The Heavenly Power that with such dower
Of love fills a mother's heart,
Ardent and pure, that can all endure,
Of her life itself a part,
Knew too well that love beyond all price
To ask of _her_ such a sacrifice.

Though the noble boy with laughing joy
Had borne up the mountain road
The altar wood, which in mournful mood
His sire had helped to load,
Type of Him who dragged up Calvary,
The cross on which he was doomed to die.

The hot breath of noon began, full soon,
On his youthful frame to tell;
On the ivory brow, flushed, wearied now,
It laid its burning spell;
And listless--languid--he journeyed on,
The smiles from _his_ lips and bright eyes gone.

Once did he say, on their toilsome way,
"Father, no victim is near,"
But with heavy sigh and tear-dimmed eye,
In accents sad though clear,
Abraham answered: "The Lord, our guide,
A fitting sacrifice will provide."

The altar made and the fuel laid,