Page:Poems Brown.djvu/116

Methinks I hear the music sweet
 Of angels drawing near;
They are calling, they are whispering—
 Sister Edith, come up here!"
She turned her eyes on all around;
 A smile played o'er her face;
"I'm almost home," she faintly said,
 "Nearing to perfect peace."
A heavenly light filled all the room,
 Rustling of wings was heard,
And angel voices filled the air,
 Sweeter than that of bird.
We raised our darling Edith's form;
 We moved her weary head;
We called her name in loving tones,—
 But she, our child, was dead.
So gently had she plumed her flight,
 We could but think her here,
Still twining with her pale, meek hands
 The roses in her hair.
A smile still played about her lips;
 'Her eyes were sparkling, too,
And fragrant flowers on her breast
 But 'neath their weight of dew.