And many a heart by death or falsehood lost,
In lightning current o'er my bosom swept.
Then bow'd the stubborn knees, as backward sped
The self-accusing thoughts in dread array,
And, slowly, from their long-congealed bed,
Forced the remorseful tears their silent way.
Bitter yet healing drops in mercy sent,
Like soft dews tailing on a thirsty plain,—
And ere those chimes their last faint notes had spent,
Strengthen'd and calm'd, I stood erect again.