While dark Remorse, with eyes too sad for tears,
A crushed, desponding Magdalene appears.

One, with a hungering heart unsatisfied,
Mourns for imagined joys that were denied.

The other, pierced by recollected sin,
Broods o'er the scars of pleasures that have been.



EASTER MORN



A truth that has long lain buried
At Superstition's door,
I see, in the dawn uprising
In all its strength once more.

Hidden away in the darkness,
By Ignorance crucified,
Crushed under stones of dogmas -
Yet lo! it has not died.

It stands in the light transfigured,
It speaks from the heights above,
"EACH SOUL IS ITS OWN REDEEMER;
THERE IS NO LAW BUT LOVE."