Very lightly Was a woman’s hand laid on my arm. Pressing slightly-- And a voice said--striving to be calm-- “I am dying, Slowly dying for the want of love; Vainly trying To believe there is a God above. For I feel that I am sinking slowly, Losing daily, faith and patience lowly, Doomed to ways of sin and deeds unholy-- All the weary night, Through this cruel city Do I wander till the morning light. “Hear me kindly, For I am not what I would have been, If most blindly I had not been tempted unto sin. I am lonely, And I long to shriek in anguish wild, O, if only I could be once more a little child! See! my eyes are weary-worn with weeping; Sorrow’s tide across my soul is sweeping; God no longer holds me in his keeping-- I have prayed to-night, Wandering through the city, That I might not see the morning light.” Breathless, gazing On her pallid and impassioned face, How amazing Was the likeness that I there could trace! “Sister!” “Brother!” From our lips as by one impulse broke. Not another Word, then, for an instant brief we spoke. But the sweet and tender recollection Of our childhood, with its fond affection, And at last, the broken, lost connection, Came afresh that night, Standing in the city Underneath the street-lamps’ changing light. Pale and slender, Like a lily did she bow her head. Low and tender Was the earnest tone in which she said-- “O, my brother! Tell me of our father.”--“He is dead.” “And our mother?” “And she, also, rests in peace,” I said. Only to my grievous words replying, By a long-drawn, deep and painful sighing, Sinking downward, as if crushed and dying, Did she seem that night, Standing in the city Underneath the street-lamps’ changing light. Wherefore should I Thrust her from my guilty heart away? Ah, how could I! Whatsoe’er the _righteous_ world might say-- She, my sister, One who shared in mine own life a part-- Nay, I kissed her, And upraised her to a brother’s heart. And I said, “Henceforth we will not sever, But with faith and patience failing never, We will work for truth and right forever. Ministers of light, Watching o’er the city! Guide! O, guide our erring feet aright!”