The first of the nights is this, and I cannot go to bed;I long for the dawning sorely, although when the night shall be dead, Scarce to me shall the day be alive. Twice twenty-eight nights more, Twice twenty-eight long days till the evil dream be o'er!
And he, does he count the hours as he lies in his prison-cell?
Does he nurse and cherish his pain? Nay, I know his strong heart well, Swift shall his soul fare forth; he is here, and bears me away, Till hand in hand we depart toward the hope of the earlier day.
Yea, here or there he sees it: in the street, in the cell, he sees The vision he made me behold mid the stems of the blossoming trees, When spring lay light on the earth, and first and at last I knew How sweet was his clinging hand, how fair were the deeds he would do.
Nay, how wilt thou weep and be soft and cherish a pleasure in pain, When the days and their task are before thee and awhile thou must work for twain?
O face, thou shalt lose yet more of thy fairness, be thinner no doubt, And be waxen white and worn by the day that he cometh out!
Hand, how pale thou shalt be! how changed from the sunburnt hand That he kissed as it handled the rake in the noon of the summer land!
Let me think then it is but a trifle: the neighbours have told me so;"Two months! why that is nothing and the time will speedily go."'Tis nothing--O empty bed, let me work then for his sake!
I will copy out the paper which he thought the News might take, If my eyes may see the letters; 'tis a picture of our life And the little deeds of our days ere we thought of prison and strife.
Yes, neighbour, yes I am early--and I was late last night;Bedless I wore through the hours and made a shift to write.
It was kind of you to come, nor will it grieve me at all To tell you why he's in prison and how the thing did befal;For I know you are with us at heart, and belike will join us soon.
It was thus: we went to a meeting on Saturday afternoon, At a new place down in the West, a wretched quarter enough, Where the rich men's houses are elbowed by ragged streets and rough, Which are worse than they seem to be. (Poor thing! you know too well How pass the days and the nights within that bricken hell!)There, then, on a bit of waste we stood 'twixt the rich and the poor;And Jack was the first to speak; that was he that you met at the door Last week. It was quiet at first; and dull they most of them stood As though they heeded nothing, nor thought of bad or of good, Not even that they were poor, and haggard and dirty and dull:
Nay, some were so rich indeed that they with liquor were full, And dull wrath rose in their souls as the hot words went by their ears, For they deemed they were mocked and rated by men that were more than their peers.
But for some, they seemed to think that a prelude was all this To the preachment of saving of souls, and hell, and endless bliss;While some (O the hearts of slaves!) although they might understand, When they heard their masters and feeders called thieves of wealth and of land, Were as angry as though THEY were cursed. Withal there were some that heard, And stood and pondered it all, and garnered a hope and a word.
Ah! heavy my heart was grown as I gazed on the terrible throng.
Lo! these that should have been the glad and the deft and the strong, How were they dull and abased as the very filth of the road!
And who should waken their souls or clear their hearts of the load?