The Warrior To His Dead Bride by Adelaide Anne Procter

If in the fight my arm was strong,
And forced my foes to yield,
If conquering and unhurt I came
Back from the battle-field–
It is because thy prayers have been
My safeguard and my shield.

My comrades smile to see my arm
Spare or protect a foe,
They think thy gentle pleading voice
Was silenced long ago;
But pity and compassion, love,
Were taught me first by woe.

Thy heart, my own, still beats in Heaven
With the same love divine
That made thee stoop to such a soul,
So hard, so stern, as mine–
My eyes have learnt to weep, beloved,
Since last they looked on thine.

I hear thee murmur words of peace
Through the dim midnight air,
And a calm falls from the angel stars
And soothes my great despair–
The Heavens themselves look brighter, love,
Since thy sweet soul is there.

And if my heart is once more calm,
My step is once more free,
It is because each hour I feel
Thou prayest still for me;
Because no fate or change can come
Between my soul and thee.

It is because my heart is stilled.
Not broken by despair,
Because I see the grave is bright,
And death itself is fair–
I dread no more the wrath of Heaven–
I have an angel there!

Leave a Reply 0

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *