THE FINDING OF MOSES. (Paul Delaroche.)
THE STORY OF MOSES.
Gently slumber'd on the wave
The new-born seer of old,
Ordained the chosen tribes to save;
Nor deem'd how darkly roll'd
The waters by his rushy bark,
Perchance e'en now defiled
With infant's blood for Israel's sake,
Blood of some priestly child.
What recks he of his mother's tears,
His sister's boding sigh?
The whispering reeds are all he hears,
And Nile, soft weltering nigh,
Sings him to sleep, but he will wake,
And o'er the haughty flood
Wave his stern rod; and lo! a lake,
A restless sea of blood!
Joseph had been dead now many, many years. Pharaoh too had died, and a new Pharaoh was on the throne.
And all these years the children of the twelve brothers had grown up and passed away. Many children had been born to them; and these too had grown up and passed away, leaving their children now in the land of Egypt.
The children of the twelve brothers had been called Israelites, because to Jacob had been given the name Israel. From out the clouds had God spoken to him and said, "Thou shalt henceforth be called Israel."
Now, the Israelites had always been a people apart from the Egyptians. They had kept the faith of their fathers in the midst of the idolatry of the land in which they lived.
The new Pharaoh hated these Israelites and made slaves of them. He gave them all manner of hard work to do; and at one time ordered them, on penalty of their lives, to make for him bricks without straw.