embrace,
That we may look unblushing in his face
And call his fervent rays to their full test
Ere he shall draw the curtain in the west."

So said, so done; two altars were soon reared,
Both prophets, in full confidence appeared;
The offerings have been brought; and now they wait
Only the word; the King must give command.
Against gray Kohen, was the leveled fate
Of his unsolaced anger; yet, his hand
Was stayed by counsel, and he only said,
"Uri calls first, let every breath
Be hushed upon his calling. Let the dead
From out their cerements beneath
Bear witness with our spirits that we seek
"A true solution to the psalm of life.
Slay thou the offering, Uri, and then speak,
Speak the charmed word, and close the strife."

Uri comes forth and in one hand he brings
The talisman with leathern circlet stayed,
Enclosing surfaces convex; to this he clings
As though the whole earth in the balance laid,
Were mean in weight compared to such a gem.
The other holds a knife, and with a stroke
The offering is prepared; he looked at them,
The thirsting, hungry eyes that watch, then broke
The silence, turning full upon the sun:
"Thy will, most radiant god! thy will be done.
O shining face! of the unchanging one,
Look, in the pity thou alone canst feel
And lead us back to life, we claim thy pledge.
A nation, lifts to thee their centered prayer;
They see thy smile, they know thy heart of hearts.
They hush them here, upon their altar's brink,
For they can go no nearer; meet, thou, them,
And, as we look upon thy face, may we
Behold thy very presence in our midst;
Come as a flame, to lick this offering up,
And all our hearts shall melt into thy smile."

He raised the gem before the flaming sun;
The rays concentered, and the flames burst forth
As leaping to their master. 'Twas enough.
The multitude, in thought, became as one.
And all, save Kohen, sank upon their knees;
And whispers of relief, fell on the breeze.
They were as pliant clay in Uri's hands,
And hung upon the breath of his commands:
"Pour forth your homage, chosen of the sun,
Once more his warmth encloses; and we feel
Responsive throbbings of his fatherhood.
Rise and rejoice!" Their ready voices raise
From lips, new touched in unison of praise.

Old Kohen was confounded at the first.
He had not thought it possible, to bring
Fire from the sun, or any mortal thing;
No shadow of its secret on him burst;
But he had heard of sorcery and arts
Among the sons of Mizraim, and not long
Before the lion of his nature starts,
In cold defiance of the clamorous throng,
To slay his offering; and his lips poured out
The very thunder-throe of earnest prayer;
A fervency that would not harbor doubt,
That ever is a stranger to despair.
Long, earnest, loud and fervently, he prayed;
And his gray locks ensilvering the breeze,
Gave pathos, to the torrent thus unstayed;
Yet, not for self, did he the angel seize;
But wrestled for his people thus misled.
"Unscale their eyes, O Father!" so he pled.
"Unstop their ears, O thou, All Powerful One
That they may hear thy footfall on the wind.
Come in thy flame, and purge them with thy fire.
Strike off the fetters from their prisoned souls!
Make me an offering for their flagrant sins,
And I will bare my bosom to the knife,
And bend my neck in cheerfulness to thee,
So thou wilt save my people from the hand
Of this misguided witch of Mizraim!"
His prayer had hardly ceased, ere shot the flame,
From upper zenith, down, and in one glow,
Pierced the whole altar with impetuous claim,
And lapped the other with its overflow.
The crowd, transfixed with wonder at the scene,
Could hardly trust the witness of their eyes,
And held divided counsels, till the King
Quenching the current of their late surprise,
Poured his recruited anger on Kohen.

"Why longer parley, with a thing so plain?
Old Kohen had no warrant for this deed;
The palm was Uri's who did rightly gain
Fire from the sun, to him alone, we plead;
He drew it first, old Kohen must admit,
And he should paid due homage to our god;
And from what source did his become enlit?
"We serve no phantom, with its hidden nod,
But look upon the face of him we serve;
The sun has kept his fire for us these years,
And we, his children, never can deserve
His untold blessings; though our prayers and tears,
Should mingle with each altar that we raise
In all the future ages, still our debt
Will always be uncancelled by our praise
And all our past be covered with regret.
We want no juggling on this sacred day,
That gives us back the father, we had lost.
Bind old Kohen, and hasten him away,
He shall repay his treachery with cost.
To-morrow shall another altar grace
This precious grove, made sacred to the sun,
And Kohen shall be offered in this place,
To pay the sacrilege he had begun."

In thy own way our Father; we must wait
So many times, because we cannot see;
Yet thou alone canst bring us to the gate,
How slowly do we learn to trust in thee!
Yet, in withholding, are the blessings hid,
As frequent as in giving; all our prayers
If they result in doing but thy bid,
Will scatter diamond dust above our cares.
The gray old Prophet murmured: "Let God's will
Be done, and in abeyance I will bare my breast,
"I will not doubt him though indeed he kill,
His chosen way must surely be the best."

The morrow came and at the King's command
The multitude assembled, and the guard
Brought forth the Prophet, looking proudly grand
As some great warrior claiming his reward
Of beys and laurels, wreathed into a crown;
They rear the pile and he awaits his doom
Without a menace, and without a frown.
Then turning to the press: "I will assume
Your hearts are mine, my sons, I know it well;
Your eyes beheld the witness of our God,
And greatly were ye moved; but 'tis his will
That I should join my fathers in that land,
Where canker and corruption never comes,
The why, and wherefore of it, is his own;
I bow my head in thankfulness to him,
That he has deemed me worthy to exchange
A life of sorrow for a crown of love.

"Ye are the servants of an earthly King,
And God has suffered him to lead you off,
His will be done; but I must tell you now
Your future as I read it in the glass
Of my illumined death:
"I see the black
Of Mizraim, sweep the brown of Lud from off
The face of Egypt; and I also see
A wandering race, go northward, and to east;
I see a bitter