10
THE ANGEL'S STORY.
"When your servants, tired of seeing Such a face of want and woe,Turning to the ragged orphan, Gave him coin, and bade him go,Down his cheeks so thin and wasted Bitter tears began to flow.
"But that look of childish sorrow On your tender child-heart fell,And you plucked the reddest roses From the tree you loved so well,Passed them through the stern cold grating, Gently bidding him 'Farewell!'
"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure And the gentle voice he heard,In the poor forlorn boy's spirit, Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred;In his hand he took the flowers, In his heart the loving word.
"So he crept to his poor garret; Poor no more, but rich and bright,For the holy dreams of childhood— Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light—Floated round the orphan's pillow Through the starry summer night,
"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted; All too weak to rise he lay;Did he dream that none spake harshly,— All were strangely kind that day?Surely then his treasured roses Must have charmed all ills away.
