Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, PRESENT HELP IN TROUBLE, by GEORGE MURRAY (1830-1910)


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PRESENT HELP IN TROUBLE, by                    
First Line: The memory of a simple tale, / called up from childhood's years
Last Line: "warding off despair."
Subject(s): Angels; Death; Legends; Mothers & Daughters; Poverty; Spinning; Dead, The


The memory of a simple tale,
Called up from childhood's years,
With blissful charm that cannot fail
Compelleth gentle tears.
Yea, though it be a poet's dream,
Pure fantasy, forsooth,
Which cold, clear reason ne'er can deem
Reality or truth;
Still, when we weep, our spirits are
Oft sanctified by grief,
For childlike faith is lovelier far
Than manlike unbelief.

There is a legend of a maid
Told by the painter's art,
So sweet, so sad, it cannot fade
Forever from my heart.
Deeply my pity it doth stir
E'en now with holy spell—
It needeth no interpreter,
That silent parable.

'Tis midnight: darkness, like a pall,
Hangs o'er a sleeping city's wall—
Many an iron tongue,
Slave to man's more iron will,
Calling through the air so still
The self-same chimes hath rung.

And at that hour, when every breast
From life's life-withering toil should rest,
There sitteth one within
That city's heart—cold heart of stone—
Wearily spinning all alone,
A maid scarce touched by sin.

She toils within a cheerless room,
A rushlight twinkling through the gloom
Its dreariness to show:
Poor, pallid maid, for whom this earth
Hath found no dowry since her birth
Save only want and woe.

Her mother, white as are the dead,
Lies murmuring strangely on a bed,
As though with death at strife:
Thin fingers clutch the dear-bought food,
Bought at the price of flesh and blood,
A daughter's fragile life.

And still that maiden spins alone
Within that city's heart of stone,
And often turns her eye
To watch the lamp of life decay,
Well knowing that its last faint ray
Must soon in darkness die.

But hark! she speaks: "'Tis sadly strange,
No rest from toil, no sign of change
Save when my mother dies, and she
Is dearer than all else to me.
I grow less earthly day by day—
Why doth the Angel Death delay
His summons that will set me free
From pain and want, and misery?
Hunger and winter's cold at length
Have bowed my feeble body's strength;
The power is lacking now, I feel,
That earned my mother's daily meal.
Would God that from the viewless sky
Some pitying angel-band
Might glide to earth, and swiftly ply
The labours of my hand!
Would that—but oh! the thought is sin—
Seraphs might stoop these threads to spin:
God knows how oft I vigils keep,
God knows—alas! I sleep, I sleep!"

The maiden's prayer was borne to Heaven,
Its rude simplicity forgiven.

Soon were heard quick-rushing pinions;
Angel-bands, with gleaming feet,
Floating down from God's dominions,
Flew to aid that virgin sweet.
See! they fill the lowly room,
Shedding light where all was gloom:
See! their hands perform the task
As the maid presumed to ask:
Toiling, spinning, they rejoice,
And lull the slumberer with their voice.

"Softly sleep, O pious maiden!
Dream-enchanted lie:
Sorely wast thou sorrow-laden,
Deeply didst thou sigh.
Nurst by thee an aged mother,
Near the gate of death,
Fondly cherished by no other,
Drew her fleeting breath.
Clad in robes of spotless beauty,
Lilies of the field,
Burdened by no stress of duty,
Fragrant odour yield.
Maiden, clothed in humble raiment,
Lily of earth's soil!
Thou hast earned a heavenly payment
By thy saintly toil.

Cheeks made pale by ceaseless labour
Wear a sacred hue;
Angels claim thee for a neighbour,
Virgin, pure and true!
Forms, made thin by cold and hunger,
Grow more glorified,
Age-bowed frames seem fairer, younger,
When by suffering tried.

Starving paupers, as they languish,
Are not all alone:
Hearts deep-stung by piercing anguish
Still a guardian own.
Holy poor ones are not friendless—
He who dwells above
Calls them home to glory endless,
Children of His love.

Sleep, then, maiden! God will hear thee
When thou pourest prayer:
Angels now are watching near thee,
Warding off despair."





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