Labor and the Angel

by Duncan Campbell Scott

To the shrunken, the desperate lips;

But she calms them with lethe and love,

And deadens the throb and the pain,

And evens the heart-beat wild,

Whispering again and again,

“Work on, work on, work on,

My broken, my agonized child,”

With her tremulous, dew-cool lips,

At the whorl of the tortured ear,

Till the cry is the presage of hope,