stir your feelings to their depths.
And bring, like conscience in your dying hour,
The sense of your great crime, that so you may
Repent, and Heaven will pardon. Here on earth,
Man has no power t' absolve such guilty deed.
Prisoner, one month ago, and you were safe--
A man among your neighbors well beloved,
And in your home the one preferred to all.
No monarch could have driven you from the throne
You held in th' loving hearts of wife and child.
Your coming was their festival; your step,
As eve drew on, was music to their ears.
The little girl, the adopted of your vow,
Was always at the door to claim the kiss
That you, with father's tenderness, bestowed.
Alas! for her--for you--the last return!
One fatal night you yielded to the tempter,
And drained the drunkard's cup till reason fled,
And then went reeling home, your brain on fire,
And, raging like a tiger in the toils,
You fancied every human form a foe.
And when that little girl, like playful fawn,
Unconscious of your state, came bounding forth
To clasp your knee and welcome "father home"--
You, with a madman's fury, struck her dead!
[_A shriek is heard from prisoner's wife._
Prisoner, for this offence you have been tried,
And every scope allowed that law could grant
To mitigate the awful punishment.
No one believes that malice moved your mind;
But murdering maniacs may not live with men;
And therefore, prisoner, you are doomed for life
To solitary toil. Alone! alone! alone!
Love's music voice will never greet your ear;
Affection's eye will never meet your gaze;
Nor heart-warm hand of friend return your grasp;
But morn, and noon, and night, days, months, and years,
Will all be told in this one word--alone!
Prisoner, the world will leave you as the dead
Within your closing cell--your living tomb.
But One there is who pardons and protects,
And never leaves the penitent alone.
Oh, turn to Him, the Saviour! so your cell,
That opens when you die, may lead to heaven:--
And God have mercy on your penitence!
[_Prisoner sinks down, as the curtain
slowly falls_.]

END OF ACT I.

* * * * *

SABBATH LYRICS.

BY W. GILMORE SIMMS.

GOD THE GUARDIAN.--PSALM XI.

How say ye to my soul,
As a mountain bird depart?
For the wicked bend the bow,
With the aim upon the heart.
In the Lord I