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, slowly 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, whose 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 had his brightest day-dream

Shone with half such wondrous grace.

"You were playing in that garden, Throwing blossoms in the air,

Laughing when the petals floated

Downwards on your golden hair;

And the fond eyes watching o'er you, And the splendour spread before you, Told, a House's Hope was there.

"When your servants, tired of seeing Such a face of want and woe,

Turning to the ragged Orphan,

Gave him coin, and bade him go,

Down his cheeks so thin and wasted,
Bitter tears began to flow.

"But that look of childish sorrow
On your tender child heart fell,
And you plucked the reddest roses
From the tree you loved so well,
Passing them through the stern grating,
With the gentle word, Farewell!'

6

"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure
And the gentle voice he heard,
In the poor forlorn boy's spirit,
Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred;
In his hand he took the flowers,

In his heart the loving word.