Edward.
My strength recedes;
But ere it fail, tell me how fares your life.
You have seen sorrow; but it comforts me
To hear the language of a chastened soul
From one perverted by my guilty hand.
You speak the dialect of the redeemed—
The Heaven-accepted. Tell me it is so,
And you are happy.
Mary.
With sweet hope and trust
I may reply, 'tis as you think and wish.
I have seen sorrow, surely, and the more
That I have seen what was far worse; but God
Sent His own servant to me to restore
My sadly straying feet to the sure path;
And in my soul I have the pledge of grace
Which shall suffice to keep them there.
Edward.
Ah, joy!
You found a friend; and my o'erflowing heart,
Welling with gratitude, pours out to him
For his kind ministry its fitting meed.
Oh, breathe his name to me, that my poor lips
May bind it to a benison, and that,
While dying, I may whisper it with those—
Jesus and Mary—which I love the best.
Name him, I pray you.
Mary.
You would ask of me
To bear your thanks to him, and to rehearse
Your dying words?
Grace.
He asks your good friend's name;
You do not understand him.