 | 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition |  |
21
THE ELEVENTH HOUR.
It is O for the bridegroom and the bride,
And the bosoms that give suck,
For the swimmer on the ebbing tide,
And the Dives by the labourer's side,
Who has had the gambler's luck,
And would trample down the ruck;
It is O for the greedy coffers, wide
To devour the gold, and not divide
With the moiler in his muck,
Which to honest work has stuck;
There is nothing false that may abide;
The Eleventh hour has struck.
And the bosoms that give suck,
For the swimmer on the ebbing tide,
And the Dives by the labourer's side,
Who has had the gambler's luck,
And would trample down the ruck;
It is O for the greedy coffers, wide
To devour the gold, and not divide
With the moiler in his muck,
Which to honest work has stuck;
There is nothing false that may abide;
The Eleventh hour has struck.
It is O for the coward called a man,
With the treacherous oily tongue,
Who for just a moment's paltry span,
Has deflowered his God's most glorious plan,
And the heart that fondly clung
Unto him, in beauty young;
Who to evil curst so lightly ran,
Because he would never bear the ban,
That above his victim hung,
Like the hangman's necklace swung;
For he shall not end, as lust began;
The Eleventh Hour has rung.
With the treacherous oily tongue,
Who for just a moment's paltry span,
Has deflowered his God's most glorious plan,
And the heart that fondly clung
Unto him, in beauty young;
Who to evil curst so lightly ran,
Because he would never bear the ban,
That above his victim hung,
Like the hangman's necklace swung;
For he shall not end, as lust began;
The Eleventh Hour has rung.
It is O for the sister pinched and poor,
From whom fortune long has fled,
Since she oped for one her humble door
To the promise, which the basest boor
Would have honoured, if she pled—
Though to death alone it led;
It is O for the hunted in the moor,
When the hound is hard upon the spoor,
And the earth bestows no bed,
While the threatening skies are red;
For the Judge's feet now shake the floor;
The Eleventh Hour has sped.
From whom fortune long has fled,
Since she oped for one her humble door
To the promise, which the basest boor
Would have honoured, if she pled—
Though to death alone it led;
It is O for the hunted in the moor,
When the hound is hard upon the spoor,
And the earth bestows no bed,
While the threatening skies are red;
For the Judge's feet now shake the floor;
The Eleventh Hour has sped.
It is O for the trustful woman, stayed
On a hope that idly swelled,
Who has lived her little hour, and played
With the flowers that hid the doom delayed,
By the waves that laughing welled,
And her coy misgivings quelled;
It is O for her in grief arrayed,
Who believed and only was betrayed,
By the friend who with her dwelled—
Though the Axe has thousands felled;
For the tree is barren and decayed;
The Eleventh Hour has knelled.
On a hope that idly swelled,
Who has lived her little hour, and played
With the flowers that hid the doom delayed,
By the waves that laughing welled,
And her coy misgivings quelled;
It is O for her in grief arrayed,
Who believed and only was betrayed,
By the friend who with her dwelled—
Though the Axe has thousands felled;
For the tree is barren and decayed;
The Eleventh Hour has knelled.
| 'Twixt Kiss and Lip or Under the Sword. By the author of "Women Must Weep," [i.e. F. W. O. Ward] Third edition | |