Legends and Lyrics. Part 1. Procter Adelaide Anne

      Is my darling tired already,

      Tired of her day of play?

      Draw your little stool beside me,

      Smooth this tangled hair away.

      Can she put the logs together,

      Till they make a cheerful blaze?

      Shall her blind old Uncle tell her

      Something of his youthful days?

      Hark!  The wind among the cedars

      Waves their white arms to and fro;

      I remember how I watched them

      Sixty Christmas Days ago:

      Then I dreamt a glorious vision

      Of great deeds to crown each year —

      Sixty Christmas Days have found me

      Useless, helpless, blind – and here!

      Yes, I feel my darling stealing

      Warm soft fingers into mine —

      Shall I tell her what I fancied

      In that strange old dream of mine?

      I was kneeling by the window,

      Reading how a noble band,

      With the red cross on their breast-plates,

      Went to gain the Holy Land.

      While with eager eyes of wonder

      Over the dark page I bent,

      Slowly twilight shadows gathered

      Till the letters came and went;

      Slowly, till the night was round me;

      Then my heart beat loud and fast,

      For I felt before I saw it

      That a spirit near me passed.

      Then I raised my eyes, and shining

      Where the moon’s first ray was bright

      Stood a wingèd Angel-warrior

      Clothed and panoplied in light:

      So, with Heaven’s love upon him,

      Stern in calm and resolute will,

      Looked St. Michael – does the picture

      Hang in the old cloister still?

      Threefold were the dreams of honour

      That absorbed my heart and brain;

      Threefold crowns the Angel promised,

      Each one to be bought by pain:

      While he spoke, a threefold blessing

      Fell upon my soul like rain.

      HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING;

      VICTOR IN A GLORIOUS STRIFE;

      SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM:

      Such the honours of my life.

      Ah, that dream!  Long years that gave me

      Joy and grief as real things

      Never touched the tender memory

      Sweet and solemn that it brings —

      Never quite effaced the feeling

      Of those white and shadowing wings.

      Do those blue eyes open wider?

      Does my faith too foolish seem?

      Yes, my darling, years have taught me

      It was nothing but a dream.

      Soon, too soon, the bitter knowledge

      Of a fearful trial rose,

      Rose to crush my heart, and sternly

      Bade my young ambition close.

      More and more my eyes were clouded,

      Till at last God’s glorious light

      Passed away from me for ever,

      And I lived and live in night.

      Dear, I will not dim your pleasure,

      Christmas should be only gay —

      In my night the stars have risen,

      And I wait the dawn of day.

      Spite of all I could be happy;

      For my brothers’ tender care

      In their boyish pastimes ever

      Made me take, or feel a share.

      Philip, even then so thoughtful,

      Max so noble, brave and tall,

      And your father, little Godfrey,

      The most loving of them all.

      Philip reasoned down my sorrow,

      Max would laugh my gloom away,

      Godfrey’s little arms put round me,

      Helped me through my dreariest day;

      While the promise of my Angel,

      Like a star, now bright, now pale,

      Hung in blackest night above me,

      And I felt it could not fail.

      Years passed on, my brothers left me,

      Each went out to take his share

      In the struggle of life; my portion

      Was a humble one – to bear.

      Here I dwelt, and learnt to wander

      Through the woods and fields alone,

      Every cottage in the village

      Had a corner called my own.

      Old and young, all brought their troubles,

      Great or small, for me to hear;

      I have often blessed my sorrow

      That drew others’ grief so near.

      Ah, the people needed helping —

      Needed love – (for Love and Heaven

      Are the only gifts not bartered,

      They alone are freely given) —

      And I gave it.  Philip’s bounty,

      (We were orphans, dear,) made toil

      Prosper, and want never fastened

      On the tenants of the soil.

      Philip’s name (Oh, how I gloried,

      He so young, to see it rise!)

      Soon grew noted among statesmen

      As a patriot true and wise.

      And his people all felt honoured

      To be ruled by such a name;

      I was proud too that they loved me;

      Through their pride in him it came.

      He had gained what I had longed for,

      I meanwhile grew glad and gay,

      ’Mid his people, to be serving

      Him and them, in some poor way.

      How his noble earnest speeches,

      With untiring fervour came;

      HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING;

      Truly he deserved the name!

      Had my Angel’s promise failed me?

      Had that word of hope grown dim?

      Why, my Philip had fulfilled it,

      And