Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
Habeas Corpus
By Helen Hunt Jackson (1830–1885)M
Why all this tedious pomp of writ?
Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow
For half a century, bit by bit.
Than I do, where it can be found!
This shriveled lump of suffering clay,
To which I now am chained and bound,
To the good body once I bore;
Look at this shrunken, ghastly face:
Didst ever see that face before?
Thy only fault thy lagging gait,
Mistaken pity in thy heart
For timorous ones that bid thee wait.
Nor I nor mine will hindrance make;
I shall be free when thou art through;
I grudge thee naught that thou must take!
Yes, two I grudge thee at this last,—
Two members which have faithful done
My will and bidding in the past.
I grudge thee this quick-beating heart;
They never gave me coward sign,
Nor played me once a traitor’s part.
Men in barbaric love or hate
Nailed enemies’ hands at wild crossways,
Shrined leaders’ hearts in costly state:
Of each soul’s purpose, passion, strife,
Of fires in which are poured and spent
Their all of love, their all of life.
O fragile, dauntless human heart!
The universe holds nothing planned
With such sublime, transcendent art!
Poor little hand, so feeble now;
Its wrinkled palm, its altered line,
Its veins so pallid and so slow—
I shall be free when thou art through.
Take all there is—take hand and heart;
There must be somewhere work to do.
Her last poem: 7 August, 1885.