No friend, no food, no fire, no light, And face to face with death, She struggled through the weary night, With anguish in each breath; Till that frail life which shared her own, Had perished ere the morn, And left her to the hearts of stone, That judged poor Hester Vaughn. Who was it, that refused to draw A lesson from the time, And in the name of human law, Pronounced her grief a crime? Was her accuser, cold and stern, _A man of woman born_, Whose _debt_ to woman could not earn Some grace for Hester Vaughn? The word of judgment is not sure, To wealth and station high, But that she was _alone_ and _poor_, Was she condemned to die. O God of justice! for whose grace The servile worldlings fawn, Has not thy love a hiding-place For such as Hester Vaughn? Come to the bar of Judgment, come, Ye favored ones of earth, And let your haughty lips be dumb, So boastful of your worth. What virtues, or what noble deeds, _Your_ faithless lives adorn, That thus by laws, or lifeless creeds, You sentence Hester Vaughn? What countless crimes, what guilt untold, What depths of sin and shame, Are gilded by your lying gold, Or hidden by a name! Ye pave your social hells with skulls Of Infants yet unborn; Then virtuous wrath suspicion lulls, And crushes Hester Vaughn. Ye, who your secret sins confess, Before the Eternal Throne-- Adulterer and Adulteress! What mercy have _ye_ shown? For place and power, for gems and gold, Ye give your souls in pawn, But Heaven’s fair gates will first unfold To such as Hester Vaughn. The “mills of God that grind so slow,” Will “grind exceeding small;” And time, at length, will clearly show The want or worth of all. Distinctions will not always be With such precision drawn, Between the proud of high degree And such as Hester Vaughn. Through Moyamensing’s prison bars,[2] She counts each weary day, Or ’neath the calmly watching stars, She wakes to weep and pray. Thank God! for her in heaven above, A brighter day will dawn, And those who judge all hearts in love, Will welcome Hester Vaughn. SONG OF THE SPIRIT CHILDREN. LET us sing the praise of Love-- Holy Spirit! Heavenly Dove! Bringing on its blesséd wings Life to all created things. Wheresoe’er its light is shed, Sorrow lifts its drooping head, And the tears of grief that start Turn to sunshine in the heart. Love divine, All things are thine! Every creature seeks thy shrine. And thy boundless blessings fall With an equal love on all.