Poems (Procter)/The Warrior to his Dead Bride

by Adelaide Anne Procter

THE WARRIOR TO HIS DEAD BRIDE

F in the fight my arm was strong And forced my foes to yield,—If conquering and unhurt I came Back from the battle-field,—It is because thy prayers have been My safeguard and my shield.

My comrades smile to see my arm Spare or protect a foe,They think thy gentle pleading voice Was silenced long ago;But pity and compassion, love, Were taught me first by woe.

Thy heart, my own, still beats in Heaven With the same love divineThat made thee stoop to such a soul, So hard, so stern as mine,—My eyes have learnt to weep, beloved, Since last they looked on thine.

I hear thee murmur words of peace Through the dim midnight air, And a calm falls from the angel stars And soothes my great despair—The heavens themselves look brighter, love, Since thy sweet soul is there.

And if my heart is once more calm, My step is once more free,It is because each hour I feel Thou prayest still for me;Because no fate or change can come Between my soul and thee.

It is because my heart is stilled, Not broken by despair,Because I see the grave is bright, And death itself is fair:—I dread no more the wrath of Heaven,— I have an angel there!