JEPHTHAH'S VOW.
His lips have breathed the vow.
Thou God of battles, who alone canst bring
Deliverance to thy children, in the hour
Of doubt and terror, here I bend to Thee.
Hear thou my vow. Before Thy throne I swear,
That should the haughty race of Ammon bend,
In homage low, to Thy victorious sway,
The first who cometh forth with song and dance,
To greet my proud return from victory,
Shall be to Thee a holy sacrifice
Of gratitude.
Thou God of battles, who alone canst bring
Deliverance to thy children, in the hour
Of doubt and terror, here I bend to Thee.
Hear thou my vow. Before Thy throne I swear,
That should the haughty race of Ammon bend,
In homage low, to Thy victorious sway,
The first who cometh forth with song and dance,
To greet my proud return from victory,
Shall be to Thee a holy sacrifice
Of gratitude.
The victory was his;
And laden with the trophies of his power,
Jephthah returned. Was there no whispering fear
To cloud his brow, to dim his eye with tears
To send to its pure source the eager tide
Which swelled his veins and flushed his cheek with joy?
And laden with the trophies of his power,
Jephthah returned. Was there no whispering fear
To cloud his brow, to dim his eye with tears
To send to its pure source the eager tide
Which swelled his veins and flushed his cheek with joy?
But who comes forth to meet him on his way?
What sounds of joy, what minstrel notes of praise,
To greet the hero from the battle-field?
It was his only child,—she whose pure smile
First woke him to that gush of ecstasy,—
A father's priceless, unabated love,—
The bright, glad being who, in joy's gay hour,
As in the time of grief, had been with him,
To share his mirth or to assuage his wo.
What sounds of joy, what minstrel notes of praise,
To greet the hero from the battle-field?
It was his only child,—she whose pure smile
First woke him to that gush of ecstasy,—
A father's priceless, unabated love,—
The bright, glad being who, in joy's gay hour,
As in the time of grief, had been with him,
To share his mirth or to assuage his wo.
And shall it be? Must that young life-tide check
Its healthy gushings from the heart's deep fount?
Must that fond eye, so brightly turned on him,
That eye which beamed and shone for him alone,
Be closed in death and gloom; and must those lips
Which smiled upon him in their joyous mirth,
Which breathed devotion's purest offering,
And tuned their minstrelsy in holy songs
Of praise to God, be hushed in the cold tomb,
No more to cheer him with their radiant smile,
Or speak to him of bliss?
Its healthy gushings from the heart's deep fount?
Must that fond eye, so brightly turned on him,
That eye which beamed and shone for him alone,
Be closed in death and gloom; and must those lips
Which smiled upon him in their joyous mirth,
Which breathed devotion's purest offering,
And tuned their minstrelsy in holy songs
Of praise to God, be hushed in the cold tomb,
No more to cheer him with their radiant smile,
Or speak to him of bliss?
O! what was life,
What the proud consciousness of victory,
When thoughts of that bright being filled his soul?
The father's heart grew sick. There was no smile
Upon his lip, to greet his only child:
No voice of welcome issued from his mouth.
His brow was furrowed, and his cheek grew pale,
While the firm pressure of his fast-closed lip
Told but too well the conflict in his soul.
What the proud consciousness of victory,
When thoughts of that bright being filled his soul?
The father's heart grew sick. There was no smile
Upon his lip, to greet his only child:
No voice of welcome issued from his mouth.
His brow was furrowed, and his cheek grew pale,
While the firm pressure of his fast-closed lip
Told but too well the conflict in his soul.
A moment, and his lips broke forth in sounds
Of grief. He clasped her to his breast and said,
"My child, my only child, how have I loved
To gaze on thee, and think, that when the cares
And ills of life would rudely press on me,
Thou wouldst be near to comfort and sustain.
Ay, thou hast brought me low; for I have sworn,—
That vow, alas! it cannot be recalled;
And I must yield thee up to Him to whom
In a rash hour I vowed to offer thee,
A grateful sacrifice."
Of grief. He clasped her to his breast and said,
"My child, my only child, how have I loved
To gaze on thee, and think, that when the cares
And ills of life would rudely press on me,
Thou wouldst be near to comfort and sustain.
Ay, thou hast brought me low; for I have sworn,—
That vow, alas! it cannot be recalled;
And I must yield thee up to Him to whom
In a rash hour I vowed to offer thee,
A grateful sacrifice."
The gentle girl bent down.
No prayer for life was on her parted lip:
She knew her hour was come; she felt that life,
With all its promised blessings, soon would close.
She knew her eye on earth no more would cheer
Her aged father's heart. She asked not life:
But holy gratitude was in her heart,
And the pure fervor of a grateful soul
Glowed on her cheek and kindled in her eye;
And praise was on her lips, praise to His name
Who had that day the glorious victory given.
No prayer for life was on her parted lip:
She knew her hour was come; she felt that life,
With all its promised blessings, soon would close.
She knew her eye on earth no more would cheer
Her aged father's heart. She asked not life:
But holy gratitude was in her heart,
And the pure fervor of a grateful soul
Glowed on her cheek and kindled in her eye;
And praise was on her lips, praise to His name
Who had that day the glorious victory given.
She sought a hallowed blessing from her sire.
"My father! if thy lip hath sworn to Him
Who hath this day brought victory to thee,
Do unto me according to thy vow.
O! life is sweet, and the blest consciousness
Of living for my sire, to cheer his heart,
Amid its secret, silent loneliness,
Comes o'er my spirit like the tones which breathed
From a fond mother's love, in childhood's hour.
But I can leave all these; there is a joy
Which far transcends all earthly bliss, the thought
That I may watch o'er thee in happier realms,
And hover round thy couch of midnight rest.
Deep, wondrous thoughts possess my secret soul,—
Thoughts to which words could give no utterance,
So strange, yet holy, is the strain they breathe.
True as the voice of sacred prophecy,
Comes to my mind, the sweet, assuring thought,
That I but leave my father's fond embrace,
For some bright realm where we may live and love,
When this fair earth shall yield us no abode,
And I may be the unseen messenger
To waft thy soul to that most blessed home.
Calmly I leave thee for a few short years;
And, O! it is a soothing thought to me
In my last hour of life, that thou hast gained
O'er our proud foe the glorious victory."
"My father! if thy lip hath sworn to Him
Who hath this day brought victory to thee,
Do unto me according to thy vow.
O! life is sweet, and the blest consciousness
Of living for my sire, to cheer his heart,
Amid its secret, silent loneliness,
Comes o'er my spirit like the tones which breathed
From a fond mother's love, in childhood's hour.
But I can leave all these; there is a joy
Which far transcends all earthly bliss, the thought
That I may watch o'er thee in happier realms,
And hover round thy couch of midnight rest.
Deep, wondrous thoughts possess my secret soul,—
Thoughts to which words could give no utterance,
So strange, yet holy, is the strain they breathe.
True as the voice of sacred prophecy,
Comes to my mind, the sweet, assuring thought,
That I but leave my father's fond embrace,
For some bright realm where we may live and love,
When this fair earth shall yield us no abode,
And I may be the unseen messenger
To waft thy soul to that most blessed home.
Calmly I leave thee for a few short years;
And, O! it is a soothing thought to me
In my last hour of life, that thou hast gained
O'er our proud foe the glorious victory."
No tear bedimmed the lustre of her eye;
Her cheek was bright as in its happiest hour.
Her lips were parted in a gentle smile,
That told her willingness to die for him
From whom, at first, she drew the springs of life.
Her cheek was bright as in its happiest hour.
Her lips were parted in a gentle smile,
That told her willingness to die for him
From whom, at first, she drew the springs of life.