37
PETER WEEPING.
ES, weep—weep on! No marvel nowThat fast those scorching teardrops rain
Yet seen not, as they darkly flow,
To cool or calm thy burning brain.
The pangs which rend thy tortured heart.
Bach deep convulsive sob may show,
And every bursting groan impart
The secret of some 'whelming woe.
Bach deep convulsive sob may show,
And every bursting groan impart
The secret of some 'whelming woe.
Alas! alas! at this sweet hour,
When all is starlit, calm, and clear,
Too well mayst thou in secret pour
The meed of many a heart-wrung tear!
When all is starlit, calm, and clear,
Too well mayst thou in secret pour
The meed of many a heart-wrung tear!
But who that 'neath the morning's beam
Beheld thy glance so proud and free,
Or heard thee vow to die for Him,
Who soon will gladly die for thee,
Beheld thy glance so proud and free,
Or heard thee vow to die for Him,
Who soon will gladly die for thee,
Could think, ere falling eve, that eve
Beneath a woman's scorn would quail,
And thrice those coward lips deny
The Gracious Friend once loved so well?
Beneath a woman's scorn would quail,
And thrice those coward lips deny
The Gracious Friend once loved so well?
