FullReads

VIII

Oh, I have sworn! the hour is nigh:
When it strikes eight, I die, I die.
Raise up the gun — it stings my brow —
When it strikes eight . . . all ready . . . NOW —

* * * * *

Down from my hand the weapon dropped;
Wildly I stared. . . .
THE CLOCK HAD STOPPED.

IX

Phantoms and fears and ghosts have gone.
Peace seems to nestle in my brain.
Lo! the clock stopped, I’m living on;
Heart-sick I was, and less than sane.
Yet do I scorn the thing I planned,
Hearing a voice: “O coward, fight!”
Then the clock stopped . . . whose was the hand?
Maybe ’twas God’s — ah well, all’s right.
Heap on me darkness, fold on fold!
Pain! wrench and rack me! What care I?
Leap on me, hunger, thirst and cold!
I will await my time to die;
Looking to Heaven that shines above;
Looking to God, and love . . . and love.

X

Hark! what is that? Bells, dogs again!
Is it a dream? I sob and cry.
See! the door opens, fur-clad men
Rush to my rescue; frail am I;
Feeble and dying, dazed and glad.
There is the pistol where it dropped.
“Boys, it was hard — but I’m not mad. . . .
Look at the clock — it stopped, it stopped.
Carry me out. The heavens smile.
See! there’s an arch of gold above.
Now, let me rest a little while —
LOOKING TO GOD AND LOVE . . . AND LOVE. . . .”