The Angel of Dawn.
J. S. Cutler.
One morn an angel stopped beside my door,
Clad in the shining garments of the dawn;
Upon his brow a starry crown he wore;
In his right hand a flaming sword was drawn.
With terror filled, I prayed with piteous cry
The angel-presence then to pass me by.
“I am not death,” the angel said, and smiled;
“Thy soul shall have the answer to thy prayer.
Drive from thy breast this fearful anguish wild;
I am the Angel of the Dawn—beware!
I place a priceless jewel in thy hands;
The day is thine, waste not its running sands.
“Therefore mark well—thy duty waiteth thee,
Beside the morning’s swiftly opening gate;
The new day dawns—its hours will quickly flee;
Stamp them with honor ere it be too late;
Thy deed may lift thee higher than thy prayer.
The day is thine, remember and beware!”
And then the angel took his shining way,
On silent wings, out to the shadowy west;
And swiftly onward came the new-born day,
The priceless jewel of my angel-guest.
The birds awoke and filled the world with song,
And made my burden light the whole day long.
And now, when morning throws its early beams
In golden rays across the ocean’s floor,
And I awake from slumbering and dreams,
I know an angel waiteth at the door;
I hear again that kindly voice declare—
“Thy deed may lift thee higher than thy prayer.”