Mrs. English, Once a Week (1863)
“ A white-robed angel stood at Heaven’s door, To catch earth’s floating tones of even song, Then, kneeling low upon the crystal floor, Asks with uplifted hands, “How long, how long? “I hear my child’s sweet voice from earth arise, I catch the fragrant incense of his prayer; But missing him in these serener skies, Heaven’s fairest beauties seem to me less fair. ”
Mrs. English, Once a Week (1863)
“ Half fearing lest the High and Holy One, Should deem her earth-born wayward thought too bold. When, lo! she sees among the seraph bands Her angel child in spotless garment drest, Who calls her “Mother,” stretching out his hands, And nestling like a bird upon her breast. ”
Mrs. English, Once a Week (1862)
“ Help me to hold him to my heart. To-morrow My soul will sink to rest. “What strange mysterious magic in this meeting! Lo! while I watch his pure and even breath, My waning life’s faint pulses wildly beating, Seem struggling against death. “Nay, cheer me not with flatt’ring hopes beguiling, Nor mock my fears, ye who around my bed Rain sunshine show’rs, in love and pity smiling E’en through the tears ye shed. ”
