THE SACRIFICE | AdventAI

Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Sep 30, 1875

THE SACRIFICE.

The morning sun rose bright and clear, On Abraham's tent it gaily shone, And all was bright and cheerful there— All, save the patriarch's heart alone.

While God's command arose to mind, It forced into his eye the tear; For though his soul was all resigned, Yet nature fondly lingered there.

The simple morning feast was spread, And Sarah at the banquet smiled; Joy o'er her face its luster shed, For near her sat her only child.

The charms that pleased a monarch's eye Upon her cheeks had left their trace; His highly augured destiny Was written in his heavenly face.

The groaning father turned away, And walked the inner tent apart; He felt his fortitude decay, While nature whispered in his heart:

“Oh! must this son, to whom was given The promise of a blessed land, Heir to the choicest gifts of Heaven, Be slain by a fond father's hand?

“This son, for whom my eldest born Was sent an outcast from his home, And in some wilderness, forlorn, A savage exile doomed to roam!

“But shall a feeble worm rebel, And murmur at a Father's rod? Shall he be backward to fulfill The known and certain will of God?

“Arise, my son, the cruel hill, And store the scrip with due supplies; For we must seek Moriah's hill, And offer there a sacrifice.”

The mother raised her speaking eye, And all a mother's soul was there; She feared the desert drear and dry! She feared the savage lurking there!

Abraham beheld and made reply: “On Him, from whom our blessings flow, My sister, we with faith rely, 'Tis his command, and we must go.”

The duteous son in haste obeyed! The scrip was filled, the mules prepared; And with the third day's twilight shade Moriah's lofty hill appeared.

The menials, then, at distance wait; Alone ascend the son and sire; The wood is on his shoulder laid— The wood—to build his funeral pyre.

No passion swayed the father's mind, He felt a calm, a deathlike chill— His soul all chastened, all resigned, Bowed meekly—though he shuddered still.

While on the mountain's brow they stood, With smiling wonder, Isaac cries, “My father, lo, the fire and wood! But where's the lamb for sacrifice?”

The Holy Spirit staid his mind, While Abraham answered low and calm, With steady voice and look resigned, “God will provide himself a lamb.”

But let no pen profane, like mine, On holiest themes too rashly dare; Turn to the Book of books divine, And read the blessed promise there.

Ages on ages rolled away— At length the hour appointed came, And on the mount of Calvary, God did indeed provide a Lamb.

—Sel.