guest,

And listened, for I thought I heard
God's voice;

And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best,

Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice.

Then with a smile, that filled the house with light,

"My errand is not Death, but Life," he said; And ere he answered, passing out of sight,

On his celestial embassy he sped.

'Twas at thy door, O friend, and not at mine,

The angel with the amaranthine wreath,

Pausing, descended, and with voice divine,

Whispered a word that had a sound

like death.

Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom,

A shadow on those features fair and thin;

And softly from that hushed and darkened room,

Two angels issued, where but one went in.

All is of God! If He but wave his hand.

The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud,

Till, with a smile of light on sea and land,

Lo! He looks back from the departing cloud.

Angels of Life and Death alike are His;

Without His leave, they pass no threshold o'er;

A DAY OF SUNSHINE.

O GIFT of God! O perfect day: Whereon shall no man work, but play

Whereon it is enough for me,
Not to be doing, but to be!

Through every fibre of my brain, Through every nerve, through every vein,

I feel the electric thrill, the touch
Of life, that seems almost too much.
I hear the wind among the trees
Playing celestial symphonies;
I see the branches downward bent,
Like keys of some great instrument.
And over me unrolls on high
The splendid scenery of the sky,
Where through a sapphire sea, the

THE SEAS.

IF to be absent were to be
Away from thee;

Or that when I am gone
You or I were alone;

Then, my Lucasta, might I crave Pity from blustering wind, or swallowing wave.

Though seas and land betwixt us both,

Our faith and troth, Like separated souls,

All time and space controls: Above the highest sphere we meet Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet.

So then we do anticipate

Our after-fate,

And are alive in the skies,
If thus our lips and eyes

In heaven, their earthly bodies left behind.

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS.

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you, too, shall adore,

I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more.

SAMUEL

LOVER.

OH! WATCH YOU WELL BY DAY

LIGHT.

OH! watch you well by daylight,
By daylight may you fear,
But keep no watch in darkness
The angels then are near;
For Heaven the sense bestoweth,
Our waking life to keep,
But tender mercy showeth,

To guard us in our sleep.
Then watch you well by daylight.
By daylight may you fear,
But keep no watch in darkness
The angels then are near.

Oh! watch you well in pleasure —
For pleasure oft betrays,
But keep no watch in sorrow,

When joy withdraws its rays:
For in the hour of sorrow,

As in the darkness drear,
To Heaven entrust the morrow.
For the angels then are near.
O watch you well by daylight,

By daylight may you fear,
But keep no watch in darkness -
The angels then are near.

THE CHILD AND THE AUTUMN
LEAF.

Down by the river's bank I strayed
Upon an autumn day;
Beside the fading forest there,
I saw a child at play.

She played among the yellow leaves-
The leaves that once were green,
And flung upon the passing stream
What once had blooming been:
Oh! deeply did it touch my heart
To see that child at play;
It was the sweet unconscious sport
Of childhood with decay.

Fair child, if by this stream you stray,

When after years go by, The scene that makes thy childhood's sport,

May wake thy age's sigh:

When fast you see around you fall
The summer's leafy pride.
And mark the river hurrying on
Its ne'er returning tide;

Then may you feel in pensive mood
That life's a summer dream;
And man, at last, forgotten falls -
A leaf upon the stream.

THE ANGEL'S WING.

WHEN by the evening's quiet light
There sit two silent lovers.
They say, while in such tranquil
plight,

An angel round them hovers;
And further still old legends tell,
The first who breaks the silent spell,
To say a soft and pleasing thing,
Hath felt the passing angel's wing!

Thus, a musing minstrel strayed
By the summer ocean,
Gazing on a lovely maid,

With a bard's devotion:-
Yet this love he never spoke,
Till now the silent spell he broke; -
The hidden fire to flame did spring,
Fanned by the passing angel's wing!

"I have loved thee well and long, With love of heaven's own making!

This is not a poet's song,

But a true heart's speaking,
I will love thee, still, untired!"
He felt he spoke-

as one inspired, The words did from Truth's fountain spring. Upwaken'd by the angel's wing.