Poems (Blake)/Our Angel

by Mary Elizabeth Blake

OUR ANGEL.

Seventeen months our wee white maid
 Grew in the sunshine fair and sweet,
Till the dearest music of life was played
 By the touch of her hands and the fall of her feet;
Then as the dawn of the April day
 Wooed new life to the winter sod,
Our little white maiden turned away,
 And went to dwell in the smile of God.

Ah well! we know the fairest years
 Of the brightest future ever we planned
Are dark with sorrow and pain and tears
 Compared with the joy of that blissful land.
But O for the woe of the empty hands,
 And the longing heart, and the tear-dimmed eyes,
Trying to reach where our darling stands,
 And follow her footsteps in Paradise.

Little white angel up in heaven
 Safe in His arms whose smile is Love,
Does the wailing cry of our fond hearts riven
 Ring through the peace of the courts above?
Does the shadow of grief, like a vague surprise,
 Reach through the glory around the throne,
Drawing thy grave, sweet, earnest eyes
 Down through the worlds to meet our own?

You cannot answer back, my Sweet,
 But One who came down to us long ago
Gathered the children about His feet,
 And taught us the lesson we fain would know,
That if but a glimpse of the light above
 Could flash for a moment on earth's dull pain,
We'd lose all else that is ours to love,
 Rather than beckon thee back again.

'T is not forever we say farewell,—
 Child of our heart, so pure, so fair!
We will kiss the lips we have loved so well,
 And play with the rings of the soft brown hair;
For I know when my soul in the silence waits
 The wonderful kingdom of God to see,
Down like a star through the beautiful gates
 My little white angel will come to me.