Legends and Lyrics, Pt 1 | Page 7

time came when she could move about no longer, and took to her bed.
All the restlessness gone then, and all the sweet patience of her natural disposition purified by the resignation of her soul, she lay upon her bed through the whole round of changes of the seasons. She lay upon her bed through fifteen months. In all that time, her old cheerfulness never quitted her. In all that time, not an impatient or a querulous minute can be remembered.
At length, at midnight on the second of February, 1864, she turned down a leaf of a little book she was reading, and shut it up.
The ministering hand that had copied the verses into the tiny album was soon around her neck, and she quietly asked, as the clock was on the stroke of one:
"Do you think I am dying, mamma?"
"I think you are very, very ill to-night, my dear!"
"Send for my sister. My feet are so cold. Lift me up?"
Her sister entering as they raised her, she said: "It has come at last!" And with a bright and happy smile, looked upward, and departed.
Well had she written:
Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death,?Who waits thee at the portals of the skies,?Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath,?Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes?
Oh what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes?Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see?Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies,?And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee.
VERSE: THE ANGEL'S STORY
Through 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 all 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, slowing 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