Christ washed the feet of Judas!
And thus a girded servant, self-abased,
Taught that no wrong this side the gate of heaven
Was ever too great to wholly be effaced,
And, though unasked, in spirit be forgiven.
And so if we have ever felt the wrong
Of trampled rights, of caste, it matters not,
What e’er the soul has felt or suffered long,
Oh, heart! this one thing should not be forgot:
Christ washed the feet of Judas.
IN MEMORY OF KATIE REYNOLDS, DYING
O Death!
If thou hast aught of tenderness,
Be kindly in thy touch
Of her whose fragile slenderness
Was overburdened much
With life. And let her seem to go to sleep,
As often does a tired child, when it has grown
Too tired to longer weep.
A rose but half in bloom—
She is too young and beautiful to die,
But yet, if she must go,
Let her go out as goes a sigh
From tired life and woe.
And let her keep, in death’s brief space
This side the grave, the dusky beauty still
Belonging to her face.
She must have been
Of those upon the trembling lyre
Of whom the poets sung:
