The Dying Fugitive
Dublin Core
Title
The Dying Fugitive
Description
Slowly o'er his darkened features,
Stole the warning shades of death;
And we knew the shadowing angelWaited for his parting breath.
And his heart beat firm and high—
But before he won the guerdon,Came the message—he must die.
Lay the long'd for, precious prize—
And the hoeps that lit him onward,Faded out before his eyes.
Rested on his weary brain;
And he thought the hateful tyrant,Had rebound his galling chain.
"Take me where that good man dwells!"
For a name to freedom preciousLingered 'mid life's shattered cells.
O'er the storm-cloud's gloomy track—
Through the tempests of his bosom,Came the light of reason back.
For the home he'd left behind,
Calmly yielded he his spirit,To the Father of mankind.
He with eager steps had trop—
E'er his ransomed spirit rested,On the bosom of his God.
Creator
Frances Ellen Watkins (Harper)
Source
1:5, pg. 1
Date
8.20.1859
Collection
Citation
Frances Ellen Watkins (Harper), “The Dying Fugitive,” Periodical Poets, accessed September 8, 2024, https://periodicalpoets.com/items/show/560.
Comments