A battlefield is not a pleasant place for a walk, at least, not for half a century or so after the battle has been fought. But let us walk over this battlefield in Moab, across the Jordan, where the children of Israel took vengeance on the Midianites who had tempted them into licentiousness and sin. Here the slain lie in heaps, rows, piles, and avenues, hecatombs of the dead. Already the vultures and the jackals have come to the feast, for where the carcass is, there also will the eagles be gathered together.
But who is this lying dead here in this pyramid of fallen tribesmen and Bedouins, this man with the robes of divination all rent and torn, his gray hair clotted with blood, and his wild and sightless eyes staring heavenward? Balaam, is it thou? Art thou also among the slain? How earnest thou here, Balaam? Art thou not he who once uttered those great and eloquent words concerning the children of Israel and their destiny? Art thou not the man who said, "God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man, that he should repent" (Num. 23:19)? Art thou not he who said, "There shall come a star out of Jacob, and a Sceptre shall rise out of Israel"? Art thou not he who made the prayer, "Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!" And yet, here thou liest—dead, slain among the enemies of Israel! "Balaam, also the son of Beor they slew witH the sword."