Poetry Of Angels
Poetry Of Angels
'Twas seed-time in Heaven; the angel whose care
Is for Eden's blossoms, -- that angel more fair
Than all her fair sisters, twin spirits of air, --
That angel whose footsteps, wherever they tread,
Spring up into blossoms blue, yellow, and red, --
That angel whose tear-drops, wherever they fall,
Give birth to white lilies, the fairest of all, --
That angel whose breath is the perfume of flowers,
Had spent all the jewel-gemmed paradise hours
Of the roseate morn where beauties unfold
In calyx of crimson and purple and gold.
It must be when the baby
Goes journeying off alone,
Some angel (Mary, may be)
Adopts it for her own.
Yet when a child is taken
Whose mother stays below,
With weeping eyes, through Paradise,
I seem to see it go.
Dear, when you lift your gentle heart in prayer,
Ask God to send his angel Death to me
Long ere he comes to you, if that may be.
I would dwell with you in that new life there,
But having, manlike, sinned, I must prepare,
By sad probation, ere I hope to see
Those upper realms which are at once thrown free
And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.
They shall all bloom in fields of light,
Transplanted by my care,
And saints, upon their garments white,
These sacred blossoms wear.
And the mother gave, in tears and pain,
The flowers she most did love;
She knew she should find them all again
In the fields of light above.
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