But I knew it were best for God to unclasp her hand From mine, while yet she clung to it in trust, Than for her to draw it from me, live to understand, Blush for her mother--had she lived she must. And then she had her father's smile, and his soft, dark eyes, Maybe she would have had his fair, false ways--his heart. It is well that she passed through the starry gate of the skies Though it closed and bars us forever and ever apart. For I am a sinful woman, well I know, And though by others' sins my own are not excused Things seem so strange to me in this strange world of woe, In a maze of doubt and wonder I get confused; Whether a sin of impulse, born of a fatal love, Is worse than deliberate bargain, a life of legal shame, Legal below, I think in the courts above The heavenly scribes will call a crime by its right name. But we stand before the wise, wise judgment-seat Of the world, and it calls you pure, That in your pearl-gemmed breast all saintly virtues meet, Holier than other holy women, higher, truer, So sweet a creature an angel in woman's guise. They would not wonder much, though much they might admire, Should you be caught again up to your native skies From an alien world in a chariot of fire. So we stand before the tender judgment-seat Of the world, and it calls me vile, So low that it is a wonder God will let His joyous sunshine gild my guilty head with its smiles, An outcast barred beyond the pale of hope, Beyond the lamp of their mercy's flickering light, They would scarcely wonder if the earth should ope And swallow up the wretch from their vexed sight. Before another judgment-seat one day we will stand You and I, my lady, and he by our side, He who won my heart, who held my life in his hand, He who bought you with gold to be his bride; Before an assembled world we shall stand, we three, To meet from the merciful Judge our doom of weal or woe, He holds His righteous balance true and evenly, And which is the vilest sinner we then shall know. ISABELLE AND I. Isabelle has gold, and lands, Fate gave her a fair lot; Like the white lilies of the field Her soft hands toil not. I gaze upon her splendor Without an envious sigh; I have no wealth in lands and gold, And yet sweet peace have I. I know the blue sky smiles as bright On the low field violet, As on the proud crest of the pine On loftiest mountain set. I am content--God loveth all, And if He tenderly The sparrow guides, He knoweth best The place where I should be. Her violet velvet curtains trail Down to the floor, But brightly God's rich sunshine streams Into my cottage door; And not a picture on her walls, Hath beauty unto me, Like that which from my window frame I daily lean to see.