LINES.
(Written on recovering from the effects of a serious accident.)
I. I felt the cold shadow Of Death as he passed, And counted that horrible Moment my last.
No fear of a Future Took part in the play Of thoughts that were losing The sweet light of day.
A shock and a tumult,— A crash and a strife,— And all that pertains to The aim of my life
Swept o’er me and through me, As if to remind I had housed with the sluggard, And loitered behind.
If this penance hath hinted The value of time, Hath taught me to reckon Delay as a crime,
The days yet uncounted May balance the cost Of all I have suffered, Of more than I’ve lost.
II. When the Demon of Torture O’ertakes and assails, And thy skill, Cotyæus! But little avails;
What is it that sheddeth The balm of relief? What anodyne softens The pain and the grief?
’Tis the presence of friendship, The clasp of a hand, ’Tis the kindness that speaketh In tones to command
The Demon to loosen His hold and depart, That Hope may return to Her nest in the heart.
This boon have I tasted While couched in my room; And fair, as the rainbow That spanneth the gloom,
Shall be the remembrance Of faces that shed A magic that blunted The thorns of my bed, That wrought on the Demon Of pain till he fled.