Pharoah
Thus saith Jehovah! let this people go!
The king was on his throne array'd all gorgeously,
In regal purple rich with fretted gold,
And starr'd with sparkling gems, while snowy lawn
Was mingling with its folds luxuriously.
The crown of Egypt was upon his brow,
And her proud sceptre was beside his hand.
The nobles of his land were gather'd round,
Thronging the proud pavilion where he sate;
And the wise men, the Magi of the East,
The Priests, the Soothsayers, Astrologers,
And the most cunning sorcerers, were there.
And also, there, apart from all the rest,
Yet even at the foot of Pharaoh's throne,
Two men array'd in humble garments stood.
One spoke not, but with meekly folded arms,
Awaited silently the king's decree.
His form was finely moulded, and his face
Had much expressive beauty, though his eye
Spoke with a sadden'd feeling—and his brow,
Amid the clustering curls that shaded it,
Told that the freshness of his youth had pass'd.
The other form was taller, and his limbs
Were nerved to manlier strength—his bold dark eye
Sent its proud glances round him fearlessly;
While with his mantle gather'd o'er his breast,
And his right arm extended as he spake,
He pour'd his eloquence to Pharaoh's ear.
“Thus saith the Lord Jehovah, God Omnipotent!
Let thou this people go—their wives, their children,
Their herds of cattle, and their snowy flocks,—
And whatsoe'er belongeth unto them,
Shall with themselves, unransom'd, all be free.
Say not within thy heart, as thou hast said,
That his unchanging will shall pass away,
And yet be unaccomplish'd; nor yet hope
With words deceitful to evade his purpose.
Why should'st thou war with Heaven? can thy weak arm
Cope with His wrathful strength, who wields the thunder,
And looketh on the wide extended earth,
Even as a little thing?—Thy heart is raised,
Yea, lifted up in pride and vanity,
For thine exalted power and high estate—
But know'st thou not that He who raiseth up,
Can bring thee low e'en to the very dust,
And change thy glory into emptiness?
Then waken not the terrors of His wrath,
Nor scorn his mandate—let this people go!”
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poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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