THE LEGEND OF THE ALMOST SAVED
FROM THE RUSSIAN
ONCE a poor soul, reft from a dull, hard lot
(Which yet was dear, as even dull life may be),
Found herself bodiless in that dread spot
Which mortals know as “Hell” and fearfully
Name in a whisper, while the Saints name not.
“I was not wicked; they have told God lies
To make him send me here,” she moaned in pain,
Then suddenly her wan, reproachful eyes,
Raised to the Pity never sought in vain,