Poetry · Moses (3/4)

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

Clean 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 bis 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.

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 be 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 into 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 angel’s 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.