Into Thy hands let me fall, 0 Lord,-
Not into the hands of men,-
And she thinned the ranks of the savage horde
Till they shrank to the mangrove fen.
In a rudderless boat, with a scanty store
Of food for the fated three,-
With her babe and her stricken servitor
She fled to the open sea.
Oh, days of dolor and nights of drouth,
While she watched for a sail in vain,
Or the tawny tinge of a river mouth,
Or the rush of the tropic rain.
The valiant woman! Her feeble oar
Sufficed, and her fervent prayer
Was heard, though she reached but a barren shore,
And died with her darling there.
For the demons of murder and foul disgrace
On her hearthstone dared not light;
But the Angel of Womanhood held the place,
And its site is a holy site.
(Mary Hannay Foott)
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Based on Topics: Man Poems, Light Poems, Place Poems, Woman Poems, Prayers Poems, Angels Poems, Food PoemsBased on Keywords: servitor, rudderless, mangrove