THE WOMAN WHOM SATAN HAD BOUND.
- years eighteen she, patient soul, Her eyes had graveward sent;
- earthly life was lapt in dole, She was so bowed and bent.
What words! To her? Who can be near?
What tenderness of hands!
- is it strength, or fancy mere? New hope, or breaking bands?
- pent life rushes swift along Channels it used to know;
- up, amid the wondering throng, She rises firm and slow--
To bend again in grateful awe--
For will is power at length--
In homage to the living Law
Who gives her back her strength.
Uplifter of the down-bent head!
Unbinder of the bound!
- seest all the burdened
Who only see the ground!
Although they see thee not, nor cry,
Thou watchest for the hour
To lift the forward-beaming eye,
To wake the slumbering power!
- hand will wipe the stains of time From off the withered face;
Upraise thy bowed old men, in prime
Of youthful manhood's grace!
Like summer days from winter's tomb,
Shall rise thy women fair;
Gray Death, a shadow, not a doom,
Lo, is not anywhere!
- ills of life shall melt away As melts a cureless woe,
When, by the dawning of the day
Surprised, the dream must go.
I think thou, Lord, wilt heal me too,
Whate'er the needful cure;
- great best only thou wilt do, And hoping I endure.