Poems by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Part 2

Would you blame me if to-morrow The coroner should say,

14 A DOUBLE STANDARD.

A wretched girl, outcast, forlorn, Has thrown her life away?

Yes, blame me for my downward course, But oh! remember well, Within your homes you press the hand That led me down to h.e.l.l.

I'm glad G.o.d's ways are not our ways He does not see as man; Within His love I know there's room For those whom others ban.

I think before His great white throne, His throne of spotless light, That whited sepulchres shall wear The hue of endless night.

That I who fell, and he who sinned, Shall reap as we have sown; That each the burden of his loss Must bear and bear alone.

No golden weights can turn the scale Of justice in His sight; And what is wrong in woman's life In man's cannot be right.

OUR HERO. 15

OUR HERO.

Onward to her destination, O'er the stream the Hannah sped, When a cry of consternation Smote and chilled our hearts with dread.

Wildly leaping, madly sweeping, All relentless in their sway, Like a band of cruel demons Flames were closing 'round our way

Oh! the horror of those moments; Flames above and waves below-- Oh! the agony of ages Crowded in one hour of woe.

Fainter grew our hearts with anguish In that hour with peril rife, When we saw the pilot flying, Terror-stricken, for his life.

Then a man uprose before us-- We had once despised his race-- But we saw a lofty purpose Lighting up his darkened face.

16 OUR HERO.

While the flames were madly roaring, With a courage grand and high, Forth he rushed unto our rescue, Strong to suffer, brave to die.

Helplessly the boat was drifting, Death was staring in each face, When he grasped the fallen rudder, Took the pilot's vacant place.

Could he save us? Would he save us?

All his hope of life give o'er?

Could he hold that fated vessel 'Till she reached the nearer sh.o.r.e?

All our hopes and fears were centered 'Round his strong, unfaltering hand; If he failed us we must perish, Perish just in sight of land.

Breathlessly we watched and waited While the flames were raging fast; When our anguish changed to rapture-- We were saved, yes, saved at last.

Never strains of sweetest music Brought to us more welcome sound

THE DYING BONDMAN. 17

Than the grating of that steamer When her keel had touched the ground.

But our faithful martyr hero Through a fiery pathway trod, Till he laid his valiant spirit On the bosom of his G.o.d.

Fame has never crowned a hero On the crimson fields of strife, Grander, n.o.bler, than that pilot Yielding up for us his life.

THE DYING BONDMAN.

Life was trembling, faintly trembling On the bondman's latest breath, And he felt the chilling pressure Of the cold, hard hand of Death.

He had been an Afric chieftain, Worn his manhood as a crown; But upon the field of battle Had been fiercely stricken down.

18 THE DYING BONDMAN.

He had longed to gain his freedom, Waited, watched and hoped in vain, Till his life was slowly ebbing-- Almost broken was his chain.

By his bedside stood the master, Gazing on the dying one, Knowing by the dull grey shadows That life's sands were almost run.

"Master," said the dying bondman, "Home and friends I soon shall see; But before I reach my country, Master write that I am free;

"For the spirits of my fathers Would shrink back from me in pride, If I told them at our greeting I a slave had lived and died;

"Give to me the precious token, That my kindred dead may see-- Master! write it, write it quickly!

Master! write that I am free!"

At his earnest plea the master Wrote for him the glad release,

"A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM." 19

O'er his wan and wasted features Flitted one sweet smile of peace.

Eagerly he grasped the writing; "I am free!" at last he said.

Backward fell upon the pillow, He was free among the dead.

"A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM."

Only a little sc.r.a.p of blue Preserved with loving care, But earth has not a brilliant hue To me more bright and fair.

Strong drink, like a raging demon, Laid on my heart his hand, When my darling joined with others The Loyal Legion * band.

But mystic angels called away My loved and precious child, And o'er life's dark and stormy way Swept waves of anguish wild.

* The Temperance Band,