A broken, prostrate thing. But ere the surge
And roar had ceased there fell upon my ear
The same word, 'Write!'
"'Why, Lord!' I cried, 'how can
I write? My page is gone!—the fragments torn
And soiled and beaten to the earth! One scrap
Alone I hold of all that once was mine!'
The voice said tenderly, 'Take that thou hast
And write.' Awe-struck, I listened and obeyed.
"I took the scrap, so pitifully small,