MOSES IN THE BULRUSHES. PART I JOCHEBED, MIRIAM. Joc. WHY was my pray'r accepted? Why did Heav'n In anger hear me, when I ask’d a son? Ye dames of Egypt! ye triumphant mothers! Of thy sad daughters! - Why did God's own hand Teach me to trace this maze of Providence : Why save the fathers, if the sons must perish? Mir. Ah me, my mother! whence these floods of grief? Joc. My son! my son! I cannot speak the rest, Ye that have sons can only know my fondness! Ye who have lost them, or who fear to lose, Can only know my pangs! none else can guess them. A mother's sorrows cannot be conceiv'd But by a mother-Wou'd I were not one! Mir. With earnest pray'rs thou didst request this son, And Heav'n has granted him. O sad estate Joc. Too well thou know'st, my child, the stern decree He shall not die. I have a thought, my Miriam, Will bless the secret purpose of my soul, Mir. Hop'st thou that Pharaoh Joc. I have no hope in Pharaoh, much in God; Much in the ROCK OF AGES. Mir. Think, O think, What perils thou already hast incurr'd, And shun the greater which may yet remain. Three months, three dangerous months thou hast preserv'd Thy infant's life, and in thy house conceal'd him! Joc. Oh! let the tyrant know, And feel what he inflicts! Yes, hear me, Heav'n! Send thy right-aiming thunderbolts - But hush, Yes, I will laud thy grace, and bless thy goodness Mir. And yet who knows, but the fell tyrant's rage May reach his precious life? Joc. Nor does division weaken, nor the force Dependent on their object; claim returns; Unfed by hope. A mother's fondness reigns Mir. But say what Heav'n inspires to save thy son? Joc. Since the dear fatal morn which gave him birth, I have revolv'd in my distracted mind Each means to save his life: and many a thought With pitch and slime I have secured the sides. My little helpless infant, and expose him Mir. 'Tis full of danger. Joc. 'Tis danger to expose, and death to keep him. Mir. Yet, Oh! reflect. Should the fierce cro codile, The native and the tyrant of the Nile, Seize the defenceless infant! Joc. Oh, forbear! Spare my fond heart. Yet not the crocodile, To me are half so terrible as Pharaoh, That heathen king, that royal murderer! Mir. Should he escape, which yet I dare not hope, Each sea-born monster, yet the winds and waves He cannot 'scape. Joc. Know, God is ev'ry where; Not to one narrow, partial spot confin'd; No, not to chosen Israel: he extends Mir. What must I do? Command thy daughter; for thy words have wak'd An holy boldness in my youthful breast. Joc. Go, then, my MIRIAM, go, and take the infant. Buried in harmless slumbers there he lies: Let me not see him- spare my heart that pang. And I may feast my fondness with his smiles, I dare not hazard it — The task be thine. Oh! do not wake my child; remove him softly; Mir. Did those magicians, whom the sons of Consult and think all-potent, join their skill; And was it great as Egypt's sons believe; Yet all their secret wizard arts combin'd, |