Hester. God bless the little darling, how she sleeps!
Had I but thought that all my heart would beat
Within the tender compass of her arms,
I had not prayed she might not be. But now,
Although unasked she came, unasked she brought
A wealth of love and blessing to my soul.
[Sits and embroiders.]
Thus Providence, although it pierce the heart,
Works into it some glorious design;
Which on this under side of life is blurred,
Thread over thread in infinite confusion.
Or, if we are not made of firmest texture,
The work pulls through, or tears an ugly rent,
Or gathers up our woof in meshy tangles.
This is a world of worn and fretted ends,
[top] Knit in a maze of fearful intricacy,
Wherein we see no meaning. Nor can we know
The hidden shuttles of Eternity,
That weave the endless web of living, loving,
And begetting, whereby a filament
Of earth takes on the likeness of an angel.
The primal burden of our race-existence,
Mankind's perpetual perpetuation,
Weighs on weak womanhood; we bear the race
And all its natural ills, yet still our fellows,
Who proudly call themselves our lords and masters,
Do heap upon us petty wrongs, and load
Us down with their oppressions. I cannot tell
What rich reward my suffering may bring,
But bide the piercing, like this patient cloth,
In hope the needle carries golden thread.
Enter a Maid-Servant.
What is it?
Servant. Madam, a gentleman would speak with you.
Hester. Bid him enter.
[Exit Servant.
Methought I heard my husband's dreaded voice
Speak to me on the pillory. What
If he lives, or hath arisen from the dead
To reckon with me now? Well, let him come;
For this strong heart outcast from sympathy
Hath turned back on itself in double strength;
And all the puny woman of my mind,
Burned in the furnace of my sex's scorn,
Plunged in the icy vat of love's neglect,
Hath tempered hard. I fear him not.