Legends and Lyrics, Pt 1 | Page 7

the burden, and began to sink.
To have saved her life, then, by taking action on the warning that shone
in her eyes and sounded in her voice, would have been impossible,
without changing her nature. As long as the power of moving about in
the old way was left to her, she must exercise it, or be killed by the
restraint. And so the 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