On The Suicide Of A Young Lady

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No priestly requiem is heard,
Hushed is the voice of prayer,
She lies in a dishonoured grave—
The suicide lies there!

And did no funeral hymn arise?
Hark to the pitying wall
That bursts from every mother’s heart,
Who hears that dreadful tale.

And prayer is there—but mutter’s deep,
By brothers with clench’d fists;
“The brand of Cain be on his brow,
Wander he where he lists!”

O God of heaven! powerless to aid
Are all our human laws!
Infinite judge of right! to thee
We leave the victim’s cause.

© Caroline Carleton