 | Poems |  |
“THOU SHALT NOT KILL.”
Alas, what hast thou done to me?
A shot had been more merciful;
A plunge in some deep silent pool
That let my life out peacefully.
Then had I slept 'neath wave or sod,
And my clean soul gone up to God.
A shot had been more merciful;
A plunge in some deep silent pool
That let my life out peacefully.
Then had I slept 'neath wave or sod,
And my clean soul gone up to God.
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Or had thy steel been bright and keen
To let the red blood have its way,
No more with throbbing pant or play,
To fill the founts of life unseen.
Or some sharp draught, that giveth rest
Forever to the weary breast.
To let the red blood have its way,
No more with throbbing pant or play,
To fill the founts of life unseen.
Or some sharp draught, that giveth rest
Forever to the weary breast.
Alas! thou hast done this to me:
Made black the sunshine and sweet air
With creeping doubt and hateful care,
Taught my poor eyes the dark to see,
Swept from my sight the true and just;
Turned all my faith to cold distrust.
Made black the sunshine and sweet air
With creeping doubt and hateful care,
Taught my poor eyes the dark to see,
Swept from my sight the true and just;
Turned all my faith to cold distrust.
To live without and die within,
The living flesh, the murdered heart:
Were death or this the better part—
For thee or me the deadlier sin?
When love itself no more believes,
But o'er its loving doubts and grieves.
The living flesh, the murdered heart:
Were death or this the better part—
For thee or me the deadlier sin?
When love itself no more believes,
But o'er its loving doubts and grieves.
I fear no mad assassin's hand;
The clay he crumbles to the grave,
Its mightier Maker's power shall save,
Again before His face to stand;
But ah! what fears beyond control
Haunt their dread steps who slay the soul.
The clay he crumbles to the grave,
Its mightier Maker's power shall save,
Again before His face to stand;
But ah! what fears beyond control
Haunt their dread steps who slay the soul.
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Yet go thy way, as I do mine.
No man shall hurt thee, here or there,
Still on thy forehead shalt thou wear
The fair protecting smile and sign:
For God reserves His right to thee,
And what has man to offer me?
No man shall hurt thee, here or there,
Still on thy forehead shalt thou wear
The fair protecting smile and sign:
For God reserves His right to thee,
And what has man to offer me?
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