I hear an angel's rustling wings
Fresh from the realms of light.
A sacred presence haunts the air,
A messenger from Heaven's own land;
And memory awakes again,
Touched by an angel's wand.
I seem to hear, deep in my soul,
The music of a heavenly choir,
While each pulsation of my heart
Awakes in me the old desire
To see once more that lovely form
Death vanished in my arms;
To hear again her melting voice
And revel in her charms.
To feel the tender, soft caress
Of a loved tho' vanished hand,
And hear from her departed lips
The mysteries of that land
That lies beyond Time's rugged shore,
To all unknown, save those