42
POEMS.
Very sweet His brow of light,
As He bent His eyes upon me
In the silence of the night.
In His hand He held a chalice
Dark with bitter waters rife,
Which He said we all must swallow
Ere we gained eternal life.
Round the rim I saw engraven
"Not My will, but Thine be done,"
And a mystic figure bearing
Semblance to God's holy Son.
And the little lambs were folded
Closely to His tender breast,
And the sheep beside the Shepherd
Turned for comfort and for rest.
At the bottom of the goblet
I saw clearly there revealed
Two white wings all purely gathered
Lying on an azure field.
"They are thine," the Angel whispered,
"Thine when grief and pain are o'er
They will bear thy spirit upward
Where no pain shall vex thee more.
They will bear thee through the "valley
Of the shadow' into light,
Far away from earthly sadness
To the land that knows no night.
But the dregs, they will be bitter,
Oh! poor suffering child below,
As He bent His eyes upon me
In the silence of the night.
In His hand He held a chalice
Dark with bitter waters rife,
Which He said we all must swallow
Ere we gained eternal life.
Round the rim I saw engraven
"Not My will, but Thine be done,"
And a mystic figure bearing
Semblance to God's holy Son.
And the little lambs were folded
Closely to His tender breast,
And the sheep beside the Shepherd
Turned for comfort and for rest.
At the bottom of the goblet
I saw clearly there revealed
Two white wings all purely gathered
Lying on an azure field.
"They are thine," the Angel whispered,
"Thine when grief and pain are o'er
They will bear thy spirit upward
Where no pain shall vex thee more.
They will bear thee through the "valley
Of the shadow' into light,
Far away from earthly sadness
To the land that knows no night.
But the dregs, they will be bitter,
Oh! poor suffering child below,
