THE Plain of Moab, east of the Jordan, is, in character of soil and state of cultivation, very much like the Jericho plain described in the last chapter. The Plain of Moab is bounded on the east, as before stated, by a wall of rock which lifts itself up at some places almost perpendicularly, several hundred feet above the valley. From the top of this mountain ridge there stretches far away toward the east, a broad, elevated table-land, sloping gently as it recedes. This table-land is traversed here and there by deep wadys and narrow ravines, most of which have a general westwardly, direction, and empty their waters into the Jordan and Dead Sea. This goodly land of Moab is about fifty miles long by twenty broad, and this rolling plateau, though 3,200 feet above the sea level, is remarkably rich and well watered. The country only needs a wise head and an energetic hand to make these plains once more blossom as the rose.

In order to enter the promised land, it was necessary for the Israelites to pass through this delightful region of country. Accordingly Moses “sent messengers unto Sihon, King of the Amorites, saying, Let me pass through thy land: we will not turn into the fields, or into the vineyards; we will not drink of the waters of the well: but we will go along by the king’s highway, until we be past thy borders.” A reasonable request this; but instead of granting it, “Sihon gathered all his people together” and went out to fight against Israel; went out to meet Moses and—death! Having routed the foe and possessed the land, Israel marched into Heshbon, the imperial city. Heshbon, now called Hasban, is situated among the hills of Moab, a little to the north, and about eight miles to the east, of the Dead Sea. The ancient city, as the present ruins clearly show, was situated on two high hills some distance apart, east and west from each other, and on the saddle connecting the two.

The inhabitants of this fair land ought to be gentlemen living like kings and princes. But instead of that they are separate, independent, and lawless clans or tribes of Arabs who live now, as in ancient times, not altogether, but chiefly, on plunder and the spoils of war. These clans east of the Jordan are now, and have always been, a curse to Palestine. Frequently at night they swoop down like eagles upon the inhabitants west of the river, rob them of their grain, and drive away their camels, their flocks and herds. This practice frequently becomes so common that the government is forced to protect the people by keeping an armed body of soldiers along the river.

Lest the reader should think me unduly prejudiced against these sons of the desert, I here introduce a quotation from the “Desert of the Exodus.” Be it remembered that this splendid work was written by Prof. E. H. Palmer, a member of the faculty of Cambridge University, England. Perhaps no man has lived during the present generation who knew more than he about Arab life and character. The fact that Prof. Palmer was afterwards brutally murdered by these people shows that his estimate of their character was correct and just. He says: “Robbery is not regarded by the Bedawin as in the least a disgraceful thing, but ‘a man taketh his sword, and goeth his way to rob and steal’ (Esdras IV., 23), with a profound feeling of conscious rectitude and respectability. Several plans have been tried, from time to time, to make him a respectable member of society, but have signally failed; missionaries have gone to him, and, so long as they could supply him with tobacco and keep open tent for all comers, have found him sufficiently tractable. But they have made absolutely no impression upon him, after all. Indeed, the state of desert society has but little changed since the messenger came in to the tent of Job, and said: ‘The Chaldeans made out three bands, and fell upon the camels, and have carried them away, yea, and slain the servants with the edge of the sword’” (Job I., 17).

“Agriculture might be made a means of improving the condition of the Arabs; indeed, the only other method of attaining this end would be to civilize them off the face of the earth altogether. By Arab I mean the Bedawi, the typical son of Ishmael, ‘whose hand is against every man,’ and who is as much hated and feared in the towns and villages of Central Arabia as in Palestine. Wherever he goes, he brings with him ruin, violence, and neglect. To call him a ‘son of the desert’ is a misnomer; half the desert owes its existence to him, and many a fertile plain from which he has driven its useful and industrious inhabitants becomes in his hands, like the ‘South Country,’ a parched and barren wilderness. He has a constitutional dislike to work, and is entirely unscrupulous as to the means he employs to live without it; these qualities (which also adorn and make the thief and burglar of civilization) he mistakes for evidences of thorough breeding, and prides himself accordingly upon being one of Nature’s gentlemen.” (pp. 240, 241, 243).

There are so many dens and caves and strongholds in the mountains of Moab that it would be next to impossible for the government to rid herself of these Arab clans. I am told that now, and for many years past, the most powerful of all these lawless tribes is the one called Beni Sukrh, whose head quarters are the famous city and fortress of Kerak. This stronghold is situated on the banks and near the mouth of the river Arnon, which empties into the Dead Sea on the west side, and about fifteen miles from its north end. This clan some years ago captured Canon Tristram and party, and exacted from them a large sum of money as a ransom. In his “Land of Moab” Tristram has given a peculiarly striking description of the fortress Kerak, in which he, himself, was prisoner. It is built on an isolated rock which rises high in the air, and whose level summit is surrounded on all sides but the eastern by chasms from 800 to 1,000 feet deep, and 100 feet wide, with perpendicular sides. A well-built wall surrounds the brow of the precipice on all sides, and the only two places of entrance are through arches tunneled in the solid rock from the side of the precipice to the level within. These narrow and well-guarded entrances are approached by rock-hewn paths, barely wide enough for men or asses to walk on in single file. This is one of the most impregnable strongholds on earth. Gibraltar is not to be compared with it. In this citadel one could safely say:

“I will not be afraid of death and bane
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.”

This is the Kir-Hareseth of Scripture, and here it was that Mesha, King of Moab, took refuge after his army was destroyed by the combined forces of Israel, Judah, and Edom. These three kings cut Mesha’s army to pieces, but they knew it was folly to besiege his castle. Coming to this, they gave up in despair and went home. After their departure, Mesha, filled with gratitude for the safety that this fortress afforded him, “took his eldest son, that should have reigned in his stead, and offered him for a burnt offering upon the wall.”

Probably it would be well in this connection to mention a celebrated stone that I saw in a museum in Paris. Do you ask, “Why introduce that stone here?” Because this is the proper place to introduce it. It is the famous Moabite Stone that was found among the ruins of Dhiban not many miles from this place. Dhiban (the Dibon of Scripture), situated on two hills, is now only a ruined village, although the numerous traces of buildings existing in the community indicate that it was once a flourishing town. In 1868 Rev. F. A. Klein, a missionary of the English church, while digging amid the rubbish of Dhiban, made the fortunate discovery. This basaltic rock, two by three feet in size, with one side covered by a Moabite inscription, has a strange history and tells a wonderful tale.

When the stone was discovered a great ado was made over it. The Prussian government sought and obtained permission to remove it. The Bedouin tribe in whose territory it was found was offered an enormous sum of money to part with it. Indeed, the amount offered was so great that the Arabs thought the stone must be of untold value. The news spread. Another tribe near by, hearing of the new-found stone and the great price offered for it, marched over and claimed it as their own. As about the “Slave Stone,” a quarrel and a war ensued between the tribes, during which many men were slaughtered on both sides. The Stone was broken, but afterwards the pieces were put together, and the inscription was translated.

“The inscription,” says Prof. Palmer, “commemorates the reign of a certain Mesha, King of Moab, and records the triumphs obtained by him over Israel in the course of a long and sanguinary struggle. It begins by setting forth his name and titles, and briefly recounts his successful effort to throw off the yoke of the King of Israel; then follows a list of bloody battles fought, of towns wrested from the enemy, and of spoil and captives fallen into his hands. For these conquests he returns solemn thanks to Chemosh, his god—‘the abomination of Moab’—and glories with a religious fervor, that sounds strangely to our ears, in having despoiled the sanctuary of Jehovah.”

The inscription concludes by setting forth the names of towns rebuilt or fortified by the Moabite king, of altars raised to Chemosh, of wells and cisterns dug, and other peaceful work accomplished. This portion of the record is a most valuable addition to our knowledge of sacred geography; for the names, as given on the Moabite Stone, engraved by one who knew them in his daily life, are, in nearly every case, absolutely identical with those found in the Bible itself and testify to the wonderful integrity with which the Scriptures have been preserved. So far we have the history of King Mesha’s rebellion from his own Moabite point of view, and so far we read of nothing but his success; but, if we turn to 2 Kings III: 5-27, we may look upon the other side of the picture. In that passage we have a concise but vivid account of the rebellion and temporary successes against Israel of this same monarch. There we learn how the allied kings of Israel, Judah and Edom, went against the rebellious prince; how they marched by way of Edom, that is, round by the southern end of the Dead Sea; how they devastated the land of Moab, and drove their foeman to take refuge in his fortress of Kir-Haraseth, in Wady Kerak. The passage referred to above speaks of the author of the Dhiban inscription in the following terms:

“And Mesha, King of Moab, was a sheep-master, and rendered unto the King of Israel an hundred thousand lambs and an hundred thousand rams with wool.” (2 Kings III: 4). Here, again, the Bible receives fresh confirmation from geographical facts; Moab, with its extensive grass-covered uplands, is even now an essentially sheepbreeding country, although the “fenced cities and folds for sheep,” of which mention is made in the Book of Numbers (XXXII: 36), are all in ruins. But in its palmier days, when those rich pastures were covered with flocks, no more appropriate title could have been given to the king of such a country than that he “was a sheep-master.”

In this same mountainous region, about six miles north of Kerak, near the head of a deep wady which empties into the Dead Sea, is situated Machaerus, where the head-man’s ax ended the earthly life of John the Baptist, the forerunner of Christ. Machaerus, like Kerak, is a natural fortress—one of Nature’s strongholds. Josephus describes it as follows: “The nature of the place was very capable of affording the surest hopes of safety to those that possessed it, as well as delay and fear to those that should attack it; for what was walled in was itself a very rocky hill, elevated to a very great height, which circumstance alone made it very hard to be subdued. It was also so contrived by nature that it could not be easily ascended; for it is, as it were, ditched about with such valleys on all sides, and to such a depth, that the eye can not reach their bottoms, and such as are not easily to be passed over, and even such as it is impossible to fill up with earth. For that valley which cuts it on the west extends to three score furlongs; on the same side it was also that Machaerus had the tallest top of its hill elevated above the rest. But then for the valleys that lay on the north and south sides, although they be not so large as that already described, yet it is in like manner an impracticable thing to think of getting over them; and for the valley that lies on the east side, its depth is found to be no less than a hundred cubits. It extends as far as a mountain that lies over against Machaerus, with which it is bounded. Herod built a wall round on top of the hill, and erected towers at the corners a hundred and sixty cubits high; in the middle of which place he built a palace, after a magnificent manner, wherein were large and beautiful edifices. He also made a great many reservoirs for the reception of water, that there might be plenty of it ready for all uses” (Wars VI: 1-2).

Inside of this impregnable fortress, the traveler of to-day finds two prison chambers cut in the solid rock. These rock-hewn dungeons once echoed the tread, and resounded with the songs and prayers, of that strong-charactered and iron-willed man of God who came to prepare the way of the Lord—to make His paths straight! It makes one shudder to stand here amidst the solemn grandeur of these storm-beaten rocks, and contemplate the tragic history of this great man. A great man? Yes. It was John the Baptist who first had the courage to stand before his fellow-countrymen, and, looking them squarely in the face, say: “Repent ye; for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” With stentorian voice he cried: “O, generation of vipers;” “the ax is laid at the root of the tree;” “God is able of these stones to raise up children unto Abraham.” “He that cometh after me shall baptize you with fire, He will thoroughly purge His floor and will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.” It was John the Baptist who buried Christ the Lord in yonder rolling river. It was John the Baptist who pointed to Him and said: “Behold, the Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the world.”

I thank God for the life and character of John the Baptist who, after all the honors heaped upon him, could say, I am nobody—I am simply the voice of One crying in the wilderness. He that cometh after me is mightier than I, whose shoes I am not worthy to bear. He must increase but I must decrease. Yes, John said that he was nobody—that he was only a voice, and yet Jesus says: “Among those born of women there hath not arisen a greater than John the Baptist.” Oh, to be nobody! Oh, to be only the voice of Jesus, calling men unto righteousness, and warning them to flee the wrath to come! Oh, that the writer and the reader of this chapter may “rise upon the stepping-stones of their dead selves to higher things!” O, God, graciously grant, I pray thee, that both writer and reader may realize that the magnitude of any life is to be determined by the distance of self from the centre!

In the same chasm with Machaerus, and not far away, there is a group of ten hot springs bursting forth from the side of the wady one hundred feet or more from its rocky bed. Although in close proximity to each other these springs vary in temperature from 130 to 142 degrees. According to Josephus, some of these fountains are bitter and others sweet. The waters are said to possess great medicinal properties and healing virtues. The maimed, the halt, and the blind resort hither in search of health. While living at Jericho, just before his death, Herod the Great, according to Josephus, came to these springs hoping to drown his disease. But the wicked, adulterous, murderous Herod was not so sick, I trow,

“As he was troubled with thick-coming fancies
That kept him from his rest.”

Herod was a murderer; and wash his guilt away he never could. He might wash, and wash and wash, and cry: “Out, out damned spot!” But there was the “smell of blood still.” He might have said as Macbeth afterwards did:

“Will all great Neptune’s ocean wash this blood
Clean from my hand? No; this my hand will rather
The multitudinous seas incarnadine,
Making the green one red.”

North of Machaerus, and not far from Heshbon, is Mt. Nebo from which Moses viewed the land of promise, and upon which, also, he breathed his last. This peak, as one would naturally suppose, commands a fine view of the surrounding country. For twenty miles to the south and southeast, one’s eyes sweep over an elevated table-land of unusual richness and beauty. The range of vision toward the rising sun extends to where the blue sky and the sandy desert meet. Looking westward one sees the valley of the Jordan, and traces the wanderings of the river from the Sea of Galilee to the Dead Sea. Beyond the Jordan is the land of “milk and honey” that Moses was never allowed to enter. Moses came up hither from the plain of Moab, and the Lord showed him the country and said unto him, “This is the land which I sware unto Abraham, unto Isaac, and unto Jacob saying, I will give it unto thy seed: I have caused thee to see it with thine eyes, but thou shalt not go over thither. So Moses the servant of the Lord died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the Lord. And he buried him in a valley in the land of Moab, over against Beth-peor: but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this day. And Moses was an hundred and twenty years old when he died: his eye was not dim, nor his natural force abated.”

As the reader sits in his swinging hammock beneath the wide-spreading branches of some great oak and pronounces these words to a listening friend, they may sound light and trifling. But if he could stand here where I am, and lift his eyes from the sacred page and let them fall at once upon the surrounding hills and valleys, methinks these words would then each weigh a pound. I have never studied the life of any mortal man with the same degree of interest that I now study the life and character of Moses. Probably it is all the more enjoyable because I have been down in Egypt where Moses was born. I have been sailing up and down the Nile where Moses once floated in the ark of bulrushes. As I sat in a boat on the broad bosom of that majestic river, and looked out upon its banks, I half-way imagined that I could see Moses’s mother weaving the ark. Reader, would you know how that ark was made? Well, it was on this wise. Moses’s mother took a bulrush, and a prayer, and faith, and a tear, and plaited them together. Then more faith, and tears, and bulrushes, and prayers, and plaited them together. When a mother has thus woven an ark, she can trustingly launch her babe upon any waters! And I am persuaded that if we, in our Christian work, would use more faith and tears and prayers and less bulrushes, it would be far better for our Redeemer’s Kingdom.

I repeat that I have been in Egypt where Moses was born; on the Nile where he floated; to Pharaoh’s court where he was educated; I have been out on the desert where Moses killed an Egyptian because he imposed upon a Hebrew. I then climbed to the top of the regal pyramid, and looked out over the land of Goshen where Israel served four hundred years in bondage. I followed Moses down to the Red Sea where he led Israel across. I looked up to the frowning brow of Sinai where Moses met God face to face, and talked with him as man to man; where he reached up and received from the hand of God the tables of stone on which were written the Ten Commandments.

After following Moses around in the wilderness to some extent, I have come now to where his eyes were closed in death. The inhabitants of this country have no written history, but they know a great deal traditionally about the life and character of Moses. Many weird stories and beautiful legends concerning him have been handed down from generation to generation, and are as fresh in the minds of the people to-day as if he had died within the recollection of some now living. Frequently in these stories Scripture history and legendary lore are beautifully interwoven. For instance, the people here say that Moses with three million Jews had camped on the plain of Moab. And God said unto him, “Moses, get thee up into yonder mountain, and I will show thee from thence the land of promise.” When God spake Moses obeyed—he started at once. Standing high upon the mountain side he looked back upon the tabernacle and the tents of Israel. The people followed him with their prayers and blessings. He paused, looked back at his brethren, and waved them a last adieu, as if to say,

“Fare thee well, and if forever,
Still forever fare thee well.”

Then with his face turned toward the mountain top, and his heart lifted to heaven, he continued his onward, upward journey, climbing higher and higher, until after a while there was nothing at all above him save eagles, and stars, and God. Away up here above the earth Moses saw two men—two angels in the form of men, and said unto them, “Brethren, what are you doing?” “We are digging a grave, sir.” “For whom are you digging the grave?” “We know not for whom it is. God told us to dig it, and we are simply doing His bidding. And, Moses,” they continue, “the man for whom we are digging this grave is the best creature in all the earth—God loves him well. He is just about your size, and, Moses, we do not know whether this grave is long enough and deep enough. Will you please lie down here and measure it for us?” Moses responded, “Yea, brethren, if you request it.” “We do request it.” So Moses lay down to measure the grave for them, and they stooped over and kissed him to sleep, and Moses was dead.

These people have other legends about Moses as pathetic and beautiful as the one just given. But we have seen enough to know that

“By Nebo’s lonely mountain,

On this side Jordan’s wave,

In a vale in the land of Moab,

There lies a lonely grave.

And no man dug that sepulchre,

And no man saw it e’er;

For the Angels of God upturned the sod,

And laid the dead man there.

“That was the grandest funeral

That ever passed on earth;

But no man heard the trampling,

Or saw the train go forth.

Noiselessly as the daylight

Comes when the night is done,

And the crimson streak on ocean’s cheek

Grows into the great sun—

“Noiselessly as the spring-time

Her crown of verdure weaves,

And all the trees on all the hills

Open their thousand leaves—

So, without sound of music,

Or voice of them that wept,

Silently down from the mountain crown

The great procession swept.

“This was the bravest warrior

That ever buckled sword;

This the most gifted poet

That ever breathed a word;

And never earth’s philosopher

Traced, with his golden pen,

On the deathless page, truths half so sage,

As he wrote down for men.

“And had he not high honor?

The hillside for his pall;

To lie in state while angels wait

With stars for tapers tall;

And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,

Over his bier to wave;

And God’s own hand, in that lonely land,

To lay him in the grave.

“In that deep grave, without a name,

Whence uncoffined clay

Shall break again—most wondrous thought—

Before the Judgment-day,

And stand with glory wrapped around

On the hills he never trod,

And speak of the strife that won our life

With the Incarnate Son of God.

“Oh, lonely tomb in Moab’s land,

Oh, dark Beth-peor’s hill,

Speak to these curious hearts of ours,

And teach them to be still.

God hath his mysteries of grace—

Ways we can not tell;

He hides them deep, like the secret sleep

Of him he loved so well.”

If we would learn a lesson from the life and character of this great man, let it be this: In all things we are to obey God, both in the spirit and the letter of the law, remembering that for one disobedience Moses was not allowed to enter the promised land.