Hush, Grace! No more! I beg you, say no more. Nay! I will leave you at another word; For I could listen to a blasphemy, Falling from bestial lips, with lighter chill Than to the mad complainings of a soul Which God has favored as he favors few. I dare not listen when a woman's voice, Which blessings strive to smother, flings them off In mad contempt. I dare not hear the words Whose utterance all the gentle loves dissuade By kisses which are reasons, while a throng Of friendships, comforts, and sweet charities-- The almoners of the All-Bountiful-- With folded wings stand sadly looking on. Believe me, Grace, the pioneer of judgment-- Ordained, commissioned--is Ingratitude; For where it moves, good withers; blessings die; Till a clean path is left for Providence, Who never sows a good the second time Till the torn bosom of the graceless soil Is ready for the seed. _Grace_. Oh, could you know The anguish of my heart, you would not chide! If I repine, it is because my lot Is not the blessed thing it seems to you. O Mary! Could you know! Could you but know! _Mary_. Then why not tell me all? You know me, love. And know that secrets make their graves with me. So, tell me all; for I do promise you Such sympathy as God through suffering Has given me power to grant to such as you. I bought it dearly, and its largess waits The opening of your heart. _Grace_. I am ashamed,-- In truth I am ashamed--to tell you all. You will not laugh at me? _Mary_. I laugh at you? _Grace_. Forgive me, Mary, for my heart is weak; Distrustful of itself and all the world. Ah, well! To what strange issues leads our life! It seems but yesterday that you were brought To this old house, an orphaned little girl, Whose large shy eyes, pale cheeks, and shrinking ways Filled all our hearts with wonder, as we stood And stared at you, until your heart o'erfilled With the oppressive strangeness, and you wept. Yes, I remember how I pitied you-- I who had never wept, nor even sighed, Save on the bosom of my gentle mother; For my quick heart caught all your history When with a hurried step you sought the sun, And pressed your eyes against the windowpane That God's sweet light might dry them. Well I knew Though all untaught, that you were motherless. And I remember how I followed you,-- Embraced and kissed you--kissed your tears away-- Tears that came faster, till they bathed the lips That would have sealed their flooded fountain-heads; And then we wound our arms around each other, And passed out-out under the pleasant sky, And stood among the lilies at the door.