Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/142
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LIGHT FOR ALL.
At safety's risk, that iron hand,
And from its terrors rid the land.
Behold he sleeps!—the veriest child
Might sport beside that ruffian wild,
So still, so fixed, so moveless now,
The marble of that fearful brow.
No passion stirs his fluttering breath,
He sleeps the long cold sleep of death.
He sleeps; but who the tale shall tell
Of that lone robber's last farewell?
When earth, and sky, and sea, and air,
And all they held of rich or fair;
When all his greedy hand had gained,
And all his hold would have retained,
Were passing swiftly, surely by,
And fading from his drooping eye;
While nought but horror, guilt, and gloom
Remained beside his opening tomb.
Yes: then, even then, that holy book,
With trembling hand the robber took,
And such the lessons learned in youth,
And such the force of heavenly truth,
That while condemned the page he read,
Some hope of mercy o'er it shed
A ray more bright than earth could yield;
And feeling, all too long concealed,
Burst forth, o'ermastered by his fate.
But, hark that call—"One moment wait."
He drops the book—it is too late!
And from its terrors rid the land.
Behold he sleeps!—the veriest child
Might sport beside that ruffian wild,
So still, so fixed, so moveless now,
The marble of that fearful brow.
No passion stirs his fluttering breath,
He sleeps the long cold sleep of death.
He sleeps; but who the tale shall tell
Of that lone robber's last farewell?
When earth, and sky, and sea, and air,
And all they held of rich or fair;
When all his greedy hand had gained,
And all his hold would have retained,
Were passing swiftly, surely by,
And fading from his drooping eye;
While nought but horror, guilt, and gloom
Remained beside his opening tomb.
Yes: then, even then, that holy book,
With trembling hand the robber took,
And such the lessons learned in youth,
And such the force of heavenly truth,
That while condemned the page he read,
Some hope of mercy o'er it shed
A ray more bright than earth could yield;
And feeling, all too long concealed,
Burst forth, o'ermastered by his fate.
But, hark that call—"One moment wait."
He drops the book—it is too late!
Light for All
From the German.
You cannot pay with money
The million sons of toil—
The sailor on the ocean,
The peasant on the soil,
The labourer in the quarry,
The hewer of the coal;
Your money pays the hand,
But it cannot pay the soul.
The million sons of toil—
The sailor on the ocean,
The peasant on the soil,
The labourer in the quarry,
The hewer of the coal;
Your money pays the hand,
But it cannot pay the soul.