The Expulsion Of Hagar Poem by Eloise Alberta Bibb

The morn hath risen clear and bright,
The sun displays his glorious light;
Through heaven's vault of azure dye,
Where peeps the glistening morning star,
And smiles the moon's great silver eye,
Ord'ring the dozing stars afar,
Give up their watch, withdraw from sight,
For now 'tis morn, no longer night.


A century's frost upon his brow,
Old Abraham arises now,
With hoary locks o'er shoulders bent,
And wasted form and withered cheek,
And faded eye to which is lent
A lurking sadness; it seems to seek
Poor Hagar there with Ishmael,
Who must bid him a long farewell.


Hagar,' he calls, 'take thou the boy
And go, for thou wilt here destroy
My household's peace. Go thou, I say,
Depart in yonder wilderness;
Ne'er turn again thine eye this way,
God will thy son protect and bless.
Fear not. And now, take Ishmael,
I bid thee both a long farewell.'


'O Abraham! what dost thou say? -
That I depart? I must away
From out thy home, from out thy life!
What words are these? canst thou be mad,
Or do I dream? What means this strife?
Thy love alone hast made me glad;
O Abraham! thou hast been the light,
Within these years of woeful night.


'And now behold thee never more!
This woe has reached my bosom's core.
O Abraham! I kneel to thee,
Look thou upon thy Hagar now,
Thou art a paradise to me,
Let me but stay to smooth thy brow,
Let me but linger near thy side,
Thou ne'er before my wish denied.


'And mark thy son, - my Ishmael,
His beaut'ous face, - note thou it well;
In yonder wilderness, the sun
Will scorch that broad and noble brow,
And dark the cheek it shines upon.
My Abraham, O hear me now!
Oh! I would live in thy fond sight,
And dream in thine eye's softest light.'


Low bowed the head on Abraham's breast,
And to his heart a hand he pressed,
And breathed a long and deep-drawn sigh
At length he slowly raised his head,
And brushed a tear-drop from his eye,
He gazed on Hagar, then he said,
'Begone! Though it should grieve my heart,
The Lord hath said that we must part.'


'Take, thou, the water and the bread,
I mean the words that I have said.
Go thou into Beer-sheba there,
The Lord wilt guide and guard thy boy;
Lift, thou, thy heart to God in prayer,
And cease my soul thus to annoy.
Again, Hagar and Ishmael,
I bid to thee, once more, farewell.'


'Alas! 'tis true, I see, I know,
Thou meanest what thou sayest, I go;
And Hagar ne'er shall smile again,
No rippling laughter leave her lips.
The saddest 'mongst the wives of men,
Will e'er be she, who sorrow sips.
My boy! my own! all, all is o'er,
And we are outcasts ever more.'