Poems (Procter)/The Angel's Story

by Adelaide Anne Procter

LEGENDS AND LYRICS.

A BOOK OF VERSES.

FIRST SERIES.

 

DEDICATED

TO

MATILDA M. HAYS.

 

"Our tokens of love are for the most part barbarous. Cold and lifeless, because they do not represent our life, The only gift is a portion of thyself. Therefore let the farmer give his corn; the miner, a gem; the sailor, coral and shells; the painter, his picture; and the poet, his poem."—Emerson's Essays.

A. A. P.

May, 1858.

 

THE ANGEL'S STORY.

HROUGH the blue and frosty heavens
 Christmas stars were shining bright;
Glistening lamps throughout the City
 Almost matched their gleaming light;
While the winter snow was lying,
And the winter winds were sighing,
 Long ago, one Christmas night.

While, from every tower and steeple,
 Pealing bells were sounding clear,
(Never with such tones of gladness,
 Save when Christmas time is near,)
Many a one that night was merry
 Who had toiled through all the year.

That night saw old wrongs forgiven,
 Friends, long parted, reconciled;
Voices all unused to laughter,
 Mournful eyes that rarely smiled,
Trembling hearts that feared the morrow,
 From their anxious thoughts beguiled.

Rich and poor felt love and blessing
 From the gracious season fall;
Joy and plenty in the cottage,
 Peace and feasting in the hall;
And the voices of the children
 Ringing clear above it all!

Yet one house was dim and darkened;
 Gloom, and sickness, and despair,
Dwelling in the gilded chambers,
 Creeping up the marble stair,
Even stilled the voice of mourning,—
 For a child lay dying there.

Silken curtains fell around him,
 Velvet carpets hushed the tread,
Many costly toys were lying,
 All unheeded, by his bed;
And his tangled golden ringlets
 Were on downy pillows spread.

The skill of that mighty City
 To save one little life was vain,—
One little thread from being broken,
One fatal word from being spoken;
 Nay, his very mother's pain,
And the mighty love within her,
 Could not give him health again.

So she knelt there still beside him,
 She alone with strength to smile,
Promising that he should suffer
 No more in a little while,
Murmuring tender song and story
 Weary hours to beguile.

Suddenly an unseen Presence
 Checked those constant moaning cries,
Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering,
 Raised those blue and wondering eyes,
Fixed on some mysterious vision,
 With a startled sweet surprise.

For a radiant angel hovered,
 Smiling, o'er the little bed;
White his raiment, from his shoulders
 Snowy dove-like pinions spread,
And a starlike light was shining
 In a Glory round his head.

While, with tender love, the angel,
 Leaning o'er the little nest,
In his arms the sick child folding,
 Laid him gently on his breast,
Sobs and wailings told the mother
 That her darling was at rest.

So the angel, slowly rising,
 Spread his wings, and through the air
Bore the child, and, while he held him
 To his heart with loving care,
Placed a branch of crimson roses
 Tenderly beside him there.

While the child, thus clinging, floated
 Towards the mansions of the Blest,
Gazing from his shining guardian
 To the flowers upon his breast,
Thus the angel spake, still smiling
 On the little heavenly guest:

"Know, dear little one, that Heaven
 Does no earthly thing disdain,
Man's poor joys find there an echo
 Just as surely as his pain;
Love, on earth so feebly striving,
 Lives divine in Heaven again!

"Once in that great town below us,
 In a poor and narrow street,
Dwelt a little sickly orphan;
 Gentle aid, or pity sweet,
Never in life's rugged pathway
 Guided his poor tottering feet.

"All the striving anxious forethought
 That should only come with age
Weighed upon his baby spirit,
 Showed him soon life's sternest page;
Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow
 Was his only heritage.

"All too weak for childish pastimes,
 Drearily the hours sped;
On his hands so small and trembling
 Leaning his poor aching head,
Or, through dark and painful hours,
 Lying sleepless on his bed.

"Dreaming strange and longing fancies
 Of cool forests far away;
And of rosy, happy children,
 Laughing merrily at play,
Coming home through green lanes, bearing
 Trailing boughs of blooming May.

"Scarce a glimpse of azure heaven
 Gleamed above that narrow street,
And the sultry air of summer
 (That you call so warm and sweet)
Fevered the poor orphan, dwelling
 In the crowded alley's heat.

"One bright day, with feeble footsteps
 Slowly forth he tried to crawl,
Through the crowded city's pathways,
 Till he reached a garden-wall,
Where 'mid princely halls and mansions
 Stood the lordliest of all.

"There were trees with giant branches,
 Velvet glades where shadows hide;
There were sparkling fountains glancing,
 Flowers, which in luxuriant pride
Even wafted breaths of perfume
 To the child who stood outside.

"He against the gate of iron
 Pressed his wan and wistful face,
Gazing with an awe-struck pleasure
 At the glories of the place;
Never had his brightest day-dream
 Shone with half such wondrous grace.

"You were playing in that garden,
 Throwing blossoms in the air,
Laughing when the petals floated
 Downwards on your golden hair;
And the fond eyes watching o'er you,
And the splendor spread before you,
 Told a House's Hope was there.

"When your servants, tired of seeing
 Such a face of want and woe,
Turning to the ragged orphan,
 Gave him coin, and bade him go,
Down his cheeks so thin and wasted
 Bitter tears began to flow.

"But that look of childish sorrow
 On your tender child-heart fell,
And you plucked the reddest roses
 From the tree you loved so well,
Passed them through the stern cold grating,
 Gently bidding him 'Farewell!'

"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure
 And the gentle voice he heard,
In the poor forlorn boy's spirit,
 Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred;
In his hand he took the flowers,
 In his heart the loving word.

"So he crept to his poor garret;
 Poor no more, but rich and bright,
For the holy dreams of childhood—
 Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light—
Floated round the orphan's pillow
 Through the starry summer night,

"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted;
 All too weak to rise he lay;
Did he dream that none spake harshly,—
 All were strangely kind that day?
Surely then his treasured roses
 Must have charmed all ills away.

"And he smiled, though they were fading;
 One by one their leaves were shed;
'Such bright things could never perish,
 They would bloom again,' he said.
When the next day's sun had risen
 Child and flowers both were dead.

"Know, dear little one! our Father
 Will no gentle deed disdain:
Love on the cold earth beginning
 Lives divine in Heaven again,
While the angel hearts that beat there
 Still all tender thoughts retain."

So the angel ceased, and gently
 O'er his little burthen leant;
While the child gazed from the shining,
 Loving eyes that o'er him bent,
To the blooming roses by him,
 Wondering what that mystery meant.

Thus the radiant angel answered,
 And with tender meaning smiled:
"Ere your childlike, loving spirit,
 Sin and the hard world defiled,
God has given me leave to seek you,—
 I was once that little child!"

****

In the church-yard of that city
 Rose a tomb of marble rare,
Decked, as soon as Spring awakened,
 With her buds and blossoms fair,—
And a humble grave beside it,—
 No one knew who rested there.