Thrice happy soul! that's bless'd with such a grace,
A pow'r that death itself can ne'er outface;
St. Paul observes, this woman conquer'd death,
'Tis left recorded in the acts of faith.
Elisha bids Gehazi come in haste,
Gird up thy loins, and run the swiftest pace;
Prepare to go, and take my staff in hand,
Nor dare salute the complimenting man.
When servants go with messages divine,
They claim the whole attention of the mind;
If any force their salutations vain,
Obey my voice, salute them not again.
Make haste to Shunem, enter there my room,
Behold the dead, the fallen mortal's doom;
Behold the corpse is lying in my place,
Lay thou my staff upon the infant's face.
In heart she vow'd he should not serve her so,
'Twas thou at first occasion'd all my wo,
Thou shalt not thus deceive the Shunamite,
Nor send me off with such an hypocrite.
Deceive me not, for I am fully bent
Thyself shall go, the sender, not the sent ;
By God that lives I'll make thee walk with me,
And as thy spirit lives I'll not leave thee.
The woman urges, and the prophet yields,
No ifs nor buts, in positives she deals;
The prophet rose, the woman leads the van,
And both pursue the path the servant ran.
Gehazi steps with hasty strides before,
To gain applause, he aims at nothing more;
His vain attempts may make the woman laugh,
She knew his faith was in his master's staff.
He lays the stick upon the baby's face,
And hopes to fix it on the proper place;
His sleight of hand proclaims his sad mistake,
He comes, and cries, the child is not awake.'
cry confirm'd the troubled Shunamite,
She saw her judgment of the man was right;
And wonders much how he could try the scheme,
And why the prophet should be plagu'd with him.
Thus hypocrites appear in false disguise,
And think they vail the wisdom of the wise;
He fawns and feigns, but still engenders doubt,
The babe in grace will feel the serpent out.
They learn the actions of the righteous saint,
And wear the garb as harlots wear their paint;
But if they preach, or if they join in pray'r,
Do what they will, the serpent will appear.
So he attempts to raise the infant dead,
But looks no higher than the staff he laid;
The mother hates the mimic's vain appearing,
And he cries out, there's neither voice nor hearing.'
The rev'rend sire attains his journey's end,
When to the room she built she leads her friend;
The prophet sees his long deserted bed,
And in his place he finds the infant dead.
He's mov'd to feel the weeping mother's grief,
His soul's engag'd to bring her some relief;
He seems confirm'd the child shall rise again,
The door he closes on the praying twain.
The fervent prophet calls upon the Lord,
And begs the soul he took might be restor❜d;
Then he returns, and travels to and fro,
To watch if God would send it back or no.
He goes again, and lays upon the child,
His mind is agitated all the while;
He grasps his hands, he meets his mouth and eyes,
While faith commands, and bids the dead arise.
What faith demands Jehovah will perform,
The prophet feels the corpse is getting warm;
He then return'd, and to the house he went,
The pensive mother waits the strange event.
Again the prophet to the chamber goes,
And on the corpse himself again he throws;
He still expects to bring the dead to life,
But finds a cope with death a stubborn strife.
Seven times at length the child was heard to sneeze,
Which set the prophet's anxious mind at ease;
He looks again, and sees the dead arise,
The sleeping corpse had open'd both his eyes,
The man of God beholds it with delight,
And bids his servant call the Shunamite;
With pregnant hope she to the chamber run,
The prophet points, and bids her take her son.
She sees the babe, and on the ground she fell; The triumphs gain'd by grace are hard to tell : Her unbelief must now again retreat;
Her soul's surrender'd at the prophet's feet.
She rises up, and to the infant goes,
Whose sad departure caused all her woes;
With joy and grief her tender bowels yearn,
While love to God begins afresh to burn.
Like one bewilder'd, or in pensive thought,
She takes the infant back the prophet brought;
With warm affections, and with thoughts devout,
She hugs the darling, and conveys him out.
Such souls as these the great Jehovah laud,
By such he spreads his wond'rous fame abroad;
While future saints, who in such paths have trod,
Admire the mystic ways that lead to God.
In this we see how each event agreed,
To lead the matron to the promis'd seed;
Both centric and eccentric wheels conspire,
And each in motion rais'd her faith the higher.
First God directs the prophet's wand'ring feet,
And she with him promiscuously shall meet;
Her mind's impell'd to entertain the man,
And this shall bring to light the mystic plan.
She must attend the prophet's words divine,
While God impress'd them on the woman's mind;
The prophet goes at his appointed hour,
But not the word, nor the impulsive pow'r.
She meditates to find his meaning out,
And wish'd a second visit brought about;
The ear of God attends to her complaint,
To strengthen faith, again he sends the saint.
By this encouragement she's led to pray,
And now believes he'll often come that way;
She builds a room to entertain the sire,
And aims to catch the prophet's glowing fire.
Like pious Jacob, with his peeled rod,
Stuck in the gutters where the flocks had trod,
While in a dream he sees the horned sire
Beget the spotted and the spangled hire.
So she contrives to fix this little trap,
And caught the lot of wisdom in her lap;
The prophet comes, approves her tender care,
Predicts and promises a blessing there.
He speaks the word, 'tis God's immortal seed, To help her faith her barren womb shall breed ; The time arrives, she brings the infant forth, By which she sees her Saviour's future birth.
In time she's led to see redemption's plan,
The way in which the Lord would ransom man ;
God smites the child, her growing faith to try,
While in the type faith sees her Saviour die.
In deep distress to Carmel she'll repair;
The wand'ring prophet is directed there;
His sympathetic soul must feel her grief,
While faith shall prompt to seek divine relief.
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