Volume 5 — Original. The Wasted Vigil

Alas! what dire mischance is wrought? A Friend was here who gently sought An entrance to my humble cot, Whilst I—O sorrow!—heeded not. In meekest guise he came and went, And I, on trifles vain intent, The joyful greeting still forbore While he was knocking at my door. For me he left a regal throne, And came in silence, and alone; No shining guard his steps attend: O earth! hadst ever such a friend? And yet I did not rise to meet Those wearied, patient, wounded feet, Nor did I shield that kingly head On which the chill night-dews were shed. Oh! did I wake, or did I sleep, That midnight vigil not to keep? I knew, and yet I heeded not; Methought I heard, and then forgot That he had warned of swift surprise, And only termed the watchers "wise." Dear Bridegroom of my soul! return! Bereft of every joy, I mourn: Return! my house, at last, is swept, And where thy feet have stood, I wept. Beloved Guest! I call—I wait; Hope whispers, "It is not too late." Be then that hope no more deferred, Speak to my soul the pardoning word, Then will I list in rapture sweet, And dwell for ever at thy feet! Marie. Beaver, Pa.