Menken, Adah Isaacs
|DRIFTS THAT BAR MY DOOR.|
Angels, is this my reward?
Is this the crown ye promised to set down on the foreheads.
of the loving--the suffering--the deserted?
Where are the slaves I toiled for?
Where the golden grain ye promised?
These are but withered leaves.
Oh, is this all?
Meekly I have toiled and spun the fleece.
All the work ye assigned, my willing hands have
accomplished.69See how thin they are, and how they bleed.
Ah me! what meagre pay, e'en when the task is over!
My fainting child, whose golden head graces even this
dungeon, looks up to me and pleads for life.
O God! my heart is breaking!
Despair and Death have forced their skelrton forms
through the grated window of my cell, and stand clamoring
for their prey.
The lamp is almost burnt out.
Angels, sweep the drifts away--unbar my door!