The Hour of Reckoning.

THE HOUR OF RECKONING.

GIVE way,—give way,—this is not patience’s hour:
Call not my grief a wild and sinful thing:
Call not my ceaseless tears a wasted shower:
Have ye not suffered ? bear with suffering.

Not for this hope,—though even ye do see
My life has gone down with it to the grave,
Not for this only grief,—my misery
Goes o’er my spirit now—dark wave on wave.

No, no; now heaves the swell of my heart’s wo
Fed by a thousand streams repressed not dry;
The breathing forms I buried long ago,
They are revenged—they rise—they will not die.

Redress! redress! yes, ye shall have it now,
Feelings denied through long and level years!
The way is open; none shall disallow
Your claim to sighs,—your heritage in tears.

No, let those hear you, whom a single grief
Has bowed, aye, crushed to earth in all but rest;
But bring not yet, not yet, to me relief:—
‘T is an unbidden, ‘t is an ill -timed guest.

Bear with me—bear—I have not stopped, like you,
To give the pittance even of a tear
When my life’s miseries pleaded in my view
And asked but this the wretched beggar’s cheer.

I have been proud—no, no,—I was afraid
To give one mite lest they should ask for more,
And now they throng around, nor ask for aid,
But rudely seize on all life’s hoarded store.

Take all,—aye, take sorrows neglected, hushed,
Hopes, yearnings frightened into timid peace;
Take all; the heart which silenced ye is crushed,
Take all, and sign your debtor’s hard release.