It was in the early morning. Abraham arose betimes; he kissed Sarah,
the young mother, and Sarah kissed Isaac, her joy, her delight for
all times. And Abraham rode on his way, lost in thought--he was
thinking of Hagar and her son whom he had driven out into the
wilderness. He ascended Mount Moriah and he drew the knife.
It was a calm evening when Abraham rode out alone, and he rode to
Mount Moriah. There he cast himself down on his face and prayed to
God to forgive him his sin in that he had been about to sacrifice
his son Isaac, and in that the father had forgotten his duty toward
his son. And yet oftener he rode on his lonely way, but he found
no rest. He could not grasp that it was a sin that he had wanted to
sacrifice to God his most precious possession, him for whom he would
most gladly have died many times. But, if it was a sin, if he had
not loved Isaac thus, then could he not grasp the possibility that
he could be forgiven: for what sin more terrible?
When the child is to be weaned, the mother is not without sorrow
that she and her child are to be separated more and more, that the
child who had first lain under her heart, and afterwards at any
rate rested at her breast, is to be so near to her no more. So
they sorrow together for that brief while. Happy he who kept his
child so near to him and needed not to sorrow more!