# Hagar and Ishmael (J. M. L.)

1855
Poor Hagar ! yes, the child is born,
A joy to make thy bosom mourn ;
A son, for whom such prayers were given,
They reached at length the throne of Heaven;
And after years, when womankind
Have left their early hopes behind.
He comes to bless his mother's sight,
And glad her with a new delight.
His mother is a wedded dame,
Of state, and mightiness, and name ;
Egyptian handmaid thou to her.
Who did the accustomed right confer.
Of bearing to her childless spouse
The offspring, she then sought in vain:
What pleasured once, now griefs arouse,—
Thy lovely boy's become her bane.
Thy mistress Sarah, Abraham's mate.
The fair youth views with jealous hate;
Thy Ishmael, so loved of thee,
Long dreamed his father's heir to be,
And loved by him as parents love
Who've only one then' cares to prove.
If broken waters glide along,
Though deep each stream, each current strong.
Their forces blended, straight shall be
A raging torrent, till the sea
Engulf it in her briny caves,
There calm to rest beneath her waves.
So when affections centred lie
In one, they reach intensity
Within the beating human breast.
Until entombed its passions rest.
But now divided love prevails.
And Ishmael the cause bewails.
He sees his infant brother placed
Above himself, himself disgraced ;
And when his rising heart rebels.
Stern Sarah's ire his spirit quells.
For she is lady of them all.
And rules her slaves with iron thrall ;
Or meets him with a frowning brow.
His sire, ne'er frowning met till now.
Hast marked some tender blooming flower,
Full opened to the summer's ray.
When clouds arise and darkening lower,
Turn drooping from the change away ?
So, saddened with the silent wound,
The youth's bright spirit sank in gloom ;
He oft in secret tears was found,
Anticipating evil doom.
But though suppressed his grief of heart,
It rankling showed its bitter smart.
In words of mockery and scorn,
To him, his brother, better born.
Three annual courses now had run.
Since Isaac's days had first begun.
The still untiring, changeless sun ;
Thrice had the spring's awakening breath
Called life from Nature's seeming death ;
Thrice had the summer's roses blown.
Their scents upon the breezes flown ;
Thrice humid autumn spread her store
Of grain upon the threshing floor ;
And thrice the wintry torrents ta'en
Their turbid way o'er Parents plain ;
And Abraham made feasting high,
With pomp and great solemnity.
The roasted kid and wheaten cake,
His host encamped with joy partake,
Whilst stony pitchers are replete
With milk of camels fresh and sweet ;
No longer now, with pressing cheek.
Shall Isaac that dear fountain seek.
With life and love together flowing —
A mother's breast so purely glowing.
No more could Sarah bear to see
Between the boys equality.
Nor bondmaid's son to hope should dare
Her son's inheritance to share,
Perchance, as eldest born, to be
More bless'd and honoured e'en than he.
She urged with all a woman's wiles,
This time in tears, and now in smiles, —
With all the force her feelings lent.
On one sole object all intent, —
That Hagar should an outcast roam,
Nor longer make their tents her home;
And Ishmael should banished flee
The place of his nativity.
Oft Abraham in grief consented.
As oft again his heart relented
And of the cruel grant repented.
Of Sarah's words he owned the truth.
But, then, he dearly loved the youth.
By thoughts contending sore oppress' d.
Vainly, one night, he sought for rest ;
His weary head from side to side
Sought its perplexity to hide
In sleep — sweet balm to mortal ill,
A death to sense, yet living still;
When on the darkness came a sound.
Which answer in the echo found,
A sound as when, with sudden shock.
Sea waves are dashed against the rock.
Or when the clouds, by lightning riven,
Have forth their rolling thunders driven.
It ceased, and then within him rose
A solemn, calm, yet glad repose ;
Though still his waking mind was free
On thought to dwell, or thought to flee.
So feels the wretch late fever-tossed
When first the dreaded barrier's crossed.
And life o'er death, with wrestling done,
Triumphant rests, the victory won.
The Almighty's presence drawing near.
In awe he felt, unmixed with fear ;
For oft the sacred tones he'd heard,
Oft listed to His spoken word ;
And thus God now — " Weep not the lad.
But rather let thy heart be glad.
Nor grievous seem it in thy sight
That Hagar parts, for so 'tis right.
Harken thou, Abr'am, unto her,
Thy wife, and to her voice defer.
Nor 'gainst her be thy spirit galled.
In Isaac shall thy seed be called ;
Of Ishmael I, too, will make
A nation for his father's sake.
Then ere broad daylight has unfurled
Her banner o'er the waking world.
Arise, and forth lead son and mother
To seek a distant land together."
God ceased, and heavenwards fragrant went
A sound like west winds, summer sent,
Which violets have their perfume lent.
From night's embrace the earliest ray
Is faintly struggling into day ;
Fresh, cooling breezes still are playing.
The parched desert's heat allaying ;
And scarcely breathes there anywhere
A sound upon the shadowed air ;
When lo ! from out his tent advancing,
A troubled look around him glancing,
The patriarch leads forth his son,
This the last time he'll look upon.
And strives to check the downward flow
Of aged tears, that large and slow
Fall trickling his white heard below.
His hand the youth^s fair head impresses,
Bids him farewell, and sadly blesses.
Then calls for the Egyptian slave.
And bids her, with an aspect grave,
Take with her son a distant way.
Far from his flocks and herds to stray;
Away from where his camels browse.
Away to roam, away to house.
Of bread she took, and water slung
In kid skin, o'er her shoulder hung ;
And with her boy, poor Hagar left,
(Of all but love of him bereft).
The tents, where she so long had dwelt —
Where first to God in prayer she knelt —
Where first her child had seen the light —
Her Ishmael in beauty bright ;
There earliest his steps had bounded.
His earliest accents there had sounded.
There to youth had grown, her pride.
Dearer than all on earth beside.
And now to quit his fatherland
Gone forth they are, and, hand in hand,
Beersheba's wild they wander o'er
And weary tread its burning floor —
Weary seek where plantain's shade
A verdant spot of herbage made ;
Before, around them, every side,
Spread the unfriendly desert wide ;
Above, the blazing, blistering sun, —
They powerless its rage to shun.
Young Ishmael grows sick and faint,
And who shall Hagar^s horror paint,
When to his lips the flask she bent,
She finds each drop of water spent ?
Had she denied herself in vain
Through every throb of thirsty pain ?
Kept it for this within her shade.
Through every heavy footstep made,
To have the greedy sun at last
Make of their lonely hope repast ?
All faintly now, as giddy falls.
The boy upon his mother calls,
" Oh, give me water or I die
Beneath this glaring, dazzling sky ;
One drop to ease this burning glow.
One drop to cool my bursting brow ! "
Despairing looks she casts around.
In agony retreads the ground ;
She can but see the extended wild.
She can but list her moaning child ;
She nowhere sees the wished-for stream,
No shelter from the scorching beam.
Beneath a shrub that lowly grew
Her pale, exhausted child she drew,
And then retiring left his side.
Her agony of heart to hide ;
And, lifting up her voice, she wept,
While still on him her gaze she kept —
"Oh ! let me not behold his death,
Not hear his sigh of parting breath ;
'Tis I should first be called away,
And he for long behind me stay ;
He stay his children's young to see,
And then 'twere time he followed me —
But now, in earliest youth to die,
Ah, me ! what woe and misery ! "
And lo ! a voice came on the wind —
The cooling wind now fresh and kind ;
An angel's wing had stirred the air.
An angel's voice now cheers despair.
" From Eden's gate, on ray of light,
To earth I took my downward flight ;
For voice of anguish reached the sphere.
Where dwells nor care, nor pain, nor fear —
A woman's voice, all soft and mild,
She suffering for her suffering child ;
That child is one beloved of Heaven,
To whom, on earth, high things are given.
Then, Hagar, turn thy wishful eyes.
Behold where waters pure arise !
Refresh him from the living fount.
While from his life shall myriads count." More gladly than can language tell.
Hopeful she hastened to the well.
The liquid boon full soon conveyed
To Ishmael, his thirst allayed.
She then both brow and feet bedewed,
Until, with health and strength renewed.
Again they track the solitude.
So when hot summer suns prevail,
Chasing the clouds afar.
The lily hangs her blossoms pale.
Failing beneath the star ;
But when the mists of evening rise.
And fresh'ning dews abound.
She opes her flowers to the skies,
And breathes perfume around.
In Parens wilderness dwelt they.
And Ishmael grew from day to day ;
The desert's lonely space was all
That they could home and country call.
In calm simplicity were passed
Succeeding years revolving fast ;
An archer he, with bended bow.
Could food secure or tame a foe ;
Until, arrived at manhood's hour.
Awoke that strange, mysterious power,
Ruffling the quiet of his breast
With heaving sighs and dark unrest.
No more the twanging bow he drew.
No more the javelin dexterous threw;
But oft, in heavy, fitful mood.
Listless he trod the solitude.
Nor sought that one companion's side.
His only friend and faithful guide.
But nature's instinct, more than art.
Teaches the language of the heart ;
It taught that mother how to read
From whence these unspoke griefs proceed ;
With insight she alert discerned
For dearer love his bosom yearned —
For love that hopes through life to stay
Joint traveller of the troublous way.
To Egypt's land has Hagar wended,
(This last care o'er, her duties ended),
A wife from out her land to bring —
A wife round Ishmael's heart to cling,
And bid the vulture care take wing.
Of Ishmael's wedded life to tell,
Of good that happed or ill befell.
Is not within my purpose now;
Enough — a progeny we know
Was his, and throve by God's command.
Peopling that wild and desert land ;
In time a nation they became,
And mighty — Ishmaelites by name.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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