Poems (Emma M. Ballard Bell)/The Midnight Visitor
Appearance
THE MIDNIGHT VISITOR.
It was a dreary night in winter-time, And from the mountains swept the cold, rough blast;It was the hour when bells of midnight chime, And all the skies with clouds were overcast.Beside a hearth-fire blazing warm and bright An aged sire sat with his wife and child;The ev'ning lamp diffused its cheerful light, Though storms without were beating fierce and wild.
"It is a fearful night," the old man said, As nearer to the fire he drew his chair,"For those who wander homeless and unfed, The prey of poverty, and want, and care.And oh! what praise should from our hearts ascend To Him who ruleth in the earth and sky,Whose mercy doth to-night our way attend, As it hath ever in the days gone by!"
The wife looked up, a smile upon her face, That beamed with loveliness and beauty rare; For time had only left its gentlest trace On features all unmarked by shade of care;And gazing on the daughter by her side, Who sat absorbed in pensive, dreamy mood,In sweet and solemn accents she replied, "God hath to us been ever kind and good."
"List, father, some one's knocking at the door," The maiden said, with cheek quick growing pale."It is the wind, my child, it is no more; Then wherefore doth thine eye with terror quail?"And then they silent sat, and no one spoke; And save the night-wind's and the tempest's roar,No other sound the solemn stillness broke, Until there came a knocking as before.
This time the father heard, and turned the lock; But still, for fear, he opened not the door;He only said, "Who art thou that dost knock? Tell us thy name, O stranger, if no more."Just then the cottage door flew open wide, And o'er its threshold, with a ghastly mien,A Spectre with a noiseless step did glide; But only by the maiden was he seen.
The parents knew it not; they only saw The shadows that its dark'ning presence threw Upon the hearth, and sat in silent awe, Until terrific shapes those shadows grew.The maiden uttered one low, wailing cry, Then her white lips grew cold, she could not speakThe eyelid white drooped o'er the beaming eye, And faded all the rose tints from her cheek.
And when at last the golden rays of morn Dispelled the shadows of that fearful night,The father, mother, stricken and forlorn, Gazed on that form where death had left its blight.And at the eventide to mother earth They gave that lovely tenement of clay;But still the shadows lingered on their hearth, As if they nevermore would go away.
Though many summers round their home have smiled, With bird-songs joyous, bright with flowers' bloom,Since death came on that night and took their child,— Still linger in their hearts those shapes of gloom,That never, never more shall take their flight Till in that Land where comes no grief nor pain,—Where death no more the soul's fair hopes can blight,— They meet their own, their long-lost child again.