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Poems by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Part 8

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52 THE MARTYR OF ALABAMA.

Then danced with careless, brutal feet, Upon the murdered boy.

Christians! behold that martyred child!

His blood cries from the ground; Before the sleepless eye of G.o.d, He shows each gaping wound.

Oh! Church of Christ arise! arise!

Lest crimson stain thy hand, When G.o.d shall inquisition make For blood shed in the land.

Take sackcloth of the darkest hue, And shroud the pulpits round; Servants of him who cannot lie Sit mourning on the ground.

Let holy horror blanch each brow, Pale every cheek with fears, And rocks and stones, if ye could speak, Ye well might melt to tears.

Through every fane send forth a cry, Of sorrow and regret, Nor in an hour of careless ease Thy brother's wrongs forget.

THE NIGHT OF DEATH. 53

Veil not thine eyes, nor close thy lips, Nor speak with bated breath; This evil shall not always last, The end of it is death.

Avert the doom that crime must bring Upon a guilty land; Strong in the strength that G.o.d supplies, For truth and justice stand.

For Christless men, with reckless hands, Are sowing round thy path The tempests wild that yet shall break In whirlwinds of G.o.d's wrath.

THE NIGHT OF DEATH.

Twas a night of dreadful horror,-- Death was sweeping through the land; And the wings of dark destruction Were outstretched from strand to strand

Strong men's hearts grew faint with terror, As the tempest and the waves

54 THE NIGHT OF DEATH.

Wrecked their homes and swept them downward, Suddenly to yawning graves.

'Mid the wastes of ruined households, And the tempest's wild alarms, Stood a terror-stricken mother With a child within her arms.

Other children huddled 'round her, Each one nestling in her heart; Swift in thought and swift in action, She at least from one must part.

Then she said unto her daughter, "Strive to save one child from death."

"Which one?" said the anxious daughter, As she stood with bated breath.

Oh! the anguish of that mother; What despair was in her eye!

All her little ones were precious; Which one should she leave to die?

Then outspake the brother Bennie: "I will take the little one."

"No," exclaimed the anxious mother; "No, my child, it can't be done."

THE NIGHT OF DEATH. 55

"See! my boy, the waves are rising, Save yourself and leave the child!"

"I will trust in Christ," he answered; Grasped the little one and smiled.

Through the roar of wind and waters Ever and anon she cried; But throughout the night of terror Never Bennie's voice replied.

But above the waves' wild surging He had found a safe retreat, As if G.o.d had sent an angel, Just to guide his wandering feet.

When the storm had spent its fury, And the sea gave up its dead She was mourning for her loved ones, Lost amid that night of dread.

While her head was bowed in anguish, On her ear there fell a voice, Bringing surcease to her sorrow, Bidding all her heart rejoice.

"Didn't I tell you true?" said Bennie, And his eyes were full of light,

56 MOTHER'S TREASURES.

"When I told you G.o.d would help me Through the dark and dreadful night?"

And he placed the little darling Safe within his mother's arms, Feeling Christ had been his guardian, 'Mid the dangers and alarms.

Oh! for faith so firm and precious, In the darkest, saddest night, Till life's gloom-encircled shadows Fade in everlasting light.

And upon the mount of vision We our loved and lost shall greet, With earth's wildest storms behind us, And its cares beneath our feet.

MOTHER'S TREASURES.

Two little children sit by my side, I call them Lily and Daffodil; I gaze on them with a mother's pride, One is Edna, the other is Will.

Both have eyes of starry light, And laughing lips o'er teeth of pearl.

MOTHER'S TREASURES. 57

I would not change for a diadem My n.o.ble boy and darling girl.

To-night my heart o'erflows with joy; I hold them as a sacred trust; I fain would hide them in my heart, Safe from tarnish of moth and rust.

What should I ask for my dear boy?

The richest gifts of wealth or fame?

What for my girl? A loving heart And a fair and a spotless name?

What for my boy? That he should stand A pillar of strength to the state?

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Poems by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper Part 8 summary

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