THE GOOD PART, THAT SHALL NOT BE TAKEN AWAY. SHE dwells by Great Kenhawa's side, Her soul like the transparent air That robes the hills above, Though not of earth, encircles there All things with arms of love. And thus she walks among her girls She reads to them at eventide And oft the blessed time foretells THE GOOD PART. And following her beloved Lord, In decent poverty, She makes her life one sweet record And deed of charity. For she was rich, and gave up all To break the iron bands Of those who waited in her hall, Long since beyond the Southern Sea Their outbound sails have sped, While she, in meek humility, Now earns her daily bread. It is their prayers, which never cease, That clothe her with such grace; Their blessing is the light of peace That shines upon her face. IN dark fens of the Dismal Swamp He saw the fire of the midnight camp, Where will-o'-the-wisps and glow worms shine, In bulrush and in brake; Where waving mosses shroud the pine, And the cedar grows, and the poisonous vine Is spotted like the snake; THE SLAVE IN THE DISMAL SWAMP. Where hardly a human foot could pass, On the quaking turf of the green morass A poor old slave, infirm and lame; Great scars deformed his face; On his forehead he bore the brand of shame, And the rags, that hid his mangled frame, Were the livery of disgrace. All things above were bright and fair, On him alone was the doom of pain, Fell, like a flail on the garnered grain, And struck him to the earth! |