Part 27 (2/2)

The works of God, above, beloithin us and around, Are pages in that book, to sho God Himself is found_

JOHN KEBLE--1792-1866

XLVI THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS

THOMAS HOOD--1799-1845

One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashi+on'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair!

Look at her gar like cere; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing--

Touch her not scornfully; Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her,-- All that remains of her Now is pure womanly

Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful: Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful

Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's fa so clammily

Loop up her tresses Escaped frouesses Where was her home?

Who was her father?

Who was her mother?

Had she a sister?

Had she a brother?

Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Yet, than all other?

Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun!

Oh! it was pitiful!

Near a whole city full, Home she had none

Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, ed: Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown froed

Where the laht Froarret to baseht

The bleak wind of March Made her tremble and shi+ver; But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing river: Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery, Swift to be hurl'd-- Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world!