This silence chills my blood. Had you one word of comfort, all my fears Were quickly banished—faster still the tears, A bitter, burning flood, Fall on my face, and now one trembling word Confirms the dreadful truth my ears have heard. Why weep you? I am calm. My wan lip quivers not, my heart is still. My swollen temples—see, they do not thrill! That word was as a charm. Tell me the worst, all, all I now can bear. I have a fearful strength—that of despair. What is it to be blind? To be shut out forever, from the skies— To see no more the “light of loving eyes”— And, as years pass, to find My lot unvaried by one passing gleam Of the bright woodland, or the flashing stream! To feel the breath of Spring, Yet not to view one of the tiny flowers That come from out the earth with her soft showers; To hear the bright birds sing, And feel, while listening to their joyous strain, My heart can ne’er know happiness again! Then in the solemn night To lie alone, while all anear me sleep, And fancy fearful forms about me creep. Starting in wild afright, To know, if true, I could not have the power To ward off danger in that lonely hour. And as my breath came thick To feel the hideous darkness round me press, Adding new terror to my loneliness; While every pulse leapt quick To clutch and grasp at the black, stifling air, Then sink in stupor from my wild despair. It comes upon me now! I cannot breathe, my heart grows sick and chill, Oh, mother, are your arms about me still— Still o’er me do you bow? And yet I care not, better all alone, No one to heed my weakness should I moan. Again! I will not live. Death is no worse than this eternal night— Those resting in the grave heed not the light! Small comfort can ye give. Yes, Death is welcome as my only friend In the calm grave my sorrows will have end. Talk not to me of hope! Have you not told me it is all in vain— That while I live I may not see again? That earth, and the broad scope Of the blue heaven—that all things glad and free Henceforth are hidden—tell of hope to me? It is not hard to lie Calmly, and silently in that long sleep; No fear can wake me from that slumber deep. So, mother—let me die; I shall be happier in the gentle rest Than living with this grief to fill my breast. PART II. God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. Sterne. Thank God, that yet I live. In tender mercy, heeding not the prayer I boldly uttered, in my first despair, He would not rashly give The punishment an erring spirit braved. From sudden death, in kindness. I was saved.