In an upper room in the palace lay the little Prince. Through the open
casement the moon looked in. Kneeling beside him was Miriam, her face
buried in her hands, her body shaken by sobs. The child was speaking.
"Dear Miriam," he said, "do not bid me linger in this parched land. I
fain would go to the better country; one I love waits for me there.
Didn't thou not tell me, that when Israel's great prophet stood to
warn Egypt, that he did bless my father, the King, and promise to him
a place in the heaven of heavens? Dear Miriam, the King has gone out
of Egypt. Hark! how the heralds cry it through the streets! 'The King
is dead,' they say. 'Long live the King.' I cannot linger here, I must
go to him. He will lose his way; he could not find the golden gates;
he does not know the angels; I led him here, and I must lead him
there. Nay, sweet nurse, do not weep! I fain would go! Hark! he calls
me. My father have but patience for a little while! I come." And then
the child fell, panting, back among his pillows.
Rising from her knees Miriam stood for one moment looking down upon
him, then, all unnoticed, in the wild confusion of grief that was
sweeping like a flood through every home in the city, she made her
way out of the palace, and the gates, to the plain beyond, where in a
rude hut dwelt the prophet Moses and his brother, Aaron, waiting until
the time should come for them to guide Israel out of Egypt. With no
asking for admittance, Miriam entered the hut, and seeing Aaron
within, she hastened to throw herself at his feet. "Oh, my lord," she
cried, "I come to beg of thee, in the name of Jehovah, take all Egypt,
but spare the life of Hatsu's son, the little Prince! No dearer could
he be to me, my lord, had I carried him for nine long moons under my
heart, no dearer had I known the pangs that bring the joyous gift to
motherhood. My lord, take me, an unworthy daughter of Israel, aye,
blot out my soul for all eternity, but spare the child!"
Upon her bowed head the prophet laid a gentle hand.
"Miriam, daughter of Abram," he said, "no more faithful child hath God
of Israel than thou. Thy human form has been used, as a shield, by
those to whom thou hast given thy pure love; but they have had no
power to touch thy white soul. It is not the will of the 'All-Wise'
that thine eyes should see, on this earth, that which has been hidden
from thee. But be comforted, for thy God is a God of Mercy, and so let
the child go in peace. The little one that thou hast reared, to say
thy prayers, and call upon the Blessed One of Israel, shall see no
evil days, aye, ere thy returning feet shall cross the threshold of
the city gates the child shall die, and thou shalt quickly follow
him."
With a moan of hopeless agony, Miriam arose. She said no word of
parting. She turned and made her way back across the barren moonlit
plain. A cloud now covered the moon, and a strange low-voiced wind
arose that was like unto a warning cry; but Miriam heeded naught; she
hurried on repeating through her white lips: "God is greater than
Moses! God is greater than Aaron! God notes the fall of the bird from
its nest, and He will hear my prayer! He will hear! Oh, my Father in
Heaven, spare the child, spare the child!"
There comes to some, in every age of time, the actual power of
reaching the source of light. It is to the mother that this awful
privilege is oftenest granted. When in her supreme agony of love she
spans all space and reaches the eternal to beg the life of her child.
Suddenly Miriam stood still, her cry ceased and in a quiet voice she
spake to the great silence:
"What is it that Thou sayest to my soul? Aye, I know the words, 'Be
strong and of good courage; fear not, for it is the Lord that doth go
with thee; He will not fail thee or forsake thee.' Yea, they are sweet
and comforting words! What is Thy name, Thou that art clothed in
light?" Then she stretched forth her hands, a smile came to her lips.
"Thou art an angel of the Lord," she cried. "Aye, spirit, I will lean
upon thy breast and thou shalt lead me through the gates."
And the prophet Aaron, watching Miriam from his doorway (for the moon
had come out of hiding and again the parched plain was as bright as at
midday) lifted up his voice and said: "Keep Thy strong arm about her,
oh Merciful One; rest her weary head upon thy loving, tender breast,
for Thou, too, in Thy time of earthly sojourn, knew the yearning of
the Mother heart. Oh, thou shining one, thou, too, wert once like her,
a sorrowing woman, and thy God, and Miriam's God, hath sent thee to
lead her through the gate."