LVI.

The men knew well what they had to expect, And sent a prayer into their Father's ear.

This done, they did no proper means neglect To meet what danger might be hovering near, And also strove each others' hearts to cheer.

Swifter the horses speed o'er the rough logs That form the road, and now some wolves appear Hungry and fierce and fresh from noisome bogs, To pounce upon our friends who lack their faithful dogs.

LVII.

The murderous gang now spring but miss their prey, And plunging in deep snow vent forth their rage In horrid yells, then strive to reach the sleigh.

Again they fail; again afresh engage With double fury b.l.o.o.d.y war to wage!

Vain their attempts. A Mighty Hand unseen Aids those two men. This does their fears a.s.suage, And nerves their arms, and keeps their minds serene, Or they had failed to tell how good the Lord had been.

LVIII.

The swamp is cleared, yet on the smoother road Their speed they slack not till they reach the house Of a poor drunken settler then abroad On his nocturnal revels, while the spouse Was left to mourn his oft-indulged carouse, And tremble for his safety from the cold.

No sense of danger e'er could him arouse From his sad sunken state. Drink had such hold On his gross appet.i.te he seemed to Satan sold.

LIX.

And yet the wife, the mother of his babes, Ne'er breathed reproach against her low-sunk mate.

Such love as her's it is which sometimes saves A wretched husband from a drunkard's fate.

'Tis true such love is oft repaid with hate, And driven to distraction wives may say Hard things of men who bring them to a state Of heartfelt woe, and drive their feet astray From Virtue's paths, until they shun the light of day.

LX.

But here and there a character shines forth, As in this case, most worthy of all praise.

For this sweet wife was one of matchless worth, And her dear name should grace my artless lays, If I by that means could her triumphs raise.

She was in truth a n.o.ble heroine, Whose brow might well have been bedecked with bays; For deeds like hers through every age should shine To show the strength of Love and prove it is divine.

LXI.

O, woman! who has skill of mind or pen Those feelings to portray that fill thy breast?

All we yet see are glimpses, now and then, Which make us long the more to know the rest.

Self-sacrificing woman! thou'rt possessed Of that which does enable thee to bear A load of misery on thy heart impressed By wrongs from him who should thy sorrows share, And make the daily weal his ever constant care.

LXII.

His home in that far North wild wilderness, Had naught about it which could tell the tale Of what that mother suffered of distress, For hope--fond hope had kept her strong and hale.

It was still whispering she would soon prevail Upon her husband to renounce his sin.

This cheered her heart although her face grew pale With anxious care how best she could begin And what means to employ that she might victory win.

LXIII.

So GOODWORTH found her on that bitter night With house quite trim and table neatly laid, And hopeful still though in a serious plight, As we have hinted, very much afraid Lest her dear man should freeze. "He is," she said, "As good a husband as I could desire But lot his fault. He always has displayed Such love for me that I will never tire Of loving him, though none my conduct may admire."

LXIV.

And saying this she would have gone alone The absent one upon the road to seek.

Her ardent love conspicuously shown On that occasion, and I fain would speak Her praise with trumpet tongue, though she so meek Might blush to hear it and feel half offended.

Now GOODWORTHS thought that one whom they deemed weak Was best at home, yet they her love commended, And volunteered to go, by trusty dog attended.

LXV.

'Twas not in vain. Behind a Huge pine tree The man, o'ercome, was lying fast asleep; Nor could they rouse him, so far gone was he, Or from the cold or from potations deep.

An unseen Eye did faithful vigils keep O'er that poor sinner though he knew it not; And thoughts of this has since oft made him weep Tears of true penitence in that lone spot, Which gave to him a lesson that he ne'er forgot.

LXVI.

This spot was very near to where he lived, And the kind friends Drink's hapless victim bore To his own home, both feeling truly grieved That his sad state would make his wife's heart sore.

And now the faithful dog trots on before, Most clearly glad because his master's found.

Anon he whines and scratches at the door, Which makes his mistress' heart within her bound As she peers through the dark and tries to catch some sound.

LXVII.

Each moment seemed an hour as thus she stood In doubt, expecting some great evil near; And when they came the sight nigh froze her blood.

She fainting fell, through mingled grief and fear.

Meanwhile the children in the chamber hear A noise below, and leave their snug, warm bed, Then in deep sorrow view their parents dear, And big, warm tears each youngling freely shed, For their idea was that both were lying dead.

LXVIII.

Our friends knew better and strove eagerly To still their cries and consciousness restore Unto the sufferers. Soon with joy they see The mother fast recovering; her they bore Into her bed-room that they might give more Attention to the drunken father's case.

He in deep stupor did most loudly snore And looked quite frightful with frost-bitten face, Which kept him long in mind of that--his great disgrace.

LXIX.

Next they rub hard with snow the frozen parts, Until the flesh displays a ruddy glow.

This task accomplished they with lighter hearts Deeper concernment for the mistress show.

She, quite awake, most anxious was to know Their full opinion of her partner's state.

The favorable answer made her bow Her heart to G.o.d for this his mercy great, In having kept her man from such an awful fate.

LXX.

From bed she rose and pressed on them to eat, But GOODWORTH asked if he might go to prayer.

She gave consent, and 'fore the Mercy Seat They poured forth thanks for all their Father's care, And prayed that all within the house might share G.o.d's rich forgiving love, and ever be Devoted to his service: so prepare By constant practice of true piety To join the heavenly ranks a happy family.

LXXI.

And now they eat with keenest appet.i.te Of the good things so temptingly displayed-- Prime venison with bread both sweet and light; And charming b.u.t.ter as e'er housewife made Were with tea, cream, and rich preserves arrayed In plentiful supply upon the table.

These, backed by welcome, all their toil repaid, And they found backwoods cheer indeed no fable; Yet to partake thereof their hostess was not able.

LXXII.

Their n.o.ble team they came so near forgetting, Had been provided for with care by one Who gave his parents no just cause for fretting-- A rather small but very hopeful son.

Around the blazing hearth-fire they begun To draw their chairs to dwell in converse pure Another hour on what the Lord had done; How he had kept them all from death secure And caused their love and faith through trials to endure.

LXXIII.

The guests both slept in peace and early rose, And found their host already stirring round, And suffering much from being badly froze, And strangely nervous at the slightest sound.

The elder GOODWORTH spoke to him and found That Conscience was at work within his breast.