Owen Suffolk - Untitled 5
An exile captive, severed from his home, <br />Torn from the friends he loved in life's sweet spring; <br />Heart-broken toils, while still his sad thoughts roam <br />Back to the past which now no joys can bring; <br />Vainly he seeks compassion and relief <br />In human hearts around, to cheer or soothe his grief. <br /> <br />As hard the steel, so hard the flinty rock, <br />Whose grating echoes jest but at his woe; <br />The quivering iron yields but to the shock, <br />While down his bosom's height the cold drops flow, <br />His bleeding hands show many a sanguine spot, <br />Though seen by human eyes, by human hearts forgot. <br /> <br />There's not a sigh his spirit's grief hath sped, <br />There's not a dew-drop wrung by tyranny, <br />Nor yet one scorching tear his soul hath shed, <br />Nor bloody stain of silent agony, <br />But God hath seen, and hath recorded true, <br />To render unto man according to his due.<br /><br />Owen Suffolk<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/untitled-5-2/
