 | Diana's Looking Glass and Other Poems by Charles D. Bell |  |
A BRAND FROM THE BURNING.
It was a close and stifling summer day,
The August sun blazed hot upon the street;
The little children were too tired to play,
And on the pavement was no sound of feet.
The August sun blazed hot upon the street;
The little children were too tired to play,
And on the pavement was no sound of feet.
I passed through many an alley, many a lane,
Until I reached a low half-opened door,
Whose panels bore the mark of blotch and stain,
And with foul words were smirched and scribbled o'er.
Until I reached a low half-opened door,
Whose panels bore the mark of blotch and stain,
And with foul words were smirched and scribbled o'er.
This was the house I sought. I entered in,
And climbed at once the narrow winding stair
Which led me to the dark abode of sin—
A dismal chamber, wretched, poor, and bare.
And climbed at once the narrow winding stair
Which led me to the dark abode of sin—
A dismal chamber, wretched, poor, and bare.
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With noiseless step I trod the darkened room,
And found myself beside a little bed;
There, in the silence of the sultry gloom,
Upon the pillow lay a fair young head.
And found myself beside a little bed;
There, in the silence of the sultry gloom,
Upon the pillow lay a fair young head.
Bright were the eyes, dilated, restless, wild,
And in their depths there burned the fever-bale;
In years she looked but little more than child;
Her cheek, save for one hectic spot, was pale.
And in their depths there burned the fever-bale;
In years she looked but little more than child;
Her cheek, save for one hectic spot, was pale.
A girl in years, but prematurely old,
Her haggard face showed signs of wasting pain—
Spake of a story sad as e'er was told,
A heart despairing and a wildered brain.
Her haggard face showed signs of wasting pain—
Spake of a story sad as e'er was told,
A heart despairing and a wildered brain.
And was this she whom in the bygone years
I well had known—a maiden good and pure—
Before her eyes were wet with many tears,
Or she been caught within a tempter's lure?
I well had known—a maiden good and pure—
Before her eyes were wet with many tears,
Or she been caught within a tempter's lure?
Her glance met mine; a sudden cry and shrill,
As from some hunted thing in deadly fear,
Rang through the room; then all again was still,
Though lingered yet the echo on the ear.
As from some hunted thing in deadly fear,
Rang through the room; then all again was still,
Though lingered yet the echo on the ear.
And then rose up the old familiar days—
The croft, the village, and the little stream,
Orchards in bloom, green lanes, and quiet ways—
These came before me as a waking dream.
The croft, the village, and the little stream,
Orchards in bloom, green lanes, and quiet ways—
These came before me as a waking dream.
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And Lilian—her parents' joy and pride,
Fairest in all the country, near or far,—
Had she crept here, her guilty shame to hide,
Lost in the darkness like a wandering star?
Fairest in all the country, near or far,—
Had she crept here, her guilty shame to hide,
Lost in the darkness like a wandering star?
Without a word I sat down by the bed,
As rapidly ran out life's failing sands;
I smoothed the pillow for her dying head,
And gently took in mine her burning hands.
As rapidly ran out life's failing sands;
I smoothed the pillow for her dying head,
And gently took in mine her burning hands.
For she had sinned; was lost to fame and name;
And leaving home, became a waif and stray;
Upon her brow was stamped the brand of shame—
She wandered forth at night and shunned the day.
And leaving home, became a waif and stray;
Upon her brow was stamped the brand of shame—
She wandered forth at night and shunned the day.
I knew her well; she was a neighbour's child;
We played together on the upland lea,
And chased the butterflies on commons wild,
And sang our songs beneath the spreading tree.
We played together on the upland lea,
And chased the butterflies on commons wild,
And sang our songs beneath the spreading tree.
And so my thoughts went wandering o'er the past,
Musing on all the sorrow and the sin,
“O God!” I cried, “how long is this to last!
When will the better, brighter time come in?”
Musing on all the sorrow and the sin,
“O God!” I cried, “how long is this to last!
When will the better, brighter time come in?”
Man! Come and see the work that thou hast done,
Matching thy strength against a woman weak;
Mark well the victory that thou hast won,
See it in haggard eye and hollow cheek.
Matching thy strength against a woman weak;
Mark well the victory that thou hast won,
See it in haggard eye and hollow cheek.
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Here in this soul God's image didst thou mar,
Betraying love, and innocence, and trust;
Leaving behind a stain, an unhealed scar;
Laying its glory even with the dust.
Betraying love, and innocence, and trust;
Leaving behind a stain, an unhealed scar;
Laying its glory even with the dust.
I turned, as low she moaned with labouring breath—
The death-sweat stood in drops upon her brow;
Her face was white and wan as ghastly death—
Horror and anguish held it fully now.
The death-sweat stood in drops upon her brow;
Her face was white and wan as ghastly death—
Horror and anguish held it fully now.
“Lost! Lost!” she cried, “Lost! Lost!” and sobbed and wept,
And wrung her faded hands, and raised her eyes;
A shudd'ring tremor o'er her slowly crept,
And shook her bosom with a storm of sighs.
And wrung her faded hands, and raised her eyes;
A shudd'ring tremor o'er her slowly crept,
And shook her bosom with a storm of sighs.
I spake low words of comfort and of hope;
Of One who on the Cross for sin sufficed,
Whose grace with all her guiltiness could cope,
And magnified the boundless love of Christ.
Of One who on the Cross for sin sufficed,
Whose grace with all her guiltiness could cope,
And magnified the boundless love of Christ.
Oh, never did a hopeless, drowning wretch,
Sinking beneath the overwhelming wave,
More eagerly a dying hand outstretch
To clutch the rope which grasped might fully save.
Sinking beneath the overwhelming wave,
More eagerly a dying hand outstretch
To clutch the rope which grasped might fully save.
Thus caught she at the tender loving word
I breathed with yearnings in her hungry ear;
Once and again she cried, “O Lord, good Lord!
Jesu, have mercy; a poor outcast hear!”
I breathed with yearnings in her hungry ear;
Once and again she cried, “O Lord, good Lord!
Jesu, have mercy; a poor outcast hear!”
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“And may I take,” she said, “such sweet relief,
And may I,—can I,—hope to be forgiven?”
I gently whispered of the dying thief
Who from a cross stepped up at once to heaven.
And may I,—can I,—hope to be forgiven?”
I gently whispered of the dying thief
Who from a cross stepped up at once to heaven.
“And such the matchless grace for thee,” I said,
“No need is there that even thou despair;”
At which she meekly bowed a lowly head,
While trembled on her lips an earnest prayer.
“No need is there that even thou despair;”
At which she meekly bowed a lowly head,
While trembled on her lips an earnest prayer.
A light came to her restless, fevered eye—
The flushed and troubled face at once grew calm;
Peace took the place of stormy agony,
And o'er the tortured spirit shed its balm.
The flushed and troubled face at once grew calm;
Peace took the place of stormy agony,
And o'er the tortured spirit shed its balm.
But still the rapid death-march beat apace,
Through every quivering pulse and through her blood;
I saw the shadows steal across her face,
As by her bed, in silent prayer, I stood.
Through every quivering pulse and through her blood;
I saw the shadows steal across her face,
As by her bed, in silent prayer, I stood.
I marked the coming change on cheek and brow,
I heard the moan, the catchings of the breath;
The bitter fight was being fought out now,
And to that room had come dread ruthless death.
I heard the moan, the catchings of the breath;
The bitter fight was being fought out now,
And to that room had come dread ruthless death.
A sudden start: a low but thrilling cry:
Upon the face a quivering gleam of light:
Methought I heard the sound quick rushing by
As of a liberated spirit's flight.
Upon the face a quivering gleam of light:
Methought I heard the sound quick rushing by
As of a liberated spirit's flight.
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Then all was still. A silence filled the room,
And ended was the long and painful strife;
Another soul had pass'd from out the gloom,
And through the gate of death had entered life.
And ended was the long and painful strife;
Another soul had pass'd from out the gloom,
And through the gate of death had entered life.
| Diana's Looking Glass and Other Poems by Charles D. Bell | |