Anne Brontë (ऐनी ब्रॉन्टे)

Methought I saw him but I knew him not,He was so changed from what he used to be.

There was no redness on his woe-worn cheek,No sunny smile upon his ashy lips.

His hollow wandering eyes looked wild and fierce,And grief was printed on his marble brow.

And O I thought he clasped his wasted hands,And raised his haggard eyes to Heaven, and prayed.

That he might die -- I had no power to speak,I thought I was allowed to see him thus.

And yet I might not speak one single word,I might not even tell him that I lived.

And that it might be possible if search were made,To find out where I was and set me free.

O how I longed to clasp him to my heart,Or but to hold his trembling hand in mine.

And speak one word of comfort to his mind,I struggled wildly but it was in vain.

I could not rise from my dark dungeon floor,And the dear name I vainly strove to speak.

Died in a voiceless whisper on my tongue,Then I awoke, and lo it was a dream!.

A dream? Alas it was reality!,For well I know wherever he may be.

He mourns me thus -- O heaven I could bear,My deadly fate with calmness if there were.

My God (oh, let me call Thee mine,Weak, wretched sinner though I be).

My trembling soul would fain be Thine,My feeble faith still clings to Thee.

Not only for the Past I grieve,The Future fills me with dismay.

Unless Thou hasten to relieve,Thy suppliant is a castaway.

I cannot say my faith is strong,I dare not hope my love is great.

But strength and love to Thee belong,Oh, do not leave me desolate!.

I know I owe my all to Thee,Oh, TAKE the heart I cannot give!.

Do Thou my strength--my Saviour be,And MAKE me to Thy glory live.

Why should such gloomy silence reign,And why is all the house so drear.

When neither danger, sickness, pain,Nor death, nor want have entered here?.

We are as many as we were,That other night, when all were gay.

And full of hope, and free from care,Yet, is there something gone away.

The moon without as pure and calm,Is shining as that night she shone.

but now, to us she brings no balm,For something from our hearts is gone.

Something whose absence leaves a void,A cheerless want in every heart.

Each feels the bliss of all destroyed,And mourns the change - but each apart.

The fire is burning in the grate,As redly as it used to burn.

But still the hearth is desolate,Till Mirth and Love with Peace return.

'Twas Peace that flowed from heart to heart,With looks and smiles that spoke of Heaven.

And gave us language to impart,The blissful thoughts itself had given.

Sweet child of Heaven, and joy of earth!,O, when will Man thy value learn?.

We rudely drove thee from our hearth,And vainly sigh for thy return.

While on my lonely couch I lie,I seldom feel myself alone.

For fancy fills my dreaming eye,With scenes and pleasures of its own.

Then I may cherish at my breast,An infant's form beloved and fair.

May smile and soothe it into rest,With all a Mother's fondest care.

How sweet to feel its helpless form,Depending thus on me alone!.

And while I hold it safe and warm,What bliss to think it is my own!.

And glances then may meet my eyes,That daylight never showed to me.

What raptures in my bosom rise,Those earnest looks of love to see.

To feel my hand so kindly prest,To know myself beloved at last.

To think my heart has found a rest,My life of solitude is past!.

But then to wake and find it flown,The dream of happiness destroyed.

To find myself unloved, alone,What tongue can speak the dreary void?.

A heart whence warm affections flow,Creator, thou hast given to me.

And am I only thus to know,How sweet the joys of love would be?.

Farewell to thee! but not farewell,To all my fondest thoughts of thee.

Within my heart they still shall dwell,And they shall cheer and comfort me.

O, beautiful, and full of grace!,If thou hadst never met mine eye.

I had not dreamed a living face,Could fancied charms so far outvie.

If I may ne'er behold again,That form and face so dear to me.

Nor hear thy voice, still would I fain,Preserve, for aye, their memory.

That voice, the magic of whose tone,Can wake an echo in my breast.

Creating feelings that, alone,Can make my tranced spirit blest.

That laughing eye, whose sunny beam,My memory would not cherish less; --.

And oh, that smile! whose joyous gleam,Nor mortal language can express.

Adieu, but let me cherish, still,The hope with which I cannot part.

Contempt may wound, and coldness chill,But still it lingers in my heart.

And who can tell but Heaven, at last,May answer all my thousand prayers.

And bid the future pay the past,With joy for anguish, smiles for tears?.

Eternal Power, of earth and air!,Unseen, yet seen in all around.

Remote, but dwelling everywhere,Though silent, heard in every sound.

If e'er thine ear in mercy bent,When wretched mortals cried to Thee.

And if, indeed, Thy Son was sent,To save lost sinners such as me.

Then hear me now, while, kneeling here,I lift to thee my heart and eye.

And all my soul ascends in prayer,Oh, give me -­ give me Faith! I cry.

Without some glimmering in my heart,I could not raise this fervent prayer.

But, oh! a stronger light impart,And in Thy mercy fix it there.

While Faith is with me, I am blest,It turns my darkest night to day.

But while I clasp it to my breast,I often feel it slide away.

Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks,To see my light of life depart.

And every fiend of Hell, methinks,Enjoys the anguish of my heart.

What shall I do, if all my love,My hopes, my toil, are cast away.

And if there be no God above,To hear and bless me when I pray?.

If this be vain delusion all,If death be an eternal sleep.

And none can hear my secret call,Or see the silent tears I weep!.

Oh, help me, God! For thou alone,Canst my distracted soul relieve.

Forsake it not: it is thine own,Though weak, yet longing to believe.

Oh, drive these cruel doubts away,And make me know, that Thou art God!.

A faith, that shines by night and day,Will lighten every earthly load.

If I believe that Jesus died,And, waking, rose to reign above.

Then surely Sorrow, Sin, and Pride,Must yield to Peace, and Hope, and Love.

And all the blessed words He said,Will strength and holy joy impart.

A shield of safety o'er my head,A spring of comfort in my heart.

Music I love -­ but never strain,Could kindle raptures so divine.

So grief assuage, so conquer pain,And rouse this pensive heart of mine -­.

As that we hear on Christmas morn,Upon the wintry breezes borne.

Though Darkness still her empire keep,And hours must pass, ere morning break.

From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep,That music kindly bids us wake.

It calls us, with an angel's voice,To wake, and worship, and rejoice.

To greet with joy the glorious morn,Which angels welcomed long ago.

When our redeeming Lord was born,To bring the light of Heaven below.

The Powers of Darkness to dispel,And rescue Earth from Death and Hell.

While listening to that sacred strain,My raptured spirit soars on high.

I seem to hear those songs again,Resounding through the open sky.

That kindled such divine delight,In those who watched their flocks by night.

With them, I celebrate His birth -­,Glory to God, in highest Heaven.

Good-will to men, and peace on Earth,To us a Saviour-king is given.