Legends and Lyrics. Part 1. Procter Adelaide Anne

      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 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