Were looking down in blame: O God! it made me quake to see 'My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice; Lik A dozen times I groan'd; the dead My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, But T And 'And now, from forth the frowning sky, I heard a voice-the awful voice 'I took the dreary body up, -n I cleansed my bloody hands, nd wash'd my forehead cool, sat among the urchins young, at evening in the school. , Heaven! to think of their white souls, nd mine so black and grim! uld not share in childish prayer, or join in Evening Hymn: a Devil of the Pit I seem'd, id holy Cherubim! peace went with them, one and all, d each calm pillow spread; Guilt was my grim Chamberlain at lighted me to bed; drew my midnight curtains round, ch fingers bloody red! night I lay in agony, anguish dark and deep; ever'd eyes I dared not close, stared aghast at Sleep: in had render'd unto her keys of Hell to keep! night I lay in agony, སས བ་vཔlgI ༦ } Pསབ༦ Did that temptation crave,ill urging me to go and see The dead man in his grave! Heavily I rose up, as soon nd sought the black accursed pool nd I saw the Dead in the river bed, For the faithless stream was dry. Merrily rose the lark, and shook ut I never mark'd its morning flight, or I was stooping once again Under the horrid thing. With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, ere was no time to dig a grave Before the day began: a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, I hid the murder'd man! And all that day I read in school, But my thought was other where; soon as the midday task was done, In secret I was there: d a mighty wind had swept the leaves And still the corpse was bare! na nrst began to weep, I knew my secret then was one wills the fierce avenging Sprite, od! that horrid, horrid dream ets me now awake! —again, with dizzy brain, human life I take; ny right red hand grows raging hot, Cranmer's at the stake. still no peace for the restless clay, wave or mould allow; rrid thing pursues my soul,— ands before me now!" arful boy look'd up and saw › drops upon his brow. ery night, while gentle sleep urchin eyelids kiss'd, ern-faced men set out from Lynn, ugh the cold and heavy mist; igene Aram walk'd between, JULIA WARD HOWE IA WARD Howe, born in New York, 1819. 43 she became the wife of Dr. Howe. Her published work was entitled Passion rs," a volume of poems. Later she wrote lies, "The World's Own," "Lenore," and polytus." Her "Battle-Hymn of the Re‚” inspired by the Civil War, is a lyric of exlinary power. Mrs. Howe is a popular er on Woman's Rights and kindred subjects. TLE-HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC NE eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; th loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on. e seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps; have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps: His day is marching on. e read a fiery gospel writ in burnish'd rows of steel: ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal; |