The pregnant promise, God to Sarah gave, Stands good to all who in the Lord believe; Upon this word a thousand hopes have stood, Which I'll repeat, and God shall make it good.
The word and Spirit God reveals to men,
Is that by which the saints are born again;
God now shall speak his own immortal word,
And she by mystic birth shall know the Lord.
The prophet now construes the matter plain,
And bids his servant call her up again;
Her reputation she shall now redeem,
To nourish faith her barren womb shall teem.
The servant calls her to the prophet's door,
Or somewhat closer than she stood before,
And said, next season, by the rules of life,
Thou shalt appear the mother and the wife.
She answer'd, nay, my lord, thou man of God, If barrens bear, the world will think it odd; Soothe not thine handmaid in a false disguise, Nor dare deceive, thou man of God, with lies.
Thus unbelief appears with brazen brow,
And contradicts the rev'rend prophet's vow;
The sire's amaz'd, no promise he'll renew,
But goes to bed; the Shunamite withdrew.
Shall unbelief thus triumph over faith,
And give the lie to what Jehovah saith?
Shall bold corruption shew her harden'd face,
And countervail the promises of grace?
Shall carnal reason mount the judgment seat?
Her husband's age with various pleas repeat;
Nay, give assent, believe the rev'rend sire,
Let God be true, but every man a liar?
The prophet left her in her unbelief,
Nor was the matron plunder'd by the thief;
The word took hold, the barren shall conceive,
God will be faithful, though we don't believe.
The prophet knew the promise would prevail,
What God himself declares can never fail;
But views her bold reply with such disdain,
She must invite him ere he comes again,
Her womb prolific, proves her undeceiv'd;
Her time's appointed, and she then conceiv'd;
Her faith shall triumph in her pregnant womb,
And in her heart she finds a Saviour come.
She sets her seal, and owns Jehovah true,
His mystic work to wond'rous ends construe;
God's banner now to faith appears unfurl'd,
And faith itself to overcome the world.
She ponder'd o'er how all was brought about, And bless'd the day she found the prophet out. Her former thoughts appear with marks divine, And like a prophecy fulfill'd in fine.
With joys divine she wants the hour to come, For sure her mind's as pregnant as her womb; The time's arriv'd, her nine months race is run, The contradicting handmaid bears a son.
Her soul is now inflam'd with love divine,
Bold unbelief is banish'd from her mind;
She eyes the distant Saviour long decreed,
And in the type beholds the woman's seed.
The son from day to day in stature grows,
So her affections to her Saviour flows;
In days like these we too securely stand,
And seldom dream of troubles hard at hand.
No pleasing frames like these unmix'd abide,
Her thriving faith must now again be try'd;
Or it shall fall, that on a certain day,
The Lord that gave will surely take away.
For so it fell, that when the child was grown,
He'll see them
his sire had sown;
God smites the child, the child is seiz'd with dread,
And to his father cries, My head, my head.'
The father bids a lad, his servant, come,
And orders him to take the darling home;
Convey him safe, of fault'ring steps beware,
Commit the infant to his mother's care.
The tender mother plac'd him on her knees,
With tears bewails his violent disease;
Requests the infant's life, but that's deny'd;
She holds him up till noon, and then he dy'd.
Is this the blessing unimplor'd bestow'd?
Is this the great reward the saint avow'd?
Shall all my kindness be rewarded so?
And am I doom'd to weep a mother's wo?
Did I this infant of the prophet crave?
Nay, I deny'd when he so freely gave;
I bid the prophet not deceive with guile,
I did not ask, nor yet expect a child.
And has the man of God his room forsook,
And on my grief does he disdain to look?
Since he the chamber has forsook and fled,
I'll lay the corpse where he himself has laid.
Had I implor'd this son, I'd been content;
On anxious cares the rod is often sent;
But I refus'd the offer when 'twas made,
Yet I'm entangl'd, and the prophet's fled.
But who can tell what God may farther do? His hand's divine, his promises are true; Why should a resurrection strangely seem? The word that bid me bear may quicken him.
It was a promise quicken'd first my womb,
And by a promise shall my Saviour come;
And I conceive, as far as faith can pry,
That in this child I've seen my Saviour die.
Die Jesus must! or else my hope is vain,
Nor can he save unless he rise again;
Cheer up, my soul! expect this strange surprise,
For in my son I'll see my Saviour rise.
My faith in this is far from void of doubt,
The prophet knows, and I will find him out;
I'll make him come where he has lodg'd before;
She puts the corpse to bed, and shuts the door.
Thus big with hopes of what shall come to pass,
She bids her husband send the man and ass;
I'll ride to Carmel, it shall not be vain,
I'll see the man of God, and come again.
The steady husband disapproves her haste,
Time spent in harvest must be spent in waste;
He bids his dame her hasty tour delay
Till the new moon, or else the Sabbath-day.
In faith she's mounted, and in faith she'll ride, When dame's in haste she scorns to be deny'd; Her present thoughts she now delays to tell, Send me the man and ass, it shall be well.
The yielding husband urges no reply,
Obeys her voice without a reason why;
'Tis vain to parley if her mind is bent,
She gave command, the retinue is sent.
She brings the saddle, and equips the ass, And bids her servant ride the swiftest pace : Go forward, drive, nor dare to slack thy hand, Nor slack thy pace, except I give command.
The trusty man obeys the matron's will,
And ends his stage on Carmel's sacred hill:
God sent the prophet, to behold afar
The weeping mother in the hasty car.
The man of God appears in some affright,
And says, Gehazi, see that Shunamite;
Go now, I pray, and search her welfare out,
Her hasty visit fills my mind with doubt.
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