Poems (Barker)/Our Angel Dora

by Alice J. Green Barker

Our Angel Dora.

Dora's sleeping in the valley,
 Where the shadows softly creep,
And the gently drooping willows
 Bending o'er her sadly weep.
There the wildest winds seem sighing
 For our gentle little flower,
When her hopes on earth seemed brightest,
 Taken from us in an hour.

Gentle Dora, angel Dora,
 Dwelling up in Heaven now;
Fairest of that happy number,
 Golden stars upon her brow.
When "He maketh up His jewels"
 Surely Dora's Angel face
'Mong that pure and sinless number
 Will be given the fairest place.

Though the casket slowly moulders
 In the valley's quiet shade,
Dora's pure, untarnished spirit
 Never in the dust was laid.
We are happy now in thinking
 That our darling's angel face
In the summer land, called Heaven,
 Now has won a sinless place.

We are sad, how sad without her
 Passing through each silent room,
Seeming in those few short hours
 Robbed of all their joy and bloom.
In the garden, 'mong the flowers
 How we miss her lovely face,
And our hearts grow sick and lonely
 As we see each sunny place,

Where our Dora's gentle presence.
 Once had made it doubly fair:
But she roams among the flowers,
 In a garden over there,
Dora sleeps within the valley,
 When the children come this way
With their tender buds and blossoms,
 They will always cease their play.

Bending gently where she's sleeping,
 Tender, loving words are said;
And we know our darling's blessing
 Falls upon each little head.
Gentle Dora, angel Dora,
 All too fair for earth's dark night,
Lovingly "Our Father" called her
 From the darkness into light.