Page:Poems, Volume 2, Coates, 1916.djvu/48

32 A prisoner, when I saw him first—

Wounded and sick for home—

His presence soothed my yearning's thirst

While yet his lips were dumb;

For such compassion as his countenance wore

I had not seen nor felt in human face before.

And when, low-bending o'er his foe,

He took in his firm hand

My wasted one, I seemed to know

We two were of one Land;

And as my cheek flushed warm with young surprise,

God's pity looked on me from Lincoln's sorrowing eyes.

His prisoner I was from then—

Love makes surrender sure—

And though I saw him not again,

Some memories endure,

And I am glad my untaught worship knew

His the divinest face I ever looked into!