I.
I felt the cold shadow
Of Death as he passed,
And counted that horrible
Moment my last.
No fear of a Future
Took part in the play
Of thoughts that were losing
The sweet light of day.
A shock and a tumult,—
A crash and a strife,—
And all that pertains to
The aim of my life
Swept o’er me and through me,
As if to remind
I had housed with the sluggard,
And loitered behind.
If this penance hath hinted
The value of time,
Hath taught me to reckon
Delay as a crime,
The days yet uncounted
May balance the cost
Of all I have suffered,
Of more than I’ve lost.
II.
When the Demon of Torture
O’ertakes and assails,
And thy skill, Cotyæus!
But little avails;
What is it that sheddeth
The balm of relief?
What anodyne softens
The pain and the grief?
’Tis the presence of friendship,
The clasp of a hand,
’Tis the kindness that speaketh
In tones to command
The Demon to loosen
His hold and depart,
That Hope may return to
Her nest in the heart.
This boon have I tasted
While couched in my room;
And fair, as the rainbow
That spanneth the gloom,
Shall be the remembrance
Of faces that shed
A magic that blunted
The thorns of my bed,
That wrought on the Demon
Of pain till he fled.