Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1867-01-11
For the Standard.
The Last Prayer.

Twas a wild dreary night in mid-winter,
The tempest was forth in its might,
As the storm-king had summoned his legions
To contend with the darkness of night.
The winds in wild chorus were screeching,
AS if chanting funeral dirge
To the day which the night clouds had buried
Like a life boat o'ercome by the surge.
And the old elm tree bowed as if crouching
Away from the wrath of the gale,
Or as dreading the tumult around them
They mOaned in low plaintive wall.
The fast driven snow 'gainst the windows
And door sills and lintels lay piled,
As it sought an asylum of refuge
From the rage of the conflict so wild.
Twas night clothed in gloom, well befitting
The steps of the angel of death,
AS he passed with message from heaven,
To smte with his whitening breath.
The streets were all nearly deserted
For the home circles comforts and light,
Except by the lone homeless wandrer,
Whose home was the darkness of night.
The lamp lights cleaned wildly and looming
Without all was chilly and drear,
Adding little to the fire side attractions
A fresh air of comfort and cheer.
In a dark narrow street, such as ever,
Abonnds with the foul haunts of vice,
Where the tempter, whose power is in darkness
Lures his victims by basest device.
\ door over which in gilt letters
Was written the index of sin,
And whose Threshold they'd enter who'd barter
Both virtue and manhood for sin,
Was suddenly opened, and reeling
Out into the cold chilly blast,
A victim of demon oppression
Was heartleSsly, shamefully cast.
His flushed bloated visage betokened
That the fangs of the serpent were there,
Whilst his wild restless eyes fiery glances
Spoke the symptoms of inward despair.
There was something that told, from his bearing
That his path was not always so low,
He had fallen, aye bowed to debasement
In the grasp Of pitiless foe.
40 liz NAlllC u llOlll tb'tt MAJ n VI NiASAAOASA3
A faint, grim smile played DER his face,
And he muttereda curse on the monster
Who had dealt MIN the seeds of disgrace.
With slow, feeble footsteps he staggered
Through the tempest that chilled through his
veins,
But he needed it not; in his bosom
Were sharper andm bitter pains.
As he looks at the close curtained windows
And thinks of the comforts within,
Of those who mid peace and its blessings
Were secure from the telhpest's wild din,
The memry Of past days came DER him,
Bitter as the essence OF woe;
And he thinks of the bright home he squandered
And the songs that he felt long ago.
Oppressed with the thoughts that thus temped
him,
And oercome by the cold biting blast,
He sank down exhausted and weary,
And unheeded thewinds DER him passed.
For his thoughts we're too bitter for anguish,
To be felt by his fast sinking frame,
A fire burned within his chilled bosom
A Aconsuming and fierce burning flame.
He thought of the days when his spirit
Was noble and free, now so low,
When his soul, now so stained and polluted
Was pure as the fresh fallen snow.
OF the hearts that once loved him so fOndly,
That had cherished his image and love,
Now Gong ago wretched and broIen)
Were resting in heaven above.
He knelt down i'll mute supplication,
| Forh his tongue was too feeble to speak;
And the penitent tears then left their fountain,
| But froze on his cold palid cheek.
| Midst the darkness and tempest his spirit
| Ebbed out with his faint feeble prayer,
| And when morning awOke hom its slumbcrs
But a cold lifeless body was there.
Was that last prayer unheeded? did those little
| Outpourings he answer obtain,
But a dull mocking echo returning,
Was that sinners last prayer prayed in vain
All no! tits recorded in heaven!
Yes, anges have carried it there;
1t is registered surely, and vengeance
The answer will be-tO that prayer
r. ROBINSON.
North Craftsbury.