Jane Wilde

27 December 1821 – 3 February 1896


When the gloom is deepest round thee;
When the bands of grief have bound thee,
And in loneliness and sorrow,
By the poisoned springs of life
Thou sittest, yearning for a morrow,
That will free thee from the strife;

Look not upward, for above thee
Never sun or star is gleaming;
Look not round for one to love thee;
Put not faith in mortal seeming;
Lightly would they scorn, then leave thee.
Trust not man—he will deceive thee.
But in the depths of thy own soul
Descend; mysterious powers unroll
Energies that long had slumbered
In its mystic depths unnumbered.
Speak the word!—the power divinest
Will awake, if thou inclinest.
Thou art lord in thine own kingdom;
Rule thyself—thou rulest all!
Smile, when from its proud dominion
Earthly joy will rudely fall.
Be true unto thyself and hear not
Evil thoughts, that would enslave thee.
God is in thee! Mortal, fear not;
Trust in Him, and He will save thee!
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