And stretch both hands to Heaven for grace—
While knee-deep in the slough of doubt.
Ha! if there needed nothing more
I might like others dare to raise
My hand and batter at His door
Who still is "terrible in praise."—
[Pauses and reflects.]
And yet in uttermost despair,
In shuddering sorrow's deepest deep,
When Alf at last had sunk to sleep,
And all his mother's kisses vain
Won not the lost smile back again—
What felt I—if it was not prayer?
Whence came that trance, that ecstasy,
That rushing music, like a blast,
That sang afar and hurried past,
Bore me aloft and set me free?
Was it the ecstasy of prayer?
Did I with God hold converse there?
My anguish—did it reach his ears?
Did he look down and see my tears?
I know not. Barr'd is now the door,
The darkness deeper than before,
And nowhere, nowhere any light!
Yes, She—who, darkling, yet hath sight—
[Calls in anguish.]
Light, Agnes—light, if light thou hast!
Agnes opens the door and enters with the lighted
Christmas candles; a bright glow falls over the
room.
Brand.
Light!
Agnes.
See, the Yule light, Brand, at last!
