Poems (Jackson)/Our Angels

by Helen Hunt Jackson

OUR ANGELS.

H! not with any sound they come, or sign, Which fleshly ear or eye can recognize; No curiosity can compass or surpriseThe secret of that intercourse divineWhich God permits, ordains, across the line,  The changeless line which bars  Our earth from other stars.

But they do come and go continually, Our blessed angels, no less ours than His; The blessed angels whom we think we miss;Whose empty graves we weep to name or see,And vainly watch, as once in Galilee  One, weeping, watched in vain,  Where her lost Christ had lain.

Whenever in some bitter grief we find, All unawares, a deep, mysterious sense Of hidden comfort come, we know not whence;When suddenly we see, where we were blind;Where we had struggled, are content, resigned;  Are strong where we were weak,—  And no more strive nor seek,—

Then we may know that from the far glad skies, To note our need, the watchful God has bent, And for our instant help has called and sent,Of all our loving angels, the most wiseAnd tender one, to point to us where lies  The path that will be best,  The path of peace and rest.

And when we find on every sky and field A sudden, new, and mystic light, which fills Our every sense with speechless joy, and thrillsUs, till we yield ourselves as children yieldThemselves and watch the spells magicians wield,  With tireless, sweet surprise,  And rapture in their eyes,—

Then we may know our little ones have run Away for just one moment, from their play In heavenly gardens, and in their old wayAre walking by our side, and one by one,At all sweet things beneath the earthly sun,  Are pointing joyfully,  And calling us to see!

Ah! when we learn the spirit sound and sign, And instantly our angels recognize, No weariness can tire, no pain surpriseOur souls rapt in the intercourse divine,Which God permits, ordains, across the line,  The changeless line which bars  Our earth from other stars.