On my toil-wither’d limbs sickly languors are shed,
And the dark mists of death o’er my eye-lids are spread;
Before my last sufferings how gladly I bend,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
Against the hot breezes hard struggles my breast,
Slow, slow, beats my heart, and I hasten to rest;
No longer shall anguish my faint bosom rend,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
No more shall I sink in the deep-scorching air,
No more shall sharp hunger my weak body tear,
No more on my limbs shall keen lashes descend,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
Ye ruffians, who tore me from all I held dear,
Who mock’d at my wailings, and smil’d at my tear,
Now, now shall I ‘scape-every torture shall end,
For the strong arm of death is the arm of a friend.
(Frank Sayers)
More Poetry from Frank Sayers:
Readers Who Like This Poem Also Like:
Based on Topics: Death & Dying Poems, Friendship PoemsBased on Keywords: ruffians, languors, wailings, eye-lids
- The Minstrel ; Or, The Progress Of Genius - Book II. (James Beattie Poems)
- The Little Dog (Jean de La Fontaine Poems)
- M'Fingal - Canto III (John Trumbull Poems)
- The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part I. (John Henry Dryden Poems)
- The Tragedy of White Injustice (Marcus Mosiah Garvey Poems)