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.