The Drunkard's Wife
The mystic shadows of the night
Have shrouded all in gloom,
But there is one her watch doth keep
Within a cheerless room.
The dying embers on the hearth
Burn with a feeble power,
And the old clock in solemn tone
Speaks out the midnight hour.
All, all are wrapped in slumbers soft,
Save, she, the wretched wife;
Oh, who dare say a woman's love
Is not the pearl of life?
The candle now is flickering,
The embers grow more dim,
Yet with throbbing brow and heart
She watches still for him.
At last she hears a footstep nigh,
Her soul is filled with bliss,
She hastens with her outstretched arms
To greet him with a kiss.
She welcomes him with eyes of love,
With smiles that are divine;
Oh, God! he reels--he cannot stand,
He is o'ercome with wine.
Night after night she watches thus;
Her frame grows thin and weak;
Yet still to him, the cause of all,
Complaints she will not speak;
And when at last the lamp of life
No more its light doth shed,
And he who swore to cherish her
Is absent from the dead,
She chide him not, but did forgive
With her expiring breath.
Oh, woman, when she truly loves,
Is faithful unto death.