LXXXVII.

Amidst the stillness rose my spirit’s cry, Amidst the dead--“By that full cup of woe, Press’d from the fruitage of mortality, Saviour! for Thee--give light! that I may know If by _thy_ will, in thine all-healing name, Men cast down human hearts to blighting shame, And early death; and say, if this be so, Where, then, is mercy? Whither shall we flee, So unallied to hope, save by our hold on Thee?

LXXXVIII.

“But didst Thou not, the deep sea brightly treading, Lift from despair that struggler with the wave? And wert Thou not, sad tears, yet awful, shedding, Beheld a weeper at a mortal’s grave? And is this weight of anguish, which they bind On life--this searing to the quick of mind, That but to God its own free path would crave-- This crushing out of hope, and love, and youth, _Thy_ will, indeed? Give light! that I may know the truth!