Women must weep By Prof. F. Harald Williams [i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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THE ANGEL IN THE STONE. |
 | Women must weep |  |
THE ANGEL IN THE STONE.
Rugged, rude, the marble lay,
Foul, neglected, dark, and lone,
Little light upon it shone,
Though all round was glorious day;
Went the world about its way,
Mix'd with flower and bleaching bone,
Festive trump and funeral tone,
Hands upheld to kill and pray;
Now and then a fitful ray,
Caught it like a virgin zone,
While beneath the miry clay,
Slept an angel in the stone.
Foul, neglected, dark, and lone,
Little light upon it shone,
Though all round was glorious day;
Went the world about its way,
Mix'd with flower and bleaching bone,
Festive trump and funeral tone,
Hands upheld to kill and pray;
Now and then a fitful ray,
Caught it like a virgin zone,
While beneath the miry clay,
Slept an angel in the stone.
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Comes the heavenly master, strong,
Wise to see through beggar's clout,
Hear above the ribald shout;
Glimpses of redeemèd wrong,
Echoes of eternal song,
Triumph in the vanquish'd rout;
Marks through mocking filth and flout,
Binding as a captive thong,
Grace unearthly treasured long,
Wings that flutter, lips that pout,
And though fairer forms among,
Lets the prison'd angel out.
Wise to see through beggar's clout,
Hear above the ribald shout;
Glimpses of redeemèd wrong,
Echoes of eternal song,
Triumph in the vanquish'd rout;
Marks through mocking filth and flout,
Binding as a captive thong,
Grace unearthly treasured long,
Wings that flutter, lips that pout,
And though fairer forms among,
Lets the prison'd angel out.
Well he work'd, because he drew
Vision from beyond the bars
Mortal, and those muddy jars,
That on others bondage threw;
Vainly tempests on him blew,
Scorn that blocks the conquering cars,
Viler praise that only mars,
As his labours loftier grew;
For the secret tale he knew,
And below the hateful scars,
He of those bright angel few,
Saw the angel and the stars.
Vision from beyond the bars
Mortal, and those muddy jars,
That on others bondage threw;
Vainly tempests on him blew,
Scorn that blocks the conquering cars,
Viler praise that only mars,
As his labours loftier grew;
For the secret tale he knew,
And below the hateful scars,
He of those bright angel few,
Saw the angel and the stars.
Stony many a bosom lies
Lost, a hopeless wreck, as erst
Grovell'd man in Nature curst,
Groping under veilèd skies;
Yet the spirit dimly tries,
Truly, wildly, at its worst,
From its dungeon-tomb to burst,
Though from frequent aid it flies;
Ah! it mutely, sadly cries
For the founts that quench the thirst
Would we help the angel rise,
Then must we be angels first.
Lost, a hopeless wreck, as erst
Grovell'd man in Nature curst,
Groping under veilèd skies;
Yet the spirit dimly tries,
Truly, wildly, at its worst,
From its dungeon-tomb to burst,
Though from frequent aid it flies;
Ah! it mutely, sadly cries
For the founts that quench the thirst
Would we help the angel rise,
Then must we be angels first.
| Women must weep | |