But to my heart no poison'd tooth hath gnawn,
For in its pulses lies Truth's antidote.

These limbs, my Lord, can do their task no more;
The rack hath crush'd them in its wild embrace,
So that Truth's firm-set attitude is o'er,
Else had I met my judges face to face,
And challenged justice, as in days of yore.

Yet is the spirit strong within me still,
And bears me up though manhood's strength succumb,
Unbent by any blighting blast of ill,
Through fiery trials, to all false witness dumb;
They cannot stain me, though perchance they kill!

I am a woman--weak to combat wrong,
But innocent, my Lord, I live or die;
And silent, though my God doth tarry long,
He sees me throughly with His holy eye,
And in my sore, sore need, doth make me strong.

This hapless youth! I do forgive him all;
E'en now remorse must rankle in his breast,
And no cool comfort cometh at his call,
To set the tumult of his soul at rest:
God's pity on his human weakness fall!


3.