SWEET HOURS

THESE ever wakeful eyes are closed. They saw
Such grief, that they could see no more. The heart—
That quick'ning pulse of nations—could not bear
Another throb of pain, and could not hear
Another cry of tortur'd motherhood.
Those uncomplaining lips, they sob no more
The soundless sobs of dark and burning tears,
That none have seen; they smile no more, to breathe
A mother's comfort into aching hearts.
The patriarchal Queen, the monument
Of touching widowhood, of endless love,
And childlike purity—she sleeps. This night
Is watchful not. The restless hand, that slave
To duty, to a mastermind, to wisdom
That fathom'd history and saw beyond
The times, lies still in marble whiteness. Love
So great, so faithful, unforgetting and
Unselfish—must it sleep? Or will that veil,
That widow's veil unfold, and spread into
The dovelike wings, that long were wont to hover
In anxious care about her world-wide nest.....(GRAB YOUR COPY NOW!)