To M. A.
Even in the hour of her birth,
When cradled on her mother’s breast,
A helpless babe, she lay at rest,
The angel Pain came down to earth.
And bending o’er the sleeping child,
He laid a burden on her heart,
Then turned, but e’er he could depart
The babe awoke and sweetly smiled.
The pathos in those great, dark eyes
Went to his heart even as he spread
His shining wings, then straight he sped
In silent swiftness to the skies.
And reaching Heaven the angel Pain
Sought out the ranks of seraphs fair,
And kissed the sweetest singer there,
Then winged his way to earth again.
And gazing on the child through tears,
Upon her infant lips he left
The kiss from heaven’s singer reft,
A recompense for future years.
And as the maiden grew in years
They marveled at her winsome grace,
The sweetness of her voice and face,
Which moved mankind to smiles and tears.
But angels mourn while we rejoice
To hear the strains, divine and sweet,
For Heaven’s choir is incomplete
Without the music of her voice.
