With eyes aglow, and aimless zeal,
Throughout the land she goes;
Her tones, her motions, all reveal
A mind without repose.
She climbs the hills, she haunts the sea,
By madness tortured, driven;
One hour's forgetfulness would be
A gift from very heaven.
The night brings sleep, the sleep distress;
The torture of the day
Returns as free, in darker dress,
In more secure dismay.
No soft-caressing, soothing palm
Her confidence can raise;
No eye hath loving force to calm
And draw her answering gaze.
He comes. He speaks. A light divine
Dawns gracious in thy soul;
Thou seest love and order shine,—
His health will make thee whole.
One wrench of pain, one pang of death,
And in a faint delight,
Thou liest, waiting for new breath,
For morning out of night.
Thou risest up: the earth is fair,
The wind is cool and free;
As when a dream of mad despair
Dissolves in ecstasy.
And, pledge of life and future high,
Thou seest the Master stand;
The life of love is in his eye,
Its power is in his hand.
What matter that the coming time
Will stain thy virgin name;
Attribute thy distress to crime
The worst for woman-fame;
Yea, call that woman Magdalen,
Whom slow-reviving grace
Turneth at last from evil men
To seek the Father's face.