Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/480

448   Fair seem these winter days, and soon
 * Shall blow the warm west-winds of spring

To set the unbound rills in time
 * And hither urge the bluebird’s wing.

The vales shall laugh in flowers, the woods Grow misty green with leafing buds, And violets and wind-flowers sway Against the throbbing heart of May.

Break forth, my lips, in praise, and own
 * The wiser love severely kind;

Since, richer for its chastening grown,
 * I see, whereas I once was blind.

The world, O Father! hath not wronged With loss the life by Thee prolonged; But still, with every added year, More beautiful Thy works appear!

As Thou hast made thy world without,
 * Make Thou more fair my world within;

Shine through its lingering clouds of doubt;
 * Rebuke its haunting shapes of sin;

Fill, brief or long, my granted span Of life with love to thee and man; Strike when thou wilt the hour of rest, But let my last days be my best!

the aisle where prayer was made, A woman, all in black arrayed, Close-veiled, between the kneeling host, With gliding motion of a ghost, Passed to the desk, and laid thereon A scroll which bore these words alone,
 * Pray for me!

Back from the place of worshipping She glided like a guilty thing: The rustle of her draperies, stirred By hurrying feet, alone was heard; While, full of awe, the preacher read, As out into the dark she sped:
 * Pray for me!

Back to the night from whence she came, To unimagined grief or shame! Across the threshold of that door None knew the burden that she bore; Alone she left the written scroll, The legend of a troubled soul,—
 * Pray for me!