Up in the hill country of Ephraim there lived a wise-hearted religious man, a farmer, raising stock, and grain; and fruit, too, likely.  He was earnest but not of the sort to rise above the habit of his time.  His farm was not far from Shiloh, the national place of worship, and he made yearly trips there with the family.  But the woman-degrading curse of Lamech was over his home.  He had two wives.  Hannah was the loved one. (No man ever yet gave his heart to two women.) She was a gentle-spoken, thoughtful woman, with a deep, earnest spirit.  But she had a disappointment which grew in intensity as it continued.  The desire of her heart had been withheld.  She was childless.

Though the thing is not mentioned the whole inference is that she prayed earnestly and persistently but to her surprise and deep disappointment the desired answer came not.  To make it worse her rival—­what a word, for the other one in the home with her—­her rival provoked her sore to make her fret.  And that thing went on year after year.  That teasing, nagging, picking of a small nature was her constant prod.  What an atmosphere for a home!  Is it any wonder that “she was in bitterness of soul” and “wept sore”?  Her husband tenderly tries to comfort her.  But her inner spirit remains chafed to the quick.  And all this goes on for years; the yearning, the praying, the failure of answer, the biting, bitter atmosphere,—­for years.  And she wonders why.

Why was it?  Step back and up a bit and get the broader view which the narrow limits of her surroundings, and shall I say, too, though not critically, of her spirit, shut out from her eyes.  Here is what she saw:  her fondest hope unrealized, long praying unanswered, a constant ferment at home.  Here is what she wanted:—­a son.  That is her horizon.  Beyond that her thought does not rise.

Here is what God saw:—­a nation—­no, much worse—­the nation, in which centred His great love-plan for winning His prodigal world, going to pieces.  The messenger to the prodigal was being slyly, subtly seduced by the prodigal.  The saviour-nation was being itself lost.  The plan so long and patiently fostered for saving a world was threatened with utter disaster.

Here is what He wanted—­a leader!  But there were no leaders.  And, worse yet, there were no men out of whom leaders might be made, no men of leader-size.  And worse yet there were no women of the sort to train and shape a man for leadership.  That is the lowest level to which a people ever gets, aye, ever can get.  God had to get a woman before He could get a man.  Hannah had in her the making of the woman He needed.  God honoured her by choosing her.  But she must be changed before she could be used.  And so there came those years of pruning, and sifting, and discipline.  Shall we spell that word discipline with a final g instead of e—­discipling, so the love of it may be plainer to our near-sightedness?  And out of those years and experiences there came a new woman.  A woman with vision broadened, with spirit mellowed, with strength seasoned, with will so sinewy supple as to yield to a higher will, to sacrifice the dearest personal pleasure for the world-wide purpose; willing that he who was her dearest treasure should be the nation’s first.