But thou wilt burst this transient sleep,
And thou wilt wake my babe to weep;
The tenant of a frail abode,
Thy tears must flow as mine have flowed:
And thou may'st live perchance to prove
The pang of unrequited love.

--_Byron_.

Ishmael lived. Poor, thin, pale, sick; sent too soon into the world;
deprived of all that could nurture healthy infant life; fed on
uncongenial food; exposed in that bleak hut to the piercing cold of that
severe winter; tended only by a poor old maid who honestly wished his
death as the best good that could happen to him--Ishmael lived.

One day it occurred to Hannah that he was created to live. This being
so, and Hannah being a good churchwoman, she thought she would have him
baptized. He had no legal name; but that was no reason why he should not
receive a Christian one. The cruel human law discarded him as nobody's
child; the merciful Christian law claimed him as one "of the kingdom of
Heaven." The human law denied him a name; the Christian law offered him
one.

The next time the pastor in going his charitable rounds among his poor
parishioners, called at the hut, the weaver mentioned the subject and
begged him to baptize the boy then and there.

But the reverend gentleman, who was a high churchman, replied:

"I will cheerfully administer the rites of baptism to the child; but you