Again 't is heard.
Is it a dream? Asleep! He cannot sleep
With chains around and shameful death before him!
Is it the false allurement of some foe
Who would with such enticement draw him forth
To meet destruction ere the appointed time?
Softened and calmed, each angry passion lulled,
By a soft voice, "Come in," he trembling calls.
Slow on its hinges turns the ponderous door,
And "Friend," the word that falls from stranger lips.
As dew on flowers, as rain on parch‚d ground,
So came the word unto the prisoner's ear.
He speaks not-moves not. O, his heart is full,
Too full for utterance; and, as floods of tears
Flow from his eyes so all unused to weep,
He bows down low, e'en at the stranger's feet.
He had not known what 't was to have a friend.
The word came to him like a voice from heaven,
A voice of love to one who'd heard but hate.
"Friend!" Mysterious word to him who'd known no friend.
O, what a power that simple word hath o'er him!
As now he holds the stranger's hand in his,
And bows his head upon it, he doth seem
Gentle and kind, and docile as a child.
Pages:
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313