Eliza Tucker Lambert
I could curse them in my woe,
E'en as the viper stings,
And to the heel that strikes it clings,
So I could plant my blow.
Yes, I could pray that fell disease
Should torture them with pain-
That plague should fall in every rain,
Miasma taint each breeze.
That wealth should vanish, and the curse
Of poverty should reign;
That cries for bread should be in vain!
An always empty purse.
That friends should die, and every pride
Should vanish in a day;
'Till even hope withdraws her ray,
And naught of joys abide.
Yes, I could whisper in the ear
Of one who loves to tell
Some fabrication, dark as hell,
As scandal loves to hear.
Revenge is sweet; I could invent
Full many a thousand way,
That would my heartfelt wrongs repay,
Could they my soul content.
But could I go to sleep in peace,
And could I dream of heaven-
Could I e'er hope to be forgiven
When death came to release?
Revenge is sweet to those who live;
But when we think of death-
The ebbing of this life-tide breath-
'Tis sweeter to forgive.