful love; and Moses stood Alone on Nebo’s mount. Alone! not one Of all that mighty throng who had trod with him In triumph through the parted flood was there. Aaron had died in Hor, with son and brother By his side; and Miriam too was gone. But kindred hands had made her grave, and Kadesh Held her dust. But he was all alone; nor wife Nor child was there to clasp in death his hand, And bind around their bleeding hearts the precious Parting words. And yet he was not all alone, For God’s great presence flowed around his path And stayed him in that solemn hour. He stood upon the highest peak of Nebo, And saw the Jordan chafing through its gorges, Its banks made bright by scarlet blooms And purple blossoms. The placid lakes And emerald meadows, the snowy crest Of distant mountains, the ancient rocks That dripped with honey, the hills all bathed In light and beauty; the shady groves And peaceful vistas, the vines opprest With purple riches, the fig trees fruit-crowned Green and golden, the pomegranates with crimson Blushes, the olives with their darker clusters, Rose before him like a vision, full of beauty And delight. Gazed he on the lovely landscape Till it faded from his view, and the wing Of death’s sweet angel hovered o’er the mountain’s Crest, and he heard his garments rustle through The watches of the night. Then another, fairer, vision Broke upon his longing gaze; ’twas the land Of crystal fountains, love and beauty, joy And light, for the pearly gates flew open, And his ransomed soul went in. And when morning O’er the mountain fringed each crag and peak with light, Cold and lifeless lay the leader. God had touched His eyes with slumber, giving his beloved sleep. Oh never on that mountain Was seen a lovelier sight Than the troupe of fair young angels That gathered ’round the dead. With gentle hands they bore him That bright and shining train, From Nebo’s lonely mountain To sleep in Moab’s vale. But they sung no mournful dirges No solemn requiems said, And the soft wave of their pinions Made music as they trod. But no one heard them passing, None saw their chosen grave; It was the angels secret Where Moses should be laid. And when the grave was finished They trod with golden sandals Above the sacred spot, And the brightest, fairest flowers Sprang up beneath their tread. Nor broken turf, nor hillock Did e’er reveal that grave, And truthful lips have never said We know where he is laid. THE MISSION OF THE FLOWERS. In a lovely garden, filled with fair and blooming flowers, stood a beautiful rose tree. It was the centre of attraction, and won the admiration of every eye; its beauteous flowers were sought to adorn the bridal wreath and deck the funeral bier. It was a thing of joy and beauty, and its earth mission was a blessing. Kind hands plucked its flowers to gladden the chamber of sickness and adorn the prisoner’s lonely cell. Young girls wore them ’mid their clustering curls, and grave brows relaxed when they gazed upon their wondrous beauty. Now the rose was very kind and generous hearted, and, seeing how much joy she dispensed, wished that every flower could only be a rose, and like herself have the privilege of giving joy to the children of men; and while she thus mused, a bright and lovely spirit approached her and said, “I know thy wishes and will grant thy desires. Thou shalt have power to change every flower in the garden to thine own likeness. When the soft winds come wooing thy fairest buds and flowers, thou shalt breathe gently o’er thy sister plants, and beneath thy influence they shall change to beautiful roses.” The rose tree bowed her head in silent gratitude to the gentle being who had granted her this wondrous power. All night the stars bent over her from their holy homes above, but she scarcely heeded their vigils. The gentle dews nestled in her arms and kissed the cheeks of her daughters; but she hardly noticed them;—she was waiting for the soft airs to awaken and seek her charming abode. At length the gentle airs greeted her, and she hailed them with a joyous welcome, and then commenced her work of change. The first object that met her vision was a tulip superbly arrayed in scarlet and gold. When she was aware of the intention of her neighbor, her cheeks flamed with anger, her eyes flashed indignantly, and she haughtily refused to change her proud robes for the garb the rose tree had prepared for her; but she could not resist the spell that was upon her, and she passively permitted the garments of the rose to enfold her yielding limbs. The verbenas saw the change that had fallen upon the tulip and dreading that a similar fate awaited them, crept closely to the ground, and, while tears gathered in their eyes, they felt a change pass through their sensitive frames, and instead of gentle verbenas they were blushing roses. She breathed upon the sleepy poppies; a deeper slumber fell upon their senses, and when they awoke, they too had changed to bright and beautiful roses. The heliotrope read her fate in the lot of her sisters, and, bowing her fair head in silent sorrow, gracefully submitted to her unwelcome destiny. The violets, whose mission was to herald the approach of spring, were averse to losing their identity. “Surely,” said they, “we have a mission as well as the rose;” but with heavy hearts they saw themselves changed like their sister plants. The snow drop drew around her her robes of virgin white; she would not willingly exchange them for the most brilliant attire that ever decked a flower’s form; to her they were the emblems of purity and innocence; but the rose tree breathed upon her, and with a bitter sob she reluctantly consented to the change. The dahlias lifted their heads proudly and defiantly; they dreaded the change, but scorned submission; they loved the fading year, and wished to spread around his dying couch their brightest, fairest flowers; but vainly they struggled, the doom was upon them, and they could not escape. A modest lily that grew near the rose tree shrank instinctively from her; but it was in vain, and with tearful eyes and trembling limbs she yielded, while a quiver of agony convulsed her frame. The marygolds sighed submissively and made no remonstrance. The garden pinks grew careless, and submitted without a murmur, while other flowers, less fragrant or less fair, paled with sorrow or reddened with anger; but the spell of the rose tree was upon them, and every flower was changed by her power, and that once beautiful garden was overrun with roses; it had become a perfect wilderness of roses; the garden had changed, but that variety which had lent it so much beauty was gone, and men grew tired of roses, for they were everywhere. The smallest violet peeping faintly from its bed would have been welcome, the humblest primrose would have been hailed with delight,—even a dandelion would have been a harbinger of joy; and when the rose saw that the children of men were dissatisfied with the change she had made, her heart grew sad within her, and she wished the power had never been given her to change her sister plants to roses, and tears came into her eyes as she mused, when suddenly a rough wind shook her drooping form, and she opened her eyes and found that she had only been dreaming. But an important lesson had been taught; she had learned to respect the individuality of her sister flowers, and began to see that they, as well as herself, had their own missions,—some to gladden the eye with their loveliness and thrill the soul with delight; some to transmit fragrance to the air; others to breathe a refining influence upon the world; some had power to lull the aching brow and soothe the weary heart and brain into forgetfulness; and of those whose mission she did not understand, she wisely concluded there must be some object in their creation, and resolved to be true to her own earth mission, and lay her fairest buds and flowers upon the altars of love and truth. THE RAGGED STOCKING. Do you see this ragged stocking, Here a rent and there a hole? Each thread of this little stocking Is woven around my soul. Do you wish to hear my story? Excuse me, the tears will start, For the sight of this ragged stocking Stirs the fountains of my heart. You say that my home is happy; To me ’tis earth’s fairest place, But its sunshine, peace and gladness Back to this stocking I trace. I was once a wretched drunkard; Ah! you start and say not so; But the dreadful depths I’ve sounded, And I speak of what I know. I was wild and very reckless When I stood on manhood’s brink, And, joining with pleasure-seekers Learned to revel and drink. Strong drink is a raging demon, In his hands are shame and woe; He mocketh the strength of the mighty And bringeth the strong man low. The light of my home was darkened By the shadow of my sin; And want and woe unbarr’d the door, And suffering entered in. · · · · · The streets were full one Christmas eve, And alive with girls and boys, Merrily looking through window-panes At bright and beautiful toys. And throngs of parents came to buy The gifts that children prize, And homeward trudged with happy hearts, The love-light in their eyes. I thought of my little Charley At home in his lowly bed, With the shadows around his life, And in shame I bowed my head. I entered my home a sober man, My heart by remorse was wrung, And there in the chimney corner, This little stocking was hung. Faded and worn as you see it; To me ’tis a precious thing, And I never gaze upon it But unbidden tears will spring. I began to search my pockets, But scarcely a dime was there; But scanty as was the pittance, This stocking received its share. For a longing seized upon me To gladden the heart of my boy, And I bought him some cakes and candy, And added a simple toy. Then I knelt by this little stocking And sobbed out an earnest prayer, And arose with strength to wrestle And break from the tempter’s snare. And this faded, worn-out stocking, So pitiful once to see, Became the wedge that broke my chain, And a blessing brought to me. Do you marvel then I prize it? When each darn and seam and hole Is linked with my soul’s deliverance From the bondage of the bowl? And to-night my wife will tell you, Though I’ve houses, gold and land, He holds no treasure more precious Than this stocking in my hand. THE FATAL PLEDGE. “Pledge me with wine,” the maiden cried, Her tones were gay and light; “From others you have turned aside, I claim your pledge to-night.” The blood rushed to the young man’s cheek Then left it deadly pale; Beneath the witchery of her smile He felt his courage fail. For many years he’d been a slave To the enchanting bowl, Until he grasped with eager hands The reins of self-control; And struggled with his hated thrall, Until he rent his chain, And strove to stand erect and free, And be a man again. When others came with tempting words He coldly turned aside, But she who held the sparkling cup Was his affianced bride; And like a vision of delight, Bright, beautiful and fair, With thoughtless words she wove for him The meshes of despair. From jeweled hands he took the cup, Nor heard the serpent’s hiss; Nor saw beneath its ruby glow The deadly adder’s hiss. Like waves that madly, wildly dash, When dykes are overthrown, The barriers of his soul gave way, Each life with wrecks was strewn. And she who might have reached her hand To succor and to save, Soon wept in hopeless agony Above a drunkard’s grave. And bore through life with bleeding heart Remembrance of that night, When she had urged the tempted man With wine to make his plight. CHRIST’S ENTRY INTO JERUSALEM. He had plunged into our sorrows, And our sin had pierced his heart, As before him loomed death’s shadow, And he knew he must depart. But they hailed him as a victor As he into Salem came, And the very children shouted Loud hosannas to his name. But he knew behind that triumph, Rising gladly to the sky, Soon would come the cries of malice: Crucify him! Crucify! Onward rode the blessed Saviour, Conscious of the coming strife Soon to break in storms of hatred Round his dear, devoted life. Ghastly in its fearful anguish Rose the cross before his eyes, But he saw the joy beyond it, And did all the shame despise. Joy to see the cry of scorning Through the ages ever bright, And the cross of shame transfigured To a throne of love and light. Joy to know his soul’s deep travail Should not be a thing in vain, And that joy and peace should blossom From his agonizing pain. THE RESURRECTION OF JESUS. It was done, the deed of horror; Christ had died upon the cross, And within an upper chamber The disciples mourned their loss. Peter’s eyes were full of anguish, Thinking sadly of the trial When his boasted self-reliance Ended in his Lord’s denial. Disappointment, deep and heavy, Shrouded every heart with gloom, As the hopes so fondly cherished Died around the garden tomb. And they thought with shame and sorrow How they fled in that dark hour, When they saw their Lord and Master In the clutch of Roman power. We had hoped, they sadly uttered, He would over Israel reign, But to-day he lies sepulchred, And our cherished hopes are vain. In the humble home of Mary Slowly waned the hours away, Till she rose to seek the garden And the place where Jesus lay. Not the cross with all its anguish Could her loving heart restrain, But the tomb she sought was empty, And her heart o’erflowed with pain. To embalm my Lord and Master To this garden I have strayed, But, behold, I miss his body, And I know not where he’s laid. Then a wave of strange emotion Swept her soul, as angels said, “Wherefore do ye seek the living ’Mid the chambers of the dead?” Unperceived, her Lord stood by her, Silent witness of her grief, Bearing on his lips the tidings Sure to bring a glad relief. But her tear-dimmed eyes were holden When she heard the Master speak; Thought she, only ’tis the gardener Asking whom her soul did seek. Then a sudden flush of gladness O’er her grief-worn features spread; When she knew the voice of Jesus All her bitter anguish fled. Forth she reached hands in rapture. Touch me not, the Saviour said; Take the message to my brethren, I have risen from the dead. Take them words of joy and comfort, Which will all their mourning end; To their Father and my Father, Tell them that I will ascend. “Brethren, I have seen the Master: He is risen from the dead.” But like words of idle meaning Seemed the glorious words she said. Soon they saw the revelation Which would bid their mourning cease: Christ, the risen, stood before them Breathing words of love and peace. Timid men were changed to heroes, Weakness turned to wondrous might, And the cross became their standard, Luminous with love and light. From that lonely upper chamber, Holding up the rugged cross, With a glad and bold surrender They encountered shame and loss. In these days of doubt and error, In the conflict for the right, May our hearts be ever strengthened By the resurrection’s might. SIMON’S COUNTRYMEN. They took away his seamless robe, With thorns they crowned his head, As harshly, fiercely cried his foes: “Barabbas in his stead.” The friends he loved unto the end, Who shared his daily bread, Before the storms of wrath and hate Forsook their Lord and fled. To rescue men from death and sin He knew the awful cost, As wearily he bent beneath The burden of the cross. When Pilate had decreed his fate, And Jews withheld their aid, Then Simon, the Cyrenean, came: On him the cross was laid. Not his to smite with cruel scorn, Nor mock the dying one, That helpful man came from the land Kissed by the ardent sun— The land within whose sheltering arms The infant Jesus lay When Herod vainly bared his sword And sought the child to slay. Amid the calendar of saints We Simon’s name may trace, On history’s page thro’ every age He bears an honored place. He little knew that cross would change Unto a throne of light; The crown of thorns upon Christ’s brow Would be forever bright. Beneath the shadow of that cross Brave men with outstretched hands Have told the wondrous tale of love In distant heathen lands. And yet within our favored land, Where Christian churches rise, The dark-browed sons of Africa Are hated and despised. Can they who speak of Christ as King, And glory in his name, Forget that Simon’s countrymen Still bear a cross of shame? Can they forget the cruel scorn Men shower on a race Who treat the hues their Father gives As emblems of disgrace? Will they erect to God their fanes And Christ with honor crown, And then with cruel weights of pain The African press down? Oh, Christians, when we faint and bleed In this our native land, Reach out to us when peeled, opprest, A kindly helping hand, And bear aloft that sacred cross, Bright from the distant years, And say for Christ’s and Simon’s sake, We’ll wipe away your tears. For years of sorrow, toil and pain We’ll bring you love and light, And in the name of Christ our Lord We’ll make your pathway bright. That seamless robe shall yet enfold The children of the sun, Till rich and poor and bond and free In Christ shall all be one. And for his sake from pride and scorn Our spirits shall be free, Till through our souls shall sound the words He did it unto me. DELIVERANCE. Rise up! rise up! Oh Israel, Let a spotless lamb be slain; The angel of death will o’er you bend And rend your galling chain. Sprinkle its blood upon the posts And lintels of your door; When the angel sees the crimson spots Unharmed he will pass you o’er. Gather your flocks and herds to-night, Your children by your side: A leader from Arabia comes To be your friend and guide. With girded loins and sandled feet Await the hour of dread, When Mizraim shall wildly mourn Her first-born and her dead. The sons of Abraham no more Shall crouch ’neath Pharoah’s hand, Trembling with agony and dread, He’ll thrust you from the land. And ye shall hold in unborn years A feast to mark this day, When joyfully the fathers rose And cast their chains away. When crimson tints of morning flush The golden gates of day, Or gorgeous hue of even melt In sombre shades away, Then ye shall to your children teach The meaning of this feast, How from the proud oppressor’s hand Their fathers were released, And ye shall hold through distant years This feast with glad accord, And children’s children yet shall learn To love and trust the Lord. Ages have passed since Israel trod In triumph through the sea, And yet they hold in memory’s urn Their first great jubilee. When Moses led the ransomed hosts, And Miriam’s song arose, While ruin closed around the path Of their pursuing foes. Shall Israel thro’ long varied years These memories cherish yet, And we who lately stood redeemed Our broken chains forget? Should we forget the wondrous change That to our people came, When justice rose and sternly plead Our cause with sword and flame? And led us through the storms of war To freedom’s fairer shore, When slavery sank beneath a flood Whose waves were human gore. Oh, youth and maidens of the land, Rise up with one accord, And in the name of Christ go forth To battle for the Lord. Go forth, but not in crimson fields, With fratricidal strife, But in the name of Christ go forth For freedom, love and life. Go forth to follow in his steps, Who came not to destroy, Till wastes shall blossom as the rose, And deserts sing for joy. SIMON’S FEAST. He is coming, she said, to Simon’s feast, The prophet of Galilee, Though multitudes around him throng In longing his face to see. He enters the home as Simon’s guest, But he gives no welcome kiss; He brings no water to bathe his feet— Why is Simon so remiss? The prophet’s face is bright with love, And mercy beams from his eye; He pities the poor, the lame and blind, An outcast, I will draw nigh. If a prophet, he will surely know The guilt of my darkened years; With broken heart I’ll seek his face, And bathe his feet with my tears. No holy rabbi lays his hand In blessing on my head; No loving voice floats o’er the path, The downward path I tread. Unto the Master’s side she pressed, A penitent, frail and fair, Rained on his feet a flood of tears, And then wiped them with her hair. Over the face of Simon swept An air of puzzled surprise; Can my guest a holy prophet be, And not this woman despise? Christ saw the thoughts that Simon’s heart Had written upon his face, Kindly turned to the sinful one In her sorrow and disgrace. Where Simon only saw the stains, Where sin and shame were rife, Christ looked beneath and saw the germs Of a fair, outflowering life. Like one who breaks a galling chain, And sets a prisoner free, He rent her fetters with the words, “Thy sins are forgiven thee.” God be praised for the gracious words Which came through that woman’s touch That souls redeemed thro’ God’s dear Son May learn to love him so much; That souls once red with guilt and crime May their crimson stains outgrow; The scarlet spots upon their lives Become whiter than driven snow. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES Page Changed from Changed to 28 The king’s degree hung like a The king’s decree hung like a gloomy pall gloomy pall ● Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 74527 ***