 | Poems |  |
FAITHFUL.
A long, bare ward in the hospital;
A dying girl in the narrow bed;
A nurse, whose footsteps lightly fall,
Soothing softly that restless head.
A dying girl in the narrow bed;
A nurse, whose footsteps lightly fall,
Soothing softly that restless head.
Slain by the man she learned to love,
Beaten, murdered, and flung away;
None beheld it but God above,
And she who bore it. And there she lay.
Beaten, murdered, and flung away;
None beheld it but God above,
And she who bore it. And there she lay.
237
“A little drink of water, dear?”
Slowly the white lips gasp and sip.
“Let me turn you over, so you can hear,
While I let the ice on your temple drip.”
Slowly the white lips gasp and sip.
“Let me turn you over, so you can hear,
While I let the ice on your temple drip.”
A look of terror disturbs her face;
Firm and silent those pale lips close;
A stranger stands in the nurse's place:
“Tell us who hurt you, for no one knows.”
Firm and silent those pale lips close;
A stranger stands in the nurse's place:
“Tell us who hurt you, for no one knows.”
A glitter of joy is in her eye.
Faintly she whispers: “Nobody did.”
And one tear christens the loving lie
From the heart in that wounded bosom hid.
Faintly she whispers: “Nobody did.”
And one tear christens the loving lie
From the heart in that wounded bosom hid.
“Nobody did it!” she says again.
“Nobody hurt me!” Her eyes grow dim;
But, in that spasm of mortal pain,
She says to herself: “I've saved you, Jim!”
“Nobody hurt me!” Her eyes grow dim;
But, in that spasm of mortal pain,
She says to herself: “I've saved you, Jim!”
Day by day, as the end draws near,
To gentle question or stern demand,
Only that one response they hear,
Though she lift to Heaven her wasted hand.
To gentle question or stern demand,
Only that one response they hear,
Though she lift to Heaven her wasted hand.
“Nobody hurt me!” They see her die,
The same word still on her latest breath,
With a tranquil smile she tells her lie,
And glad goes down to the gates of death.
The same word still on her latest breath,
With a tranquil smile she tells her lie,
And glad goes down to the gates of death.
238
Beaten, murdered, but faithful still,
Loving above all wrong and woe,
If she has gone to a world of ill,
Where, oh! saint, shall we others go?
Loving above all wrong and woe,
If she has gone to a world of ill,
Where, oh! saint, shall we others go?
Even, I think, that evil man
Has hope of a better life in him,
When she so loved him her last words ran:
“Nobody hurt me! I've saved you, Jim!”
Has hope of a better life in him,
When she so loved him her last words ran:
“Nobody hurt me! I've saved you, Jim!”
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