The Refiner's Gold.

He stood before my heart's closed door,
    And asked to enter in;
But I had barred the passage o'er
    By unbelief and sin.

He came with nail-prints in his hands,
    To set my spirit free;
With wounded feet he trod a path
    To come and sup with me.

He found me poor and brought me gold,
    The fire of love had tried,
And garments whitened by his blood,
    My wretchedness to hide.

The glare of life had dimmed my eyes,
    Its glamour was too bright.
He came with ointment in his hands
    To heal my darkened sight.


He knew my heart was tempest-tossed,
    By care and pain oppressed;
He whispered to my burdened heart,
    Come unto me and rest.

He found me weary, faint and worn,
    On barren mountains cold;
With love's constraint he drew me on,
    To shelter in his fold.

Oh! foolish heart, how slow wert thou
    To welcome thy dear guest,
To change thy weariness and care
    For comfort, peace and rest.

Close to his side, oh! may I stay,
    Just to behold his face,
Till I shall wear within my soul
    The image of his grace.

The grace that changes hearts of stone
    To tenderness and love,
And bids us run with willing feet
    Unto his courts above.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper was an African American abolitionist, suffragist, poet, teacher, public speaker, and writer. Born free in Baltimore, Maryland, she was one of the first African American women to be published in the United States. She was active in social reform movements and used her poetry and prose to advocate for abolition and women's rights. Her best-known works include the poetry collection "Forest Leaves" and the novel "Iola Leroy."

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Let The Light Enter.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

Thank God For Little Children.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

The Dying Bondman.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

Renewal Of Strength.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, Simple Poetry

English

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Fishers Of Men.

I had a dream, a varied dream:
    Before my ravished sight
The city of my Lord arose,
    With all its love and light.

The music of a myriad harps
    Flowed out with sweet accord;
And saints were casting down their crowns
    In homage to our Lord.


My heart leaped up with untold joy,
    Life's toil and pain were o'er;
My weary feet at last had found
    The bright and restful shore.

Just as I reached the gates of light,
    Ready to enter in,
From earth arose a fearful cry
    Of sorrow and of sin.

I turned, and saw behind me surge
    A wild and stormy sea;
And drowning men were reaching out
    Imploring hands to me.

And ev'ry lip was blanched with dread,
    And moaning for relief;
The mus...

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Renewal Of Strength.

The prison-house in which I live
    Is falling to decay,
But God renews my spirit's strength,
    Within these walls of clay.

For me a dimness slowly creeps
    Around earth's fairest light,
But heaven grows clearer to my view,
    And fairer to my sight.

It may be earth's sweet harmonies
    Are duller to my ear,
But music from my Father's house
    Begins to float more near.

Then let the pillars of my home
    Crumble and fall away;
Lo, God's dear love within my soul
    Renews it day by day.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Signing The Pledge.

To comfort hearts that sigh and break,
    To dry the falling tear,
Wilt thou forego the music sweet
    Entrancing now thy ear?

I must return, I firmly said,
    The strugglers in that sea
Shall not reach out beseeching hands
    In vain for help to me.

I turned to go; but as I turned
    The gloomy sea grew bright,
And from my heart there seemed to flow
    Ten thousand cords of light.

And sin-wrecked men, with eager hands
    Did grasp each golden cord;
And with my heart I drew them on
    To see my gracious Lord.

Again I stood beside the gate.
    My heart was glad and free;
For with me stood a rescued throng
    The Lord had given me.

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

Go Work In My Vineyard.

Go work in my vineyard, said the Lord,
    And gather the bruised grain;
But the reapers had left the stubble bare,
    And I trod the soil in pain.

The fields of my Lord are wide and broad,
    He has pastures fair and green,
And vineyards that drink the golden light
    Which flows from the sun's bright sheen.

I heard the joy of the reapers' song,
    As they gathered golden grain;
Then wearily turned unto my task,
    With a lonely sense of pain.

Sadly I turned from the sun's fierce glare,
    And sought the quiet shade,
And over my dim and weary eyes
    Sleep's peaceful fingers strayed.

I dreamed I joined with a restless throng,
    Eager for pleasure and gain;
But ever and anon a stumbler fell,
    And uttered a cry...

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

A Double Standard.

Do you blame me that I loved him?
    If when standing all alone
I cried for bread a careless world
    Pressed to my lips a stone.

Do you blame me that I loved him,
    That my heart beat glad and free,
When he told me in the sweetest tones
    He loved but only me?

Can you blame me that I did not see
    Beneath his burning kiss
The serpent's wiles, nor even hear
    The deadly adder hiss?


Can you blame me that my heart grew cold
    The tempted, tempter turned;
When he was feted and caressed
    And I was coldly spurned?

Would you blame him, when you draw from me
    Your dainty robes aside,
If he with gilded baits should claim
    Your fairest as his bride?

Would you blame the world if it should press...

Frances Ellen Watkins Harper

The Convent Threshold

There's blood between us, love, my love,
There's father's blood, there's brother's blood;
And blood's a bar I cannot pass:
I choose the stairs that mount above,
Stair after golden skyward stair,
To city and to sea of glass.
My lily feet are soiled with mud,
With scarlet mud which tells a tale
Of hope that was, of guilt that was,
Of love that shall not yet avail;
Alas, my heart, if I could bare
My heart, this selfsame stain is there:
I seek the sea of glass and fire
To wash the spot, to burn the snare;
Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher:
Mount with me, mount the kindled stair.

    Your eyes look earthward, mine look up.
I see the far-off city grand,
Beyond the hills a watered land,
Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand
Of mansions wher...

Christina Georgina Rossetti