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Part III.
PETER BELL.
71
Even as he pass'd the door, these words
Did plainly come to Peter's ears;
And they such joyful tidings were
The joy was more than he could bear—
He melted into tears.
Sweet tears of hope and tenderness!
And fast they fell, a plenteous shower;
His nerves, his sinews seem'd to melt;
Through all his iron frame was felt
A gentle, a relaxing power!
Each fibre of his frame was weak,
Weak all the animal within,
But in its helplessness grew mild
And gentle as an infant child,
An infant that has known no sin.
