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Poem by Menella Bute Smedley


Out of the Depths


We faint beneath this burning sky,
Upon this barren steep,
O! give us dew before we die,
Give but an hour of sleep!
We fail beside this darken'd bed,
Where dies our life's last light
Voice that of old didst wake the dead,
Why, why, so dumb to-night?
Hearts we would buckler with our own,
We see them bleed and break;
In vain our strong cries touch the Throne,
O! slay us for their sake!
Souls we would give our souls to save,
Are wandering far and long:
Ah, shut them in the sinless grave,
Life does them such deep wrong!

When shall this fruitless anguish cease?
When rest this weary earth?
Was it mere sound, that promised peace,
That music of Thy birth?
The Voice is very soft and near
Yea, strive, and shrink, and die,
I spare thee not a single tear,
Yet fear not,It is I!



Menella Bute Smedley


Menella Bute Smedley's other poems:
  1. The Singing Lesson
  2. The Rooks' Petition
  3. The Vow of Cortes
  4. The Sick Child
  5. The English Merchant and the Saracen Lady


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