[THE MOTHER’S DREAM.]
“And I will give him the morning star.”
Rev. ii. 28.
Methought, once more to my wishful eye
My beautiful boy had come:
My sorrow was gone, my cheek was dry,
And gladness around my home.
I saw the form of my dear, lost child!
All kindled with life he came;
And he spake in his own sweet voice, and smiled,
As soon as I called his name.
The garb he wore looked heavenly white,
As the feathery snow comes down,
And warm, as it shone in the softened light
That fell from his dazzling crown.
His eye was bright with a joy serene,
His cheek with a deathless bloom,
That only the eye of my soul hath seen,
When looking beyond the tomb.
The odors of flowers, from the thornless land
Where we deem that our blest ones are,
Seemed borne in his skirts; and his soft right hand
Was holding a radiant star.
His feet, unshod, looked tender and fair,
As the lily’s opening bell,
Half veiled in a cloud of glory, as there
Around him, in folds, it fell.
I asked him how he was clothed anew—
Who circled his head with light—
And whence he returned to meet my view
So calm and heavenly bright.