Thunderously rhythmical;

Crafts slip by my startled soul--
Soul that cowers, a thing apart--
They are corpuscles of blood!
That's the throbbing of a heart!
God of terrors!--am I mad?--
Through my body, mine own soul,
Shrunken to an atom's size,
Voyages toward an unguessed goal!


THE MOTHER

THE mother by the gallows-tree,
The gallows-tree, the gallows-tree,
(While the twitching body mocked the sun)
Lifted to Heaven her broken heart
And called for sympathy.

Then Mother Mary bent to her,
Bent from her place by God's left side,
And whispered: "Peace--do I not know?--
My son was crucified!"

"O Mother Mary," answered she,
"You cannot, cannot enter in
To my soul's woe--you cannot know--
For your son wrought no sin!"