To leave my child. The tears fell silently

And heavy, as I bent my head again, And yet again, to kiss the cold pale cheek;

"How shall I leave thee? God Himself be here,

And hold thee back from Death, until I come!

It is a little way: a little while

And I return. Wait for me till I haste Across the hills, and come again to thee."

A sweet smile wandered on his fading face,

"Yes, mother, I will wait; I shall not

Were darkening heaven, and everything was still,

And faint, and sickening with the burning breath

Of coming storms, I stood at length before

The man of God in Shiloh.

Then he rose

That blind and awful Prophet of the Lord

And stretched his hand to heaven, and the curse

Like thunder burst upon my head from God.

He stretched his hand to heaven, and the clouds

Of heaven answered him, for while he poured

Each awful curse, the thunders crashed above,

And deadly lightnings gleamed and gleamed again.

Curses on Israel, on the pleasant land Which had been precious in the eyes of God;

Curses upon her king who had provoked With many sins that higher King, who reigns

A jealous God in Israel.

And still

After each awful curse, the awful crash Of thunder shook the earth, and smote my heart

As if great voices up in Heaven said "Amen" to every curse. And lightnings gleamed,

As if impatient to begin the work

Of judgment in the land. I fell upon My face. I think I would have died before

The Lord that day, what time His thunders woke,

And His blind Prophet in dread words proclaimed

The darkness and the doom of Israel,— But ever and anon the sweet child's voice

Which spoke to me at dawning (when there were

No thunders in the sky, but only starsFair morning stars-which seemed to

My trembling soul, "Yet shall a Star arise

On Jacob, and the midnight shadows flee

Before His Face." I tried to stay my heart

Upon this word, until amid the crash
Of thunders and of curses, I did hear
His words about the child,-how he
should die

That very day in peace, and Israel
Should mourn for him;-"He shall not
live to see
The evil days. What time thy feet do

pass

This day within thy city-gate, the child Shall die."

*

I know not how I went that day Along the road from Shiloh. All my heart

Seemed stunned and stricken, as by some wild blow

Dealt by an unseen hand. I hurried on, And could not bear to tarry on the road,

Although I knew that every step I took In hastening to the child, brought Death

more near

Not me more near-to him. I know I prayed

At times, not asking anything. I think, But helplessly repeating God's great Name

In my great agony. And thus I went In my strange haste, until I reached the gate

Of Tirzah on her palaces and towers The afternoon was shining, and the gate Stood open. Then it seemed as if a dream,

A woful dream, had wrapped me all the day,

But the gate woke me, and the word came back

And smote upon me like a blow from God

Given in anger,-"When thy feet do pass

This day within the city-gate, the child Shall die."

Then my heart fainted utterly, And all things seemed to darken, and I crept

A holy man, Who saw high visions of unuttered

things,

Dwelt, in deep-musing solitude, apart Upon the banks of Cherith. Dark winged birds,

Intractable and fierce, were strangely moved

To shun the hoarse cries of their callow brood,

At night and morning lay their gathered spoils

Down at his feet. So, of the brook he drank,

Till pitiless suns exhaled that slender rill

Which, singing, used to glide to Jordan's breast.

Then, warned of God, he rose and went his way

Unto the coast of Zidon. Near the gates

Of Zarephath he marked a lowly cell, Where a pale, drooping widow, in the depth

Of desolate and hopeless poverty, Prepared the last scant morsel for her

That ancient Israel felt, when round their camp

The manna lay like dew. Thus many days

They fed, and the poor famine-stricken boy

Looked up with a clear eye, while vigorous health

Flushed with unwonted crimson his pure cheek,

And bade the fair flesh o'er his wasted limbs

Come like a garment. The lone widow mused

On her changed lot, yet to Jehovah's

name

Gave not the praise: but when the silent moon

Moved forth all radiant, on her stargirt throne,

Uttered a heathen's gratitude, and hailed,

In the deep chorus of Zidonian song, "Astarte, queen of Heaven!"

But then there came A day of wo. That gentle boy, in whom

His mother lived, for whom alone she deemed

Time's weary heritage a blessing, died. Wildly the tides of passionate grief

broke forth,

And on the prophet of the Lord, her lip Called with indignant frenzy. So he

came,

And from her bosom took the breathless clay,

And bore it to his chamber. There he knelt

In supplication that the dead might live. He rose, and looked upon the child. His cheek

Of marble meekly on the pillow lay, While round his polished forehead, the bright curls

Clustered redundantly. So sweetly slept Beauty and innocence in Death's embrace,

It seemed a mournful thing to waken them.

Another prayer arose-and he, whose faith

Had power o'er nature's elements, to seal