Page:Records of Woman.pdf/26

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The storm is still'd.   Father in Heaven! Thou, only thou, canst sound The heart's great deep, with floods of anguish fill'd,   For human line too fearfully profound. Therefore, forgive, my Father! if Thy child, Rock'd on its heaving darkness, hath grown wild, And sinn'd in her despair! It well may be, That Thou wouldst lead my spirit back to Thee, By the crush'd hope too long on this world pour'd, The stricken love which hath perchance ador'd A mortal in Thy place! Now let me strive With Thy strong arm no more! Forgive, forgive! Take me to peace!

And peace at last is nigh. A sign is on my brow, a token sent Th' o'erwearied dust, from home: no breeze flits by, But calls me with a strange sweet whisper, blent Of many mysteries.