ffor trewe herty love now in this place,
My swete childe, com, kysse now me.

Holding him still in his arms the fond parent gives him good counsel, to
honour Almighty God, to 'be sett to serve oure Lord God above'. And
then, left alone for a while, Abraham, on his knees, thanks God for His
exceeding favour in sending him this comfort in his old age.

Ther may no man love bettyr his childe,
Than Isaac is lovyd of me;
Almyghty God, mercyful and mylde,
ffor my swete son I wurchyp the!
I thank the, Lord, with hert ful fre,
ffor this fayr frute thou hast me sent.
Now, gracyous God, wher so he be,
To save my sone evyr more be bent.

'To save my sone'--that is the petition of his full heart on the eve of
his trial. Almost at once the command comes, to kill the well-beloved as
an offering to his Giver. And Abraham bows low in heartbroken obedience.
Well may the child say, as he trots by the old man's side with a bundle
of faggots on his shoulder, and looks up wonderingly at the wrinkled
face drawn and blanched with anguish, 'ffayr fadyr, ye go ryght stylle;
I pray yow, fadyr, speke onto me.' At such a time a man does well to
bind his tongue with silence. Yet when at last the secret is confessed,
it finds the lad's spirit brave to meet his fate. Perhaps the writer had
read, not long before, of the steadfastness with which children met
persecution in the days of the Early Christian Church. For he gives us,
in Isaac, a boy ready to die if his father wills it so, happy to
strengthen that will by cheerful resignation if God's command is behind