I'll sigh sometimes to see thy face,
But since this cannot be,
I'll leave thee to the care of Him
Who cares for thee and me.
"I'll keep thee both beneath my wings" -
This comfort dear -
One wing o'er thee and one o'er me;
So we are near.
And tho' our paths be separate,
And thy way be not mine,
Yet coming to the mercy-seat,
My soul will meet with thine;
And "God keep watch 'tween thee and me,"
I'll whisper there;
He blesseth thee, he blesseth me,
And we are near.
If this place were Mizpah, then here Jephthah lived; and here,
when he went out to fight against the Ammonites, he made the vow
to sacrifice whatsoever should come forth out of the doors of his
house to meet him on his return from the battle, if the Lord would
only give him the victory. The battle was fought, and Jephthah
triumphed. The glad news reached his home; and out from his house
rushed his daughter, his only child, with timbrels and with
dances, to meet her hero-father, not knowing the nature of his vow
made on the eve of the battle. Her presence caused the brave
warrior to tremble with horror and rend his clothes when he
remembered his vow. The daughter was dismayed - instead of a smile
of joy from her father she read her doom in his blanched and
contorted face. And somewhere on these hills round about the voice
of wailing arose for two months from many maidens because Jephthah
must fulfill his rash vow by sacrificing his only child. But he
did unto her according to his word; and annually thereafter for a
period of four days these hills resounded with the voice of
weeping - the weeping of the maidens of Mizpah over the sad fate of
Jephthah's daughter. (Judges 11.)
Farther on we ascend a high ridge and then begin our descent into
the southern branch of the wady of Ajlun. After winding about for
some time among the rocks and brush in the dry bed of this wady we
finally halt at Ain Jenneh, a good, strong fountain issuing from
under a great rock. We are yet in the upper reaches of the wady
and near the present village of Ajlun. Here we lunch and rest an
hour.
Some authorities identify this region as the place where was the
"wood of Ephraim." That being true, it is the place where Absalom
lost his life. Certain it is, even to-day, that to leave the
little path that we are following would mean to become hopelessly
entangled in jungles of prickly oak and other growth. Even in the
path it is with difficulty that I keep my garments from being torn
from me.
If this be the location of the "wood of Ephraim," then here the
forces of Absalom under Amasa and the armies of David under Joab
fought in those trying days of David's exile. Only a few miles
away, at Mahanaim, David sent out his men, commanding that they
touch not the young man. Then he waited for the news of the
conflict. In the thickets of Gilead the first "battle of the
wilderness" was fought. It was a decisive engagement. Joab's
veterans of many wars were too strong for the rebel's army.
Absalom sought safety in flight, but in trying to ride hurriedly
through the wild tangle his head caught in the branches of a great
oak, and before he could extricate himself, Joab had found him and
thrust him through the heart; then Joab's ten armor-bearers
encompassed the unfortunate victim and finished the deadly work.
And then, though Absalom had reared for himself a beautiful
monument in the king's dale at Jerusalem, they took his body from
the tree and threw it into a pit near by and made a great heap of
stones over it. There was no weeping at the grave of Absalom.
With the death of Absalom the rebellion was at an end; but David's
heart was broken. He waited at the gate of the city, more
interested in the welfare of his son than in the success of his
army. Swift runners approach! In answer to his question, "Is the
young man safe?" he hears reply that pierces his heart like a
dagger. Up to his chamber over the gate the king slowly passed
weeping and bent with grief, and as he went he said, "O my son
Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! Would God I had died for thee, O
Absalom, my son, my son!"
A poet's conception of David's great grief on hearing of the death
of his son is portrayed in the following lines of N. P. Willis:
Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That Death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in thy clustering hair!
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb?
My proud boy, Absalom!
Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,
Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee,
And hear thy sweet "MY FATHER!" from these dumb
And cold lips, Absalom!
But death is on thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come
To meet me, Absalom!
