Poetry

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.

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.

IX

The Death of Moses

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 bim,
That bright and shining train,
From Nebo’s lonely mountain
To sleep in Moab’s vale.
But they sung no mornful 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.

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