VI

And so my Hope were slain,

Had it not been that thou wert standing near,

Oh Thou, who saidest 'live' to creatures lying

      In their own blood, and dying!

For Thou her forehead to thine heart didst rear,

And make its silent pulses sing again,—

Pouring a new light o'er her darkened eyne,

      With tender tears from Thine!