Sarah Threeneedles
(B OSTON , 1698)
B Y the grim grace of the Puritans she had been brought
Into their frigid meeting-house to list
Her funeral sermon before the rope ran taut.
Soft neck that he had kissed!
Through the narrow window her dazed blue eyes could see
The rope. Like a glittering icicle it hung
From the hoar cross-beam of the horrible gallows-tree.
His arms about her flung!
Two captive Indians and one Guinea slave,
Hating at heart the merciless white God,
In the stubborn ground were hacking her shallow grave.
Sweet April path they trod!
Her shivering neighbors thrilled to the fierce discourse
Of the minister, who thundered the dire sting
Of a sinner's death till his vehement voice went hoarse.
She heard love's whispering.
And still she stood while the frozen communion bread,
That the preacher broke ere he poured the chilly wine,
Rattling into the plates, her judges fed.
Her food was more divine.
B Y the grim grace of the Puritans she had been brought
Into their frigid meeting-house to list
Her funeral sermon before the rope ran taut.
Soft neck that he had kissed!
Through the narrow window her dazed blue eyes could see
The rope. Like a glittering icicle it hung
From the hoar cross-beam of the horrible gallows-tree.
His arms about her flung!
Two captive Indians and one Guinea slave,
Hating at heart the merciless white God,
In the stubborn ground were hacking her shallow grave.
Sweet April path they trod!
Her shivering neighbors thrilled to the fierce discourse
Of the minister, who thundered the dire sting
Of a sinner's death till his vehement voice went hoarse.
She heard love's whispering.
And still she stood while the frozen communion bread,
That the preacher broke ere he poured the chilly wine,
Rattling into the plates, her judges fed.
Her food was more divine.
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