p. 130 | SEEING THE BLOOD by Lucy Wade Herrick

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Apr 24, 1879

“SEEING THE BLOOD.”

By Lucy Wade Herrick

[Founded on a legend very affectingly told by Mr. Moody, the Evangelist.]

“Father, I cannot sleep; the prophet's words Ring in my ears; they fill my heart with fear; For am I not the first-born, and the one On whom the destroying angel's shaft would fall Were not the token on the lintel found? Thrice have I named the patriarchs, and once The creatures great and small that Noah drove Before him in the ark; but all in vain. I cannot sleep, O father, art thou sure The blood is sprinkled as God gave command?”

“Peace, peace, my child; just as the evening fell The fairest lamb of all the flock was slain, And roasted then with purifying fire; With bitter herbs, and bread devoid of leaven, In haste we ate the Lord's appointed feast. Nor were the means of saving thee forgot; Scarce was the yearling slain ere I gave word For sprinkling of the blood upon the door; Sleep, then, my first-born, God's avenging one Will see the signal, and pass over thee.”

Thus on that dark night which God had chosen For passing throughout all fair Egypt's land, To smite on every side the loved first-born, Sparing not e'en the flirtings of the flock, A Hebrew father soothed his restless child; Restless himself, as now with girded loins, Sandals upon his feet, and staff in hand, We waited for that solemn midnight hour When God's almighty arm should break the chain That bound his people to proud Pharaoh's throne. The bread unbaked was in the kneading trough, The scattered flocks were gathered in the fold, And all, betokened plans for hasty flight. There was a thrilling silence in the air; A quiet joy burned in the Rabbi's breast, Joy that was not unmingled with regret At leaving thus his birthplace, though it was A house of bondage, for the promised land.

The night wore on,

And yet again the pleading voice was heard: “Father, sleep will not come; before my eyes I see the angel pass, and at our door Pause sadly, as though he wept to enter, Yet dared not hasten unavenging by. O father, if the blood has been removed, Or if the herd boy heeded not thy voice, Then never shall my weary eyes behold The land of Canaan with its waving fields.”

“Rest, little one, faithful our Jared is. Not only on the side-posts of the door Should be the stain, but on the one above; So if some hungry dog should from its place One token lick, the others would remain. Sleep, my sweet child, for thou hast need of rest; The journey will be rough for little feet.”

The anxious voice was silent; for in that home Obedience reigned supreme, though not as yet The law had sounded forth from Sinai's top; With patience dutiful she sought to woo Soft slumber to her long unclosed eyes; Sleep came at last, but with it dreams of fright, Wherein she tossed, and moaned, and oft cried out.

The midnight hour drew nigh; unbroken still The darkness' solemn hush; the child awoke With a loud cry, “Father, I thought I heard The cock's shrill crow to greet approaching morn. My heart is sick with a sick'ning dread Of danger near. Oh! take me to the door, And let me see the red blood sprinkled there.”

Lighting a torch, the father gently took His first-born in his arms, and bore her forth— Started and paled to see no paschal sign, No warning that their door should be passed by! With trembling hand he snatched the hyssop then, Himself applied the blood in eager haste. A long sigh of relief escaped the child; Almost before he placed her on the couch Sweet sleep had fallen on her heavy lids, Nor when that “great cry” rose did she awake. That agonizing wail of man and beast Reached not her ears, with drowsy slumber sealed, And at the dawn they bore her, sleeping still, Away from Egypt's darkness and despair.

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Christ, our blest Passover, is slain for us; The “blood of sprinkling” for us is shed; Have we the atoning sacrifice applied, Made sure our entrance to the promised land? —Lucy Wade Herrick, in Christian Weekly.