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History presents to us few more striking contrasts than the Hebrew pilgrim and the Egyptian king. "The things seen and temporal, and the things not seen and eternal," have seldom stood more fairly in front of each other than there. The old shepherd who had no possession on earth but a Divine promise — the king who wielded the sceptre of the most splendid monarchy in the world. But there was something in that old pilgrim which made him a meet companion for kings — a king, too, of an elder and mightier line. From the first dawn of civilization there were men moving about the pathways of that eastern world, playing indeed a chief part on its theatre, who had absolutely no right or power but that which their sense of a Divine vocation conferred upon them; and no means of influence, but such as the recognition of their spiritual calling by the princes among whom they lived, bestowed. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, were emphatically, God's prophets. They had nothing if they had not that seal. The whole secret of their power was the belief that the God of Heaven was with them; that they were the friends and living organs of that supreme and only Lord. These lofty and earnest shepherds seemed to step down from a superior sphere; and some of its lustre streamed round them as they moved on God's errands around the already darkening pathways of the world. Jacob stood before the Egyptian monarch as the embodiment of that which had faded into a dim tradition in Egypt; it belonged to the glorious golden age of which all peoples had memories, out of which they were beginning to weave for themselves dreams of a paradise restored. The chief prince of the world felt humbled before this lonely, lofty pilgrim; as the representative of a mightier than Pharaoh was troubled by the calm glances of a poorer, sadder, more godlike pilgrim, who stood for judgment helpless before his bar. Spiritual power is the supreme power, and none know it like monarchs of genius. "Don't talk to me against the divinity of Christ," said Napoleon; "I know what man can do, and He was more than man who has done all this." The men who, like Pharaoh, Nebuchadnezzar, Napoleon, stand on the very pinnacle of earthly greatness, are the men who are most perplexed and awe-struck by the sense that there is a power above them which sweeps through their armies as magnetism sweeps through mountains, and has an armoury of words more mighty infinitely than their spears and swords. Something of this spiritual grandeur invested this aged and weary pilgrim, and drew the likeness of a crown around his brow as he stood before the Egyptian king. Aged he was, and bowed, and sad, and weary. He halted, too, as one who had been sore wounded in the battle of life. There were furrows seamed on his brow, and channels worn in his cheeks, which were eloquent of tears and cares. The expression of high intellectual power on his brow must have been dimmed somewhat by the traces of that suffering which made him the "man of sorrows" of his time. There was a promise in his face which his life of schemes and snares, fears and flights, had half broken; and yet there was a look of faith and a glow of hope which seemed to carry on the promise, and to lay it up with God to preserve and to complete. A strange, bewildering man. So sad, so broken; so grand, so powerful. A prince having power with man and with God, and bearing it in his gesture; a man who had prevailed, sore buffeted, in the battle in which Pharaoh and all his people had gone down into the dust. And he stood there before the world's chief potentate, who knew no superior will upon earth to his own. There was a nobleness of a kind about Pharaoh also. The man who on such a throne had an eye for the dignity of such a pilgrim was no vulgar king. He was a man of far-reaching plans and high achievements; and as he sat there smooth, sleek, royally garbed and tended, at the height of human power and splendour, and gazed on the sad old man before him, a sense of something in the universe to which his mortal might was but as a marsh-fire to a star, stole over him, and he bowed beneath the blessing of a superior hand. And what now of the pilgrim, and what of the king? Where is the state and the splendour of the Pharaohs? Their cities are buried beneath the sands of the desert; the dust of time has settled on their names. Their temples, their palaces, their treasures, are ruins; their wrecks have mingled with the sands of the Lybian waste. Their tombs alone endure, sad sentinels of the desert; sole witnesses that men of such state and splendour once lived in Egypt, and covered its soil with the monuments of their power and pride. And the pilgrim? His name after four thousand years shines more brightly than ever on the roll of earth's most mighty and illustrious spirits. Ages have but confirmed the title which he won in that long and stern night-wrestle with the angel. His little company who dwelt round him in his tents grew rapidly into a nation, which has exercised in all ages a transcendent influence on the progress of the world. And to this day the noblest and most cultivated in Christendom pore earnestly over his history, and find in the way in which he won his princedom fresh inspirations of courage and of hope.

(J. B. Brown, B. A.)

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KJV: And Pharaoh said unto Jacob, How old art thou?

WEB: Pharaoh said to Jacob, "How many are the days of the years of your life?"