Poems (Angier)/A Vision
A VISION.
'Twas a beautiful vision that noiselessly stole,Like a sweet dream of heaven, entrancing the soul;Though weary the sleeper, her cares fled awayLike mists of the morning at break of the day.
By her side stood a Presence—nor motion nor breathBroke the silence that reigned like the stillness of death;The white Dove of Peace spread its pinions so near,That hushed was each murmur and calmed every fear.
Awe-stricken she gazed on the shadowy form,For the vision yet lingered, fair, radiant, warm;All, save that the head which was reverently bowedSeemed bathed, like yon moon, in a light, fleecy cloud.
Who, who is this visitant? softly she sighed,Then paused, yet no lips to her question replied,But the veil gently lifted, revealing to viewHer own radiant form, while a voice she well knew—
Said—This crown is heaven's guerdon, the conqueror's sign,On the brow of the faithful till death it shall shine;Still, still uncomplaining thy daily cross bear,Through that if thou conquer this crown thou shalt wear!
Like a white lily bending, so holy and meek,The dew on its petals, heaven's breath on its cheek;The sleeper awoke, to her soul had been givenA glimpse of their rapture who waken in heaven.