MISS DIX, THE PHILANTHROPIST.
Reading edition
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BY MRS. E. C. KINNEY.
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From the deep heart of Wo went up a groan
That, piercing the cerulean vault of heaven,
Found access to the great Eternal’s throne,
Amid the prayers of such as are forgiven: —
When, from that throne—where none but seraphs gaze,
And only they as reverent worshipers —
Like lightning through th’empyrean did blaze
A mandate writ in shining characters!
And then a spirit meek, yet pure as snow,
The mission craved, and swiftly winged to earth,
Where, in the modest form of woman, lo!
That angel took a new, terrestrial birth!
The form was woman’s—but the voice that spoke
To love’s key-note attuned—the dauntless heart —
The smile, that on Wo’s night like morning broke,
Were still the angel’s—still of Heaven a part.
And when the man of crime that eye beheld,
And felt the power of that transforming smile,
Beneath sin’s iron breastwork beat and swelled
The heart that seemed in contrast doubly vile.
Next to that glance of calm divinity,
Through which the Saviour’s eye could guilt disarm,
Was her mild look, from human passion free,
Subduing evil by its silent charm.
And as Christ’s voice made frantic demons flee,
Or lulled the raging elements at will;
So her soft tone made discord harmony,
And frenzied minds obeyed its “peace, be still!”
She through the dungeon’s gloom did fearless grope —
Herself a light that on the sufferer gleamed —
As if the day-star of celestial Hope
Serenely through his grated window beamed.
The eye, whose intellectual ray obscured,
Had fixed on vacancy its soulless stare,
Grew lucid from a spirit reassured
In faith and trust, through Mercy’s brooding care.
The ear, that only jarring sounds had heard,
Now, listening to Love’s heavenly dialect,
Was moved, as when an exile’s heart is stirred
By native tones, ’mid strangeness and neglect.
And Madness soothed, coherently replied —
The arm resistant raised, submissive fell,
And sunken eyes, by burning anguish dried,
Grew moist again from feeling’s latent well.
Chaotic Intellect took Beauty’s shape
At the omnipotence of gentle speech,
And hands unbound, exulting in escape,
Wrought works that taste to saner minds might teach.[2]
Oh, wondrous power of holy, heaven-born Love!
Whose spirit, in that woman’s humble form,
Doth noiseless yet ’mid human suffering move,
Unchecked by frenzy’s strife, or passion’s storm.
And when her mission to this earth shall end —
When love’s pure essence seeks its native heaven,
Her glory there the angels’ shall transcend,
And loftier place than theirs to her be given.