Poem by Ebenezer Jones

The Hand

Lone o'er the moors I stray'd;
With basely timid mind,
Because by some betray'd
Denouncing human-kind;
I heard the lonely wind,
And wickedly did mourn
I could not share its loneliness,
And all things human scorn.

And bitter were the tears,
I cursed as they fell;
And bitterer the sneers
I strove not to repel:
With blindly mutter'd yell,
I cried unto mine heart,--
"Thou shalt beat the world in falsehood
And stab it ere we part."

My hand I backward drave
As one who seeks a knife;
When startlingly did crave
To quell that hand's wild strife
Some other hand; all rife
With kindness, clasp'd it hard
On mine, quick frequent claspings
That would not be debarr'd.

I dared not turn my gaze
To the creature of the hand
And no sound did it raise,
Its nature to disband
Of mystery; vast, and grand,
The moors around me spread,
And I thought, some angel message
Perchance their God may have sped.

But it press'd another press,
So full of earnest prayer,
While o'er it fell a tress
Of cool soft human hair,
I fear'd not;--I did dare
Turn round, 'twas Hannah there!
Oh! to no one out of heaven
Could I what pass'd declare.

We wander'd o'er the moor
Through all that blessed day
And we drank its waters pure,
And felt the world away;
In many a dell we lay,
And we twined flower-crowns bright;
And I fed her with moor-berries
And bless'd her glad eye-light.

And still that earnest prayer
That saved me many stings,
Was oft a silent sayer
Of countless loving things;--
I'll ring it all with rings,
Each ring a jewell'd band;
For heaven shouldn't purchase
That little sister hand.

1. When the World Is Burning
2. My Wife and Child, Come Close to Me
3. High Summer
4. Ode to Thought
5. Rain

Robert Service The Hand ("Throughout my life I see")

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