THE SACRIFICE OF ABRAHAM

Still trod the Patriarch on, with that same step,
Firm and unfaltering; turning not aside

To seek the olive shades, or lave their lips
In the sweet waters of the Syrian wells,
Whose gush hath so much music. Weariness
Stole on the gentle boy, and he forgot

To toss his sunny hair from off his brow,

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And spring for the fresh flowers and bright wings As in the early morning; but he kept

Close by his father's side, and bent his head

Upon his bosom like a drooping bud,

Lifting it not, save now and then to steal

A look up to the face whose sternness awed
His childishness to silence.

It was noon

And Abraham on Moriah bowed himself,
And buried up his face and prayed for strength.
He could not look upon his son and pray;

But, with his hand upon the clustering curls

Of the fair, kneeling boy, he prayed that God

Would nerve him for that hour. Oh! man was

made

For the stern conflict. In a mother's love

There is more tenderness; the thousand chords,
Woven with every fibre of her heart,

Complain, like delicate harp-strings, at a breath;
But love in man is one deep principle,
Which, like a root grown in a rifted rock,
Abides the tempest. He rose up, and laid

The wood upon the altar. All was done.

He stood a moment-and a deep, quick flush
Passed o'er his countenance; and then he nerved
His spirit with a bitter strength, and spoke-
"Isaac, my only son!"-The boy look'd up,
And Abraham turned his face away and wept.
"Where is the lamb, my father?"-Oh, the tones,
The sweet, the thrilling music of a child !—
How it doth agonize at such an hour!—
It was the last, deep struggle. Abraham held
His loved, his beautiful, his only son,

And lifted up his arm, and called on God—
And lo! God's angel stayed him—and he fell
Upon his face and wept.

NATHANIEL P. WILLIS

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ABRAHAM'S OFFENCE

Once, it is written, Abraham, "God's Friend,"
Angered his Lord; for there had ridden in
Across the burning yellow desert-flats

An aged man, haggard with two days' drouth.
The water-skin swung from his saddle-fork
Wrinkled and dry; the dust clove to his lids,
And clogged his beard; his parched tongue and
black lips

Moved to say, "Give me drink," yet uttered naught;

And that gaunt camel which he rode upon,

Sank to the earth at entering of the camp,

Too spent except to lay its neck along
The sand, and moan.

ABRAHAM'S OFFENCE

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To whom when they had given

The cool wet jar, asweat with diamond drops
Of sparkling life, that way-worn Arab laved
The muzzle of his beast, and filled her mouth;
Then westward turned with bloodshot, worshipping

eyes,

Pouring forth water to the setting orb;

Next would have drunk, but Abraham saw, and

said,

"Let not this unbeliever drink, who pours

God's gift of water forth unto the sun,
Which is but creature of the living Lord."

But while the man still clutched the precious jar,
Striving to quaff, a form of grace drew nigh,
Beauteous, majestic. If he came afoot,
None knew, or if he glided from the sky.
With gentle air he filled a gourd and gave
The man to drink, and Abraham-in wrath
That one should disobey him in his tents-
Made to forbid; when full upon him smote
Eyes of divine light, eyes of high rebuke—
For this was Michael, Allah's messenger-
"Lo! God reproveth thee, thou Friend of God!
Forbiddest thou gift of the common stream
To this idolater, spent with the heat,

Who, in his utmost need, watered his beast,
And bowed the knee in reverence ere he drank?
Allah hath borne with him these three-score years,―
Bestowed upon him corn and wine, and made
His household fruitful, and his herds increase;

And findest thou not patience to pity him
Whom God hath pitied, waiting for the end,
Since none save He wotteth what end will come,
Or who shall find the light? Thou art rebuked!
Seek pardon, for thou hast much need to seek."

Thereat the Angel vanished as he came;

But Abraham, with humble countenance,

Kissed reverently the heathen's hand, and spake— Leading him to the chief seat in the tent“God pardon me as He doth pardon thee!"

SIR EDWIN ARNOLD

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THE TENT OF ABRAHAM

The shadows of an Eastern day
Lengthened along the sandy way,
When, toiling faint and lone,
An agèd wanderer crossed the plain,
As if his every step were pain,
His every breath a groan!

Till Abraham's tent appeared in view,
And slowly towards his rest he drew.
And Abraham met his wayworn look
With pity, for the old man shook

With years at every tread;
For he the wrinkled impress bore

Of full one hundred years or more

Upon his silvery head;

Then Abraham washed his aching feet,

Assuaged their pain, and brought him meat.

THE TENT OF ABRAHAM

You should have known the burning glare
Of soil, and sun, and sultry air,

To tell how sweet the draught

That blessed those lips so parched and old;
Oh! water, not a world of gold

Could buy the joy he quaffed!

You should have toiled the burning waste,
To know how sweetly food can taste!

But Abraham saw with deep amaze
The old man's strange and godless ways;
For ere he bent to eat,

Nor praise nor thanks he uttered there,
Nor raised his grateful eyes in prayer
To God, who sent him meat;
Sudden he sat, in eager mood,

And called no blessing on the food!

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Ownest thou not the God of Heaven,

That unto thee these things hath given?"
Said Abraham in his ire;

He answered, "Five-score years I've trod,
Yet worshipped but one only God,—
The eternal God of Fire!"

And Abraham, wroth, his anger spent,

And thrust him, storming, from his tent.

An Eastern night is dread to bear-
There's fever in the sickly air,

And evils few can speak

Save those whose wandering lives have known

The perils 'mid the desert thrown,

Or heard the tempest's shriek.

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