20
TRUE HONOURS.
Sixty Christmas Days have found me Useless, helpless, blind—and here!
Yes, I feel my darling stealing Warm soft fingers into mine:Shall I tell her what I fancied In that strange old dream of mine?I was kneeling by the window, Reading how a noble band,With the red cross on their breastplates, Went to gain the Holy Land.
While with cager eyes of wonder Over the dark page I bent,Slowly twilight shadows gathered Till the letters came and went;Slowly, till the night was round me; Then my heart beat loud and fast,For I felt before I saw it That a spirit near me passed.
Then I raised my eyes, and, shining Where the moon's first ray was bright,Stood a wingèd Angel-warrior Clothed and panoplied in light:So, with Heaven's love upon him, Stern in calm and resolute will,Looked St. Michael,—does the picture Hang in the old cloister still?
Threefold were the dreams of honor That absorbed my heart and brain;Threefold crowns the Angel promised, Each one to be bought by pain:
