 | Women must weep |  |
BEAUTIFUL SOULS.
Are they phantoms? Do they live?
Have they grimly, gauntly burst
From the pangs that respite give,
Just a moment to the curst?
Do they move to earthly breath,
Sharers in the bubble show,
Stumbling through a dance of death,
Outcasts, to the gulfs below?
Have they grimly, gauntly burst
From the pangs that respite give,
Just a moment to the curst?
Do they move to earthly breath,
Sharers in the bubble show,
Stumbling through a dance of death,
Outcasts, to the gulfs below?
Twisted out of human shape,
Drawn as from a hellish plan,
Dark as devil, foul as ape—
Did they ever look like man?
Tortured into hideous form,
By the lusts that backward pull,
Tost as stubble in the storm—
Were they ever beautiful?
Drawn as from a hellish plan,
Dark as devil, foul as ape—
Did they ever look like man?
118
By the lusts that backward pull,
Tost as stubble in the storm—
Were they ever beautiful?
Strange the language, loud the cry
Struggling through their bitter state,
Torn as birds that fain would fly,
Helpless in the captive's fate;
Mortal hardly seems the voice,
Uttered for no mortal end,
Wrung from wretches with no choice
But to cry, though none attend.
Struggling through their bitter state,
Torn as birds that fain would fly,
Helpless in the captive's fate;
Mortal hardly seems the voice,
Uttered for no mortal end,
Wrung from wretches with no choice
But to cry, though none attend.
Baby creatures just in name,
Old in every vice and ill,
Born to shadow and to shame,
Reared to sin and suffer still;
Young in years, but hardened now,
Huddled low in slough and slime,
Branded sore in heart and brow,
Gray with unrepented crime.
Old in every vice and ill,
Born to shadow and to shame,
Reared to sin and suffer still;
Young in years, but hardened now,
Huddled low in slough and slime,
Branded sore in heart and brow,
Gray with unrepented crime.
Feet that tread the doomèd stair,
Depths beneath the blackest deep,
Hands that writhe in dumb despair,
Eyes that would, but cannot weep!
Homeless in the wind and wet,
Frozen, racked with secret pain,
Stricken helpless down, and yet
Staggering to their lusts again.
Depths beneath the blackest deep,
Hands that writhe in dumb despair,
Eyes that would, but cannot weep!
Homeless in the wind and wet,
Frozen, racked with secret pain,
Stricken helpless down, and yet
Staggering to their lusts again.
These are brothers—we are sent,
Just to loose the prisoning bands;
Christ has bled for such, and bent
Over each with loving hands.
Under all the murk and mire,
Leap the thoughts that upward pull;
Plucked if only through the fire,
Yet their souls are beautiful.
Just to loose the prisoning bands;
Christ has bled for such, and bent
Over each with loving hands.
Under all the murk and mire,
Leap the thoughts that upward pull;
Plucked if only through the fire,
Yet their souls are beautiful.
| Women must weep | |