Israel was as usual at war with the Philistines.  The army had pitched beside Eben-ezer, “And the Philistines put themselves in array against Israel:  and when they joined battle, Israel was smitten before the Philistines.”  Alarmed and distressed by this defeat, the Israelites vainly imagining that wherever the ark of God was, there He would be also with his favoring presence, sent up to Shiloh to bring from thence the sacred symbol.  With great pomp and solemnity it was borne by the Priests and Levites, and uproarious was the rejoicing as it entered the camp, but no account is given of the feelings of those who remained near the deserted tabernacle.  Did the aged Eli forbode that the awful event which should signal the fulfillment of prophetic woe against his family was about to befall?  Did the abused wife dream that she should behold no more her husband’s face?  We know not what of personal apprehension mingled with their trouble, but we do know that with trembling hearts these faithful servants of God awaited tidings of the ark of his covenant.  How portentous soever might be the cloud which hung over their own happiness, they deemed it of small importance in comparison with the honor of Jehovah.  The messenger came, but who shall portray the scene when he rendered his tidings!

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In a darkened chamber, whither death, clothed in unwonted horrors, has suddenly come for the fourth victim of that doomed family, lies the subject of our meditations, panting under his iron grasp.  The afflictions of her life are now consummated.  The husband of her youth, his follies and faults against her, now are forgotten in the bitter thought that he is dead, has gone unrepentant to the bar of God to give account of his priesthood—­her venerable father-in-law alone, with no friend to cheer his dying agonies, has also departed from earth—­her people are defeated in battle, and worse than all, the ark of God is fallen into the hands of the uncircumcised Philistines—­who doubtless glory as if Dagon had conquered the invincible Jehovah.  What to her are the pangs and throes under which her tortured body labors?  She heeds them not.  Pitying friends endeavor to rouse her from her dying lethargy, by the most glad tidings a Hebrew woman could learn, “Fear not; for thou hast borne a son!” But she answers not.  Shorter and shorter grows her breath—­nearer and nearer she approaches the eternal shore.  But she is a mother, and though every other tie is sundered, and she is dying of the wounds which the cruel breaking of those heart strings has caused, she feels one cord drawing her to her new-born child, and asks that he may be brought.  It is too much!  Why was he born?  No cheering thought comes with his presence.  Nor joy nor honor are in store for him.  Call him Ichabod, (without glory) she gasps with feeble accents, “for the glory is departed from Israel:  for the ark of God is taken.”  A moment more and her freed spirit is in His open presence, who she deemed was forever departed from her people.