Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/103

Rh I little knew what wilder woe

Had filled the Poet's heart.

I did not know the nights of gloom,

The days of misery;

The long, long years of dark despair,

That crushed and tortured thee.

But, they are gone; from earth at length

Thy gentle soul is pass'd,

And in the bosom of its God

Has found its home at last.

It must be so, if God is love,

And answers fervent prayer;

Then surely thou shalt dwell on high,

And I may meet thee there.

Is he the source of every good,

The spring of purity?

Then in thine hours of deepest woe,

Thy God was still with thee.

How else, when every hope was fled,

Couldst thou so fondly cling

To holy things and holy men?

And how so sweetly sing,

Of things that God alone could teach?

And whence that purity,