F FATE, THE PAGAN’S PROVIDENCE, TELL NOT:

Nor blind Homeric sages invocate, 

Who attribute Thy deep-brow’d best designs

To gods of Chance fleshed out in forms of stone.

Sing not the lays of Baal or Ashterah

Who, being iron-wrought or formed in wood,

Heareth not nor heedeth poor the prayers

Of pagan eremites in gilded cells.

Nor to the halls of haughty wisdom flee

Beyond the small demesne apportioned Man,

Where learnéd scribes assay in futile mood 

The depths of highest knowledge to ensound,

Where empty creeds and vain do fealty pledge 

To forces vaster than the mind engulfs.

But on that upper way send, heav’nly Muse,

This falt’ring poet’s slow and soulful track,

And shield from accusations false and vain.

Count not to one poor mortal’s small account

A brave and overweening venture forth,

But see as Thou once did— an upright heart,

Beyond the ken of judging mortal eye,

Which, servile in Thy tutelage, embarks

Upon this poor and late-engender’d song.

For Thine Own Self, pure Spirit, claim

The firstborn fruits of this my burdened mind;

Thou th’ immortal Engine of my theme

And Thou the greater Object of my praise. 

Bestow upon Thyself my meetest laud, 

If searching out Thy vast eternal ken

Might raise the lowly hearts of men to God

And justify the ways of God to men.

N Ramathaïm’s unknown hillockside 

Where ghostly Eli serv’d his priestly rote 

With mind, with soul, with will so thus transfix’d

To well his wont obeisance execute,

There liv’d in pious solitude his mate,

Full in ev’ry part of virtue’s kinds, 

Less nothing that a maiden of her kind upholds:

Gentle, mild, holy and devout.

Yet, being barren, gentle Hannah lacked

The highest honor then bestowed her sex.

No babe she dandled on her gentle lap,

Nor sired her lord a son to keep his name.

In great distress and sore in heart did pray

And offer up those pleas which most inspire

The pity and the condescension pure

Of He whose heart and pity most incline

Towards: abject, the lowly and the small.

To holy Shiloh, pious Hannah came

Her wont obeisance there to offer up

And there her deepest petition to make.

No voice in bitterest lament gave way

And forth a stricken cry then came not forth,

But in the bitter heaviness of heart 

Did humble Hannah make her mute request. 

Her lips, chaste maidens, their obeisance made,

Moved devoutly, leaving off their voice.

Her modest eyes downcast did offer forth 

An oil far more costly still than nard.

Proud Eli then her weary mien mistook,

Rebuking her with harsh upbraiding words:

“Must thee devote thyself to heady drink 

And gaze upon thy empty bowl with eyes

That long for draughts to charm an idle mind?

What liquors soft and subtle draw thy tears

And from thine eyes so rude provoke this flow?

Thy raiment speaks thy meanest discontent;

Leave off thy drink and spend thyself in prayer.”

And here did learnéd Eli miss his mark:

His aspect aimed too high for God’s concern. 

Wherefore his pride and suppositions mask’d

The true intent of goodwife Hannah’s prayer.

“Not so, my lord”, she cried with righteous woe. 

“Thy servant drinkest not nor wanteth wine.

No spirit touched these lips, which do but plead

And sore entreat my God to harken me.”

That God, Who draweth nigh to human pain,

As massy planets track their several orbs, 

Who deigns attend his frail creatures’ wants, 

Tho’ from them moved by time, by space, by Self, 

Attended there that humble righteousness

So that from highest Heav’n descended low

His Spirit, overshadowed her; within her womb

Took root and flourished forth a destined son.

THEN HANNAH SANG:

Y soul in God rejoiceth, for his love

Hath lifted up my horn above my lot. 

Mine enemies shall know the greatness of

His hand, for his salvation have I sought. 

No more let men their wanton boasting make, 

Nor speak aloud with high and cold disdain;

The Lord is God who givest as he takes

And hath his servants blest, his foes hath slain.

The mighty boast, but broken are their bows;

Their weapons save them not from their deceit.

Those who were strong are conquered by their foes,

And those robbed the poor have naught to eat.

The barren wife, who cast whilom away

And shamed among her friends even to speak

Hath seven sons her lord begot, and they

Who boasted of their increase waneth weak.

The Lord is He who quickeneth and slays;

The fortunes of all men are in his hand.

He measures and disposes of our days,

And makes the righteous rule over the land.

To God who conquers nations will I sing,

Nor to a king of flesh my fealty pledge;

The Lord alone will raise a mighty king 

Who will his holy people rightly judge.”

HEN, in those days, the Spirit spake not forth

Nor prophets in their sacred transports gave

Rein to the holy impetus of God

From out a mouth thus lately fire-touch’d,

And God in highest heav’n appearèd mute;

When on no hill the sacred fire burned, 

Nor finger pressed divine commands in stone

Then did the Lord in great forbearance come—

Not, as pagan monarchs did, with pomp 

And trumpet blast, and lowly tributes made—

But more to one of tender age and small;

Not to the sacred realm of temples’ halls

But to the humble chamber of a boy.

Whenas the greying shadow of the eve

Did fall upon the holy parsonage

And pious Eli from devotion ceased, 

There to his austere bed retire weary,

And dimming eyes restore with gentle sleep, 

Did Samuel rest within the sacred light 

Of that ordainéd lamp which wax’d and waned

By its free will; then in the subtle silence came

A Voice, engendered not by beast nor man.

His name the sleeping Samuel heard; his mind 

Amid th’ Lethean plain his dreams called halt,

And those phantasms, which do oft enchant 

A slumber-idled brain with fancies of 

No true import, gave way to substance deep,

Yet not more clear. That God which mov’d upon

The ancient and the dark primeval main,

Which by each star and planet calls name,

Did in the dark of night call Samuel hence.

The child, with a child’s simple ken,

Did wake. Bethinking him his master called, 

Did rouse the elder prelate from his bed. 

“Sire, thy will be done, for here am I!”

Soft spoke the youth with pure and willing heart. 

Yet weary Eli, from his resting roused

Protested and denied that pure surmise, 

And humble Samuel to his couch returned.

Thrice did the voice entreat the eager child;

Thrice did the elder send away the lad;

Till, as though the timid breaking of the dawn

Crept o’er the rimy hills to draw the dew,

And soft the sun broke out above the stars,

Was there a small but pure unalloyed Light.

Then Samuel wist with Whom he spake that night

And heard with willing ears the voice of God.

HAT judgment which I will enact anon

Will make the ears of all my people burn;

Behold, that penance which I did impose—

In every part, not leaving off the least—

Will all the house of Eli bear for aye.

His sons profaned their holy offices;

With censers strange and foreign fire did burn 

An off’ring not ordained by word or law. 

And no less shall the father’s sins be paid:

For Eli wist his sons’ idolatry

Yet stopped them not. Therefore declares the Lord:

No penance will for this offense atone

So swear I, the Lord. No sacrifice

Or offering burnt shall restitution make.

The mantle from their stiffened shoulders falls;

The flame that burned from censers made unclean

Shall wither hence and turn their prayers to ash.”

ND Samuel grew in sacred tutelage,

In strength, in skill and fealty to his Lord.

From northmost Dan to wealthy Beersheba

Did high his holy office promulgate—

And, of all acclaims and lauds the best,

Did God Himself the growing prophet seat:

In secret halls, a Master unsurpass’d,

Found there a willing pupil of his Word.