AFTER READING HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY <br /> <br />POOR victim of that vulture curse <br />That hovers o'er the universe, <br />With ready talons quick to strike <br />In every human heart alike, <br />And cruel beak to stab and tear <br />In virtue's vitals everywhere,-- <br />You need no sympathy of mine <br />To aid you, for a strength divine <br />Encircles you, and lifts you clear <br />Above this earthly atmosphere. <br /> <br />And yet I can but call you poor, <br />As, looking through the open door <br />Of your sad life, I only see <br />A broad landscape of misery, <br />And catch through mists of pitying tears <br />The ruins of your younger years, <br />I see a father's shielding arm <br />Thrown round you in a wild alarm-- <br />Struck down, and powerless to free <br />Or aid you in your agony. <br /> <br />I see a happy home grow dark <br />And desolate--the latest spark <br />Of hope is passing in eclipse-- <br />The prayer upon a mother's lips <br />Has fallen with her latest breath <br />In ashes on the lips of death-- <br />I see a penitent who reels, <br />And writhes, and clasps his hands, and kneels, <br />And moans for mercy for the sake <br />Of that fond heart he dared to break. <br /> <br />And lo! as when in Galilee <br />A voice above the troubled sea <br />Commanded 'Peace; be still!' the flood <br />That rolled in tempest-waves of blood <br />Within you, fell in calm so sweet <br />It ripples round the Saviour's feet; <br />And all your noble nature thrilled <br />With brightest hope and faith, and filled <br />Your thirsty soul with joy and peace <br />And praise to Him who gave release.<br /><br />James Whitcomb Riley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/luther-benson/
