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Let Me Die The Death Of The Righteous.

by Mary Ann H. T. Bigelow

By the river Euphrates the prophet abode,

To whom Balak his messengers sent,

Entreating his presence and curses on those

Who on Moab's destruction were bent.

By hundreds of thousands they're marching along,

And by Moses, God's servant, they're led;

The rock for their thirst, cooling water supplies,

And with bread from the skies are they fed.

They are felling the nations like trees on their way,

And their power there is none can resist;

"Come, curse me this people, oh! Balaam, I pray,

For he whom thou cursest is curst."

With rich bribes in their hands have these messengers come,

Both from Moab and Midian are they;

Desiring the Prophet with them would return,

And this without any delay.

But the men are requested to stop over night,

That the will of the Lord he may learn;

And then if by Him he's permitted to go,

He'll accompany them on their return.

Now when earth her dark mantle of night had put on,

And men's eyes in deep slumber were sealed;

In that solemn hour was the voice of God heard,

And his will to the Prophet revealed.

"Thou shalt not go with them!" distinctly was said,

"Nor to curse the Lord's people presume;"

So the Princes of Moab returned as they came,

And left Balaam reluctant at home.

Again unto Balaam were messages sent,

More in number, in rank higher still,

With the promise if Balak's request he would grant,

He may ask and receive what he will.

But Balaam declared that if Balak would give

Him his house full of silver and gold,

The word of the Lord he could not go beyond,

To do more or do less than he's told.

Still the bait was quite tempting, and Balaam was weak,

And wicked he certainly proved;

E'en the Ass that he rode, that man's conduct condemned,

Who the gains of unrighteousness loved.

In the country of Moab at length he arrives,

And King Balak hath met face to face,

Who requests that with him a high hill he'd ascend,

And the Israelites curse from that place.

Three times seven altars were raised to the Lord,

And three times was the sacrifice made;

But the curse was withheld, for whom God pronounced blest,

Even Balaam to curse was afraid.

Poor Balaam, thy case is a hard one indeed;

Like a house that's divided thou art;

Both thy Maker and Mammon thou gladly would'st serve,

But the former requires thy whole heart.

"Let me die the death of the righteous," say'st thou,

"And my last end like his let it be;"

But if like the righteous unwilling to live,

Never hope like the righteous to die.

March 24, 1853.

* * * * *

Though life is young, and spirits gay,

And hope thy fond heart cheers;

Though friends are kind, and health is firm,

And death far off appears,

Yet think not happiness like this,

Is destined long to last;

For ere to-morrow morn, perhaps,

Thy sky may be o'ercast.

Ah! let not pleasure blind thy eyes,

Or flattery lure thy heart;

But in the morning of thy life,

Secure the better part.

March 29, 1853.