She heedeth not, she heedeth not,
She, who from early days
Had joy'd within that holy Church
To swell Jehovah's praise.
Then onward toward a narrow cell
They tread the grass-grown track
From whence the unreturning guest
Doth send no tidings back;
There sleeps the grandsire high and brave
In freedom's battles tried,*[1]
With him whose banner was the cross
Of Jesus crucified.
Down by those hoary chiefs she laid
Her young, unfrosted head,
To rise no more, until the voice
Of Jesus wakes the dead,
From her own dear, domestic bower,
From deep, confiding love,
From earth's unshaded smile, she turn'd
To purer bliss above.
PRISONERS' EVENING HYMN.
Written for the Females in the Connecticut State Prison.
The silent curtains of the night
Each lonely cell surround,
God's dwelling is in perfect light,
His mercy hath no bound.
- ↑ * General Putnam.
