Upon the wind of heaven the tones he heard
That Adam heard in Eden, and the word
Was wonderful, and in his heart it stirred
A longing to uprise from faith to sight.
Soft on the silver night the numbers fall,
"Give me thine heart, my son: give me thine all:
If thou wilt gain thy guerdon, heed the call."
He heard and gave good heed, and prayed for light.
And when upon the mountain cape was caught
The rising sun, with saffron rays inwrought,
Swift to his sense uprose the raptured thought,
" Thy grace enfoldeth e'en the untrodden height."
Again he gazed upon the starlit deep,
And could not gaze for that he fain would weep,
So wondrous was it in its whispering sleep:
"Thy peace is there," he sighed, and kneeled in prayer.
"I vow my vow to heaven, my word is gone,
I give my life, my all—what have I done!
What do I love on earth but thee, my son?
My light is darkness, and my hope despair."
They built a funeral pyre: he bound his eyes—
He might not meet the trustful mute surprise
That questioned where was worthy sacrifice:
"My God will give a lamb: the lamb is here."
He took the fatal knife with steeled intent,
His eyes were darkened, and his brow was bent:
"Be this my death," he cried, "my punishment
To die with thee: in death we will not part."
But on the transepts of the trembling air
Came the soft whisper, sweet beyond compare,
" 'Tis Love omnipotent that led thee here:
Love has no part with hate: how blind thou art!
The living! 'tis the living I desire!
To work My will, to purge their ways with fire,
I need nor murdered son, nor sonless sire:
Thy Father loveth thee: give Me thine heart."
