The End
I.
Why was she waiting and watching there —
Watching alone in the ghostly night?
Her form was haggard with want and care,
Her face was drawn and ashen white.
Why did she shudder and wring her hands,
And strain her eyes through the window pane?
There was nothing in sight but the sodden lands —
Nothing astir but the wind and rain.
She was watching the path that leads from town,
And listening to hear her husband's tread;
Shivering with cold in her tattered gown,
And keeping vigil beside her dead.
II.
" O God, " she pleaded, " if I must bear
This weary woe till my heart shall break,
In tender compassion hear my prayer,
And save my husband for Jesus sake.
" In happier days he loved me well;
He was good and true, in heart and mind,
Till, tempted beyond his strength, he fell —
Pity him Lord, he is mad and blind. "
Stirring the coals to a feeble glow,
She drew a shawl from the pallid face
Of her child, that died three hours ago,
And took it up in a fond embrace.
And murmured, kissing the waxen brow,
And tenderly parting the silken hair:
" There is nothing left to love me now;
My burden is more than I can bear.
" O dainty hands and dimpled feet,
Always so busy with prank and play!
O lips that lisped so soft and sweet:
" Mamma, I love oo," but yesterday!
" How can I tear you from out my heart,
And lay you under the cold, dark sod?
How can I live when we are apart,
My darling baby? Help me, O God!
" Dreary and cold is the way before,
With nothing to lose, nothing to win:
O, Father in Heaven, open the door,
And let a weary wanderer in! "
III.
She sat as the long, weird hours went by,
With her sad eyes fixed on the window pane;
But she ceased to hear the night wind's sigh,
And the dreary drip of the winter rain.
When morning dawned on the misty moor,
A drunkard, maddened with poisoned rum,
Came blindly staggering through the door
Of the wretched hut he called his home.
If he saw his pale wife sitting there,
He took no notice, nor deigned to speak,
But crept, as a beast might creep to his lair
From hunting blood hounds, wounded and weak.
IV.
By trembling lips the news was told,
And neighbors came with hurrying feet,
And arrayed the sleepers still and cold,
In the folds of a simple winding sheet.
And many a pitying tear was shed
For those whom death had failed to part,
As they laid the baby's sunny head,
Close to the mother's silent heart.
At length the drunkard awoke and said:
" Alice, I'm sick; I must have some rum,
Or this burning pain will burst my head.
Alice! I say — are you deaf and dumb?
" Ho, they are coming for me — see there!
The devils are coming hot from hell —
See, see! how their eyeballs burn and glare! "
And he sprung to his feet with a fearful yell.
With face as white as the face of death,
The maniac stood subdued and cowed —
Stood staring around with bated breath,
Then clutched the folds of the snowy shroud.
" What! Have I killed her at last? " he said,
O cursed drink, is this the end?
A pistol shot — and the man fell dead
By the murdered wife, his one, last friend.
Why was she waiting and watching there —
Watching alone in the ghostly night?
Her form was haggard with want and care,
Her face was drawn and ashen white.
Why did she shudder and wring her hands,
And strain her eyes through the window pane?
There was nothing in sight but the sodden lands —
Nothing astir but the wind and rain.
She was watching the path that leads from town,
And listening to hear her husband's tread;
Shivering with cold in her tattered gown,
And keeping vigil beside her dead.
II.
" O God, " she pleaded, " if I must bear
This weary woe till my heart shall break,
In tender compassion hear my prayer,
And save my husband for Jesus sake.
" In happier days he loved me well;
He was good and true, in heart and mind,
Till, tempted beyond his strength, he fell —
Pity him Lord, he is mad and blind. "
Stirring the coals to a feeble glow,
She drew a shawl from the pallid face
Of her child, that died three hours ago,
And took it up in a fond embrace.
And murmured, kissing the waxen brow,
And tenderly parting the silken hair:
" There is nothing left to love me now;
My burden is more than I can bear.
" O dainty hands and dimpled feet,
Always so busy with prank and play!
O lips that lisped so soft and sweet:
" Mamma, I love oo," but yesterday!
" How can I tear you from out my heart,
And lay you under the cold, dark sod?
How can I live when we are apart,
My darling baby? Help me, O God!
" Dreary and cold is the way before,
With nothing to lose, nothing to win:
O, Father in Heaven, open the door,
And let a weary wanderer in! "
III.
She sat as the long, weird hours went by,
With her sad eyes fixed on the window pane;
But she ceased to hear the night wind's sigh,
And the dreary drip of the winter rain.
When morning dawned on the misty moor,
A drunkard, maddened with poisoned rum,
Came blindly staggering through the door
Of the wretched hut he called his home.
If he saw his pale wife sitting there,
He took no notice, nor deigned to speak,
But crept, as a beast might creep to his lair
From hunting blood hounds, wounded and weak.
IV.
By trembling lips the news was told,
And neighbors came with hurrying feet,
And arrayed the sleepers still and cold,
In the folds of a simple winding sheet.
And many a pitying tear was shed
For those whom death had failed to part,
As they laid the baby's sunny head,
Close to the mother's silent heart.
At length the drunkard awoke and said:
" Alice, I'm sick; I must have some rum,
Or this burning pain will burst my head.
Alice! I say — are you deaf and dumb?
" Ho, they are coming for me — see there!
The devils are coming hot from hell —
See, see! how their eyeballs burn and glare! "
And he sprung to his feet with a fearful yell.
With face as white as the face of death,
The maniac stood subdued and cowed —
Stood staring around with bated breath,
Then clutched the folds of the snowy shroud.
" What! Have I killed her at last? " he said,
O cursed drink, is this the end?
A pistol shot — and the man fell dead
By the murdered wife, his one, last friend.
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