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504          ALICE B. NEAL.

PART II.

God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb.—Sterne.

Thank God, that yet I live.
In tender mercy, heeding not the prayer
I boldly uttered, in my first despair,
He would not rashly give
The punishment an erring spirit braved.
From sudden death, in kindness, I was saved.

It was a fearful thought
That this fair earth had not one pleasure left.
I was at once of sight and hope bereft.
My soul was not yet taught
To bow submissive to the sudden stroke;
Its crushing weight my heart had well-nigh broke.

Words are not that can tell
The horrid thought that burned upon my brain—
That came and went with madness still the same—
A black and icy spell
That froze my life-blood, stopped my fluttering breath,
Was laid upon me—even "life in death."

Long weary months crept by,
And I refused all comfort, turned aside
Wishing that in my weakness I had died.
I uttered no reply,
But without ceasing wept, and moaned, and prayed 
The hand of death no longer might be stay'd.

I shunned the gaze of all.
I knew that pity dwelt in every look.
Pity e'en then my proud heart could not brook,
Though darkness as a pall
Circled me round, each mournful eye I felt 
That for a moment on my features dwelt.

ALICE B. NEAL.         505

You, dearest mother, know
I shrank in sullenness from your caress.
Even your kisses added to distress,
For burning tears would flow
As you bent o'er me, whispering "be calm,
He who hath wounded holds for thee a balm."

He did not seem a friend.
I deem'd in wrath the sudden blow was sent
From a strong arm that never might relent.
That pain alone would end
With life, for, mother, then it seem'd to me
That long, and dreamless, would death's slumber be.

That blessed illness came.
My weaken'd pulse now bounded wild and strong,
While soon a raging fever burn'd along
My worn, exhausted frame.
And for the time all knowledge pass'd away,
It matter'd not that hidden was the day.

The odour of sweet flowers
Came stealing through the casement when I woke;
When the wild fever spell at last was broke.
And yet for many hours
I laid in dreamy stillness, till your tone
Call'd back the life that seem'd for ever flown.

You, mother, knelt in prayer.
While one dear hand was resting on my head,
With sobbing voice, how fervently you plead
For a strong heart, to bear
The parting which you feared—"Or, if she live,
Comfort, oh, Father! to the stricken give.

"Take from her wandering mind
The heavy load which it so long hath borne,
Which even unto death her frame hath worn.

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Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 10:15:02