HERE is my hand, O weary one -- A smile for love defiled, A tear for hope reviled, A brother's faith for her whom men are taught to shun. What men may do or say I care not now; To me thou art a ray Of sunlight -- borne away By too sweet dreams of earth, whose shadows haunt thy brow. The visions I recall -- Thy girlish face, Thy voice like music's fall, Thy tender glances, all Thy nature like the heart of life's impassioned grace. And now thine eyes are filled With tears of shame! Where passion burned and thrilled, Death's angels have instilled The anguish and remorse that lips with horror frame. The world's taunts hotly burn Upon thy cheek; Thy pitiless sisters turn From thy sad eyes, and spurn Thy prayers -- like cries of sin unworthy to bespeak. Yet art thou lost indeed? O stricken soul! Must life forever bleed For one embittered deed? Shall all the golden days be useless to console? Is charity then dead, And pity blind? O child! but few have read Thy heart. Yet I have shed Tears scorching as thine own for Christ's love undivined. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CALLING DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON MATERNITY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON UNDER A TELEPHONE POLE by CARL SANDBURG ON THE THREE PHILOSOPHICAL POETS by GEORGE SANTAYANA ELEGY: THE LAMENT OF EDWARD BLASTOCK; FOR RICHARD ROWLEY by EDITH SITWELL |