A hush in the house of Levi’s line, A mother’s heart, a sacred sign. She saw her son, so fair, so bright, hid him from the cruel night.
Three months passed in whispered prayer, till danger pressed from everywhere. She wove a basket, sealed with tar, placed her hope beneath a star.
Among the reeds, the river wide, she laid her child, then stepped aside. His sister watched with steady grace, A guardian near that hidden place.
Then Pharaoh’s daughter came to bathe, saw the basket gently swayed. She opened it, his cry rang true, mercy stirred her heart anew.
“This child,” she said, “an Israelite,” Yet love eclipsed the law’s harsh bite. The sister spoke with wisdom bold, “Shall I find help, a nurse to hold?”
The mother came, her arms received the child she bore, the child she grieved. She nursed him, paid to guard his days, while heaven wrote his future ways.
When the boy grew strong and tall, she brought him to the palace hall. Pharaoh’s daughter named him so, “Moses,” drawn from depths below.
© Susan Ruth Robertson 630925196108/29/2025
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