Frown not, I know her evil our womanly nature shuns,
  Turns from, with shuddering horror; but now so low is her head
For God’s sake, woman, remember your own little ones
  Lying safely at home in their snow-white sheltered bed.

Your own little girls, for them does the flame of your anger burn,
  “Such creatures will draw down innocence into guilt and woe.” 
I think from eternity vast she will scarcely return
  To entice them to sin, you can safely forgive her now.

“You will not countenance wrong, but fiercely war for the right
  Even unto the bitter death.”  Very good, you should do so,
But, my friend, if your own secret thought had blossomed to light
  In temptation, you might have been in this outcast’s place,
        you know.

So let us be pitiful, grateful that God’s strong hand
  Has held our own, and the tale of a woman’s despair
And penitent sin, He stooped and wrote in the perishing sand;
  We carve the record in stone, weak, sinful souls that we are.

In the arms of the kind all-mother, but close
        to the sorrowful wave,
  With its voice no longer moaning to her a despairing call,
But a dirge deploring and deep; we will make her grave,
  With healing grasses above her, and God over all.

MY ANGEL.

Last night she came unto me,
  And kneeling by my side,
Laid her head upon my bosom,
  My beautiful, my bride;
My lost one, with her soft dark eyes,
  And waves of sunny hair. 
I smoothed the shining tresses,
With tearful, fond caresses,
  And words of thankful prayer.

And then a thrill of doubt and pain,
  My jealous heart swept o’er;
We were parted—­she was dwelling
  Upon a far-off shore;
Yet He who made my sad heart, knew
  I loved her more and more;
My love more true and perfect grew,
  As each dark day passed o’er;
But she whose heart had been my own,
  Who loved me tenderly,
Whose last low words I knelt to hear,
  Were, “How can I leave thee?”

And “Death would seem as sweet as life,
  Could we together be.” 
Now, though we two were parted
  By such a distance wide,
By such a strange and viewless realm,
  By such a boundless tide,
Her gentle face was radiant
  With a surpassing bliss;
She was happier in that distant land,
  Than she ever was in this. 
And in some other tenderness,
  Some other love divine,
She had found a peace and happiness,
  She never found in mine.

So with a tender chiding,
  I could not quite suppress,
Though well my darling knew
  I would not make her pleasures less. 
“Are you happy, love?” I said,
  “Are you happy, love, without me?”
Then she raised her gentle head,
  And twined her arms about me;
Yet while my tears fell faster,
  Beneath her mute caress,
Her face had all the glory
  Of a sainted soul at rest;
And her voice was sweet as music,
  “I am happy—­I am blest.”