DARK hours of tearless, sleepless grief, Of woe denied the soft relief Of tears, to soothe the burning smart That throbs and festers in my heart. Oft has this grief my soul o'erspread, Like funeral pall above the dead, Ah, me! beneath the coffin-lid Of murdered hopes for ever hid, My promised joys of love and trust With them lie mouldering in the dust. Ah, not in sentimental strain Of love-sick maid and sighing swain I sing, who, crossed in hapless love, The tender anguish deeply prove— Nor that fierce grief when loss of fame, Of wealth of power, the baffled aim Of worldly schemes, sends to the heart Keen disappointment's venom'd dart. Is such thy grief? you ask.—Ah, no! A darker, deeper, deadlier woe Is mine. Within its poisonous folds My writhing heart a serpent holds; I vainly struggle in the toils, More closely wind the crushing coils. No hand but His, to whom is given All power in earth, all power in heaven, The hideous reptile can unwind, My crushed and broken heart upbind. Lord, speak with power, I Thee implore, As when, by lone Gennesaret's shore, As God, Thou gave the high command, That legion fiends might not withstand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A VISION OF CONNAUGHT IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN PARTED FRIENDS by JAMES MONTGOMERY TO F - (MRS. FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD) by EDGAR ALLAN POE THE SEA by BRYAN WALLER PROCTER THE WOMAN AND THE ANGEL by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE THE MOTHER'S LAMENT by ST. CLAIR ADAMS LET HER SLEEP! by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS BLOUDIE JACKE OF SHREWSBERRIE; THE SHROPSHIRE BLUEBEARD by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |