Poems (Helen Jenkins)/In a Prison Cell
IN A PRISON CELL.
Alone in a prison cell to-night!
Alone with her child in the spectral light,
A woman shudders and creeps from sight.
Alone with her child in the spectral light,
A woman shudders and creeps from sight.
Sad is her burden of torturing fears;
Falling like rain are her gathering tears;
Dreary and hopeless the future appears.
Falling like rain are her gathering tears;
Dreary and hopeless the future appears.
Poor little child! 'tis a fearful blight
Which falls like a curse on thy name to-night,
Though sinless thou art as the angels of light.
Which falls like a curse on thy name to-night,
Though sinless thou art as the angels of light.
The hours pass wearily, slowly on.
O, when will the long, dark night be gone?
Pleading and praying she waits for the dawn.
O, when will the long, dark night be gone?
Pleading and praying she waits for the dawn.
She covers her head that she may not see
The phantoms mocking her misery;
Ah, little she thought what the end would be!
The phantoms mocking her misery;
Ah, little she thought what the end would be!
Oh! could she go back to her home the same
As when a girl from its door she came,
Pure and free from her sin and shame!
As when a girl from its door she came,
Pure and free from her sin and shame!
Ere the tempter came with his smile so bland,
And a glamour fell from his gilded wand,
Till wrong seemed right in that "border-land"
And a glamour fell from his gilded wand,
Till wrong seemed right in that "border-land"
Where demons disguised their victims meet;
Where jest and laughter and music sweet
Make the illusive picture complete.
Where jest and laughter and music sweet
Make the illusive picture complete.
Alas! alas! in the harvest time,
When sadly the bells of memory chime,
Bitter indeed are the fruits of crime.
When sadly the bells of memory chime,
Bitter indeed are the fruits of crime.
Baby tosses and moans and weeps,
While a wee, soft hand to her bosom creeps.
Forgetting her sorrows, poor Magdalen sleeps,
While a wee, soft hand to her bosom creeps.
Forgetting her sorrows, poor Magdalen sleeps,
Tenderly watched by the twinkling stars,
Till the sunshine falls o'er her in golden bars,
Though many a shadow its glory mars.
Till the sunshine falls o'er her in golden bars,
Though many a shadow its glory mars.
The bars of sunlight a ladder seem;
And the footprints of angels softly gleam
On its shining rounds, in her fitful dream.
And the footprints of angels softly gleam
On its shining rounds, in her fitful dream.
Hovering near, they are seeking to win
Her soul from the pitfalls and mazes of sin.
God grant she may go no more therein!
Her soul from the pitfalls and mazes of sin.
God grant she may go no more therein!