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CHAPTER 1
Far east of ruined Palestine The year five hundred thirty-nine Was filled with hope. The western sun Set once for all on Babylon;
And Nabonidus fell before The Persian forces at the door Of Opis. Mighty Cyrus, king Of Persia, set his signet ring Upon the seal of victory,
And published in his first decree That Jews could now return to live Again in Jacob's land, and give Themselves to serve the living God.
But there were some who took the rod Of God's chastisement so to heart
That now their faith and hope would chart Another course: at least one clan Within the tribe of Benjamin,
The clan of Shimei, would stay In pagan Babylon and pray That now, and generations hence,
God might, in gracious providence,
Be pleased to use them for some great And saving work — to penetrate,
Perhaps, some curse beyond the bounds Of Israel, with joyful sounds Of sovereign love.
* * *
Some forty years Of hope and prayer and frequent tears Went by in Babylon. One night A million brilliant stars sang bright Against the sable Persian sky,
And called the agèd Shimei To climb the ancient cliffs beside The dark Euphrates, up the pride Of Borsippa. With Abihail His youngest son he took the trail That led to Nippur Ridge, and stood There with a woolen traveler's hood Hung halfway on his snowy head.
And facing to the east he said,
I had a dream, my son, that some Day what we've longed to see will come,
Not here, but even farther east,
And that for you and me, at least,
The promise that the Lord has planned Is not found in the Promised Land.
But I am old, and so the dream Is yours, my son. And if it seem Too slow, doubt not the faithfulness
Of God; one generation lives And dies to serve the next; he gives A glimpse to Moses 'cross the vale,
And me tonight. But, Abihail,
Tomorrow take your wife, though she Is great with child and frailty,
And set your face toward Susa where The king sits on his throne; and there Beyond the Tigris serve the Lord Of hosts, and wait until the cord Of providence is woven full.
Then God will set his heel, and pull The powers of the world into The service of his love for you,
And for his children scattered through The empire. Yes! Mark now, and do As I have said. God will provide For you, doubt not, and for your bride,
And for the child. Be strong, my son,
You will not be alone. The one
Who governs dreams, and gives Us everything we need, and lives On ev'ry inch of ground we tread,
Will be with you. You will be led;
And lest you feel alone, he spoke These words, 'My soul will not revoke The promise I have made. Go now,
My chosen, Abihail. My vow And pledge is this: that with you I Will send your nephew, Mordecai.'"
* * *
The pretty girl sat on the floor Beside the fire and said once more To Mordecai, "Abba, how did My mother die? You haven't hid Such things from me for all these years; And late at night I see the tears Roll down your cheek, and I must feel That it would help if we could kneel Before the Lord and bear this thing Together. You and I could sing,
Then, eye to eye about the ways Of God. And wouldn't those dark days Reveal the same God that you've taught Me these twelve years to trust? And ought I not to know then, Mordecai,
How both my parents came to die?"
The road from here to Babylon Is hard, Hadassah. It's not fun,
And even less if you're a Jew.
And we were three — or four, with you.
Three hundred miles of sweat and hate.
And you were big and three weeks late.
And no one gave us room. The heat Was indescribable. Her feet Were swollen, scarlet hot. He prayed,
Your father, Abihail, for shade.
That's all! Not for a house or nurse,
Or stream or birthing stool or purse To bribe the keepers of the inn.
Just shade! And just in time (we thought)
There was a myrtle tree. She fought,
But you were big and she was thin,
And there was blood, and we were men ...."
Did mother ever hold me — once?"
Yes, right away! And your response Was perfect peace. I wish that I Could tell you what she said, but my Heart moved me back as Abihail Knelt down to kiss your mother's pale And sweaty face and stroke your hair.
I couldn't hear what happened there,
And Abihail would never say
Too much. Just this: 'The myrtle was A gift of God. Jehovah does What he must do. But there was shade!
And we agreed, the girl is made To be a myrtle, comfort, shield.
And so together there we sealed Her name: Hadassah in the tongue Of Israel. May she be sung In festival for centuries To come.'
Alone and on his knees Your father dug her grave beneath The myrtle tree, and pushed the dirt In with his own strong hands. The hurt,
As you may guess, was deeper than The grave. We prayed and then we ran With you. God led us to a house,
And we besought the farmer's spouse
For mercy and a nurse. 'You're Jews,'
She said, 'Perhaps my man could use A few "employees" for a spell.
Whose kid is this?' 'She's mine, you tell Your husband I will work his farm If you can keep this child from harm.'
* * *
For two long years, Hadassah, we Were Jewish slaves, but you were free From harm, and grew up like a tree Beside the brook of loyalty —
The loyalty of God to his Design. He never doubted this,
Your father, Abihail, I mean.
The tree of hope stayed ever green That Shimei had planted in His heart. And neither pain nor sin Nor death could break the fibers of His mighty faith: that sovereign love
Would somehow take your mother's death,
His father's dream, your living breath,
And weave them with some loving lace Into a tapestry of grace.
I've never known a stronger man Than Abihail, your father."
Can You tell me, Abba, what became Of him? To me he's just a name.
But I would like to know him, see His face, his hope, especially The dream."
He worked himself so thin That when the fever came, his skin Hung on his bones like dough. I nursed Him to the end. He never cursed A soul, not one, alive or dead,
But near the end looked up and said,
'Could you please take me, Mordecai,
Down to the myrtle tree to die?'
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Esther"
by .
Copyright © 2012 Desiring God Foundation.
Excerpted by permission of Good News Publishers.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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