!--
How like this breathless slumber is to death!
I could believe that in that bosom now
There were no pulse--it beats so languidly!
I cannot see it stir; but his red lip!--
Death would not be so very beautiful!
And that half smile--would death have left _that_ there?
--And should I not have felt that he would die?
And have I not wept over him?--and prayed
Morning and night for him?--and _could_ he die?
--No--God will keep him. He will be my pride
Many long years to come, and this fair hair
Will darken like his father's, and his eye
Be of a deeper blue when he is grown;
And he will be so tall, and I shall look
With such a pride upon him!--_He_ to die!"
And the fond mother lifted his soft curls,
And smiled, as if 'twere mockery to think
That such fair things could perish--
--Suddenly
Her hand shrunk from him, and the color fled
From her fix'd lip, and her supporting knees
Were shook beneath her child. Her hand had touch'd
His forehead, as she dallied with his hair--
And it was cold--like clay!--slow--very slow
Came the misgiving that her child was dead.
She sat a moment and her eyes were clos'd
In a still prayer for strength, and then she took
His little hand and press'd it earnestly--
And put her lip to his--and look'd again
Fearfully on him--and then, bending low,
She whisper'd in his ear, "My son!--My son!"
And as the echo died, and not a sound
Broke on the stillness, and he lay there still,
Motionless on her knee--the truth _would_ come!
And with a sharp, quick cry, as if her heart
Were crush'd, she lifted him and held him close
Into her bosom--with a mother's thought--
As if death had no power to touch him there!

* * * * *

The man of God came forth, and led the child
Unto his mother, and went on his way.
And he was there--her beautiful--her own--
Living and smiling on her--with his arms
Folded about her neck, and his warm breath
Breathing upon her lips, and in her ear
The music of his gentle voice once more!

Oh for a burning word that would express
The measure of a mother's holy joy,
When God has given back to her her child
From death's dark portal! It surpasseth words.

[Footnote A: 2 KINGS, iv. 18-37.]

SCENE IN GETHSEM