As when with the daring
Last look of despairing
Fixed on futurity.

Perishing gloomily,
Spurred by contumely,
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,

Into her rest.

Cross her hands humbly,
As if praying dumbly,
Over her breast!

Owning her weakness,

Her evil behavior,

And leaving, with meekness,

Her sins to her Saviour!

THE LADY'S DREAM.

THE lady lay in her bed,

Her couch so warm and soft,

But her sleep was restless and broken still;
For turning often and oft

From side to side, she muttered and moan'd
And toss'd her arms aloft.

At last she started up,

And gazed on the vacant air, With a look of awe, as if she saw

Some dreadful phantom there

And then in the pillow she buried her face
From visions ill to bear.

The very curtain shook,

Her terror was so extreme,

And the light that fell on the broidered quilt

Kept a tremulous gleam;

And her voice was hollow, and shook as she cried,

"Oh me! that awful dream!

"That weary, weary walk,

In the churchyard's dismal ground!

And those horrible things, with shady wings,

That came and flitted round,—

Death, death, and nothing but death,

In every sight and sound!

"And oh those maidens young,

Who wrought in that dreary room,

With figures drooping and spectres thin,
And cheeks without a bloom;—

And the voice that cried, 'For the pomp of pride
We haste to an early tomb!'

"For the pomp and pleasures of pride;

We toil like the African slaves,

And only to earn a home at last,
Where yonder cypress waves ;-
And then it pointed-I never saw
A ground so full of graves!

"And still the coffins came,

With their sorrowful trains and slow;

Coffin after coffin still,

A sad and sickening show;
From grief exempt, I never had dreamt
Of such a world of Wo!

"Of the hearts that daily break,
Of the tears that hourly fall,
Of the many, many troubles of life,
That grieve this earthly ball-
Disease, and Hunger, Pain, and Want,
But now I dream of them all!

"For the blind and the cripple were there,
And the babe that pined for bread,
And the houseless man, and the widow poor
Who begged-to bury the dead!

The naked, alas, that I might have clad,
The famished I might have fed!

"The sorrow I might have soothed,
And the unregarded tears;

For many a thronging shape was there,
From long forgotten years,

Ay, even the poor rejected Moor,
Who raised my childish fears!

"Each pleading look, that long ago
I scanned with a heedless eye;
Each face was gazing as plainly there,
As when I passed it by ;

Wo, wo for me if the past should be
Thus present when I die!

"No need of sulphurous lake, No need of fiery coal,

But only that crowd of human kind

Who wanted pity and dole

In everlasting retrospect―

Will wring my sinful soul!

Alas! I have walked through life
Too heedless where I trod ;

Nay, helping to trample my fellow worm,
And fill the burial sod-

Forgetting that even the sparrow falls
Not unmarked of God!

"I drank the richest draughts;

And ate whatever is good-
Fish, and flesh, and fowl, and fruit,
Supplied my hungry mood;

But I never remembered the wretched ones
That starve for want of food!

"I dressed as the noble dress,

In cloth of silver and gold,

With silk, and satin, and costly furs,
In many an ample fold;

But I never remembered the naked limbs
That froze with winter's cold.

"The wounds I might have healed! ·

The human sorrow and smart!