the wrecked life.
105
Was it God's mercy touched her secret woe,
And pitied it, and saved her? So she died. Alas!
Hast felt the thrilling and vibrating hush
When great resolves are born of words sublime
And promise of heroic deeds, struck out
From the warm depths of fiery beating hearts,
Till full the air with guardian angel wings?
Hast marked the strange, sweet, fluttering pause which comes
O'er night's fast-throbbing pulse—as if the stars,
All faint with adoration, lapsed in prayer?
So, with a darkness pregnant of the light—
A silence resonant of music—was
The sylvan spot she called her home;—its air
Was holy as a place of sanctuary—
Its empty chambers were instinct and rife
With influence from shining Presences,
Unseen, but felt with earnest, soothing power:
Her soul had loved it, and still lingered there!
And pitied it, and saved her? So she died. Alas!
Hast felt the thrilling and vibrating hush
When great resolves are born of words sublime
And promise of heroic deeds, struck out
From the warm depths of fiery beating hearts,
Till full the air with guardian angel wings?
Hast marked the strange, sweet, fluttering pause which comes
O'er night's fast-throbbing pulse—as if the stars,
All faint with adoration, lapsed in prayer?
So, with a darkness pregnant of the light—
A silence resonant of music—was
The sylvan spot she called her home;—its air
Was holy as a place of sanctuary—
Its empty chambers were instinct and rife
With influence from shining Presences,
Unseen, but felt with earnest, soothing power:
Her soul had loved it, and still lingered there!
