But, with all my prayers ascending,
I could hear a low voice blending,
Like some benison descending,
Saying, “Place thy hopes above;
For the test of all affection
Is the full and free rejection
Of all selfishness in love.”
Then I felt a sad foreboding,
All my soul to anguish goading,
All my inward peace corroding;
And my rebel heart begun,
Crying wildly, that I would not
Yield my precious one—I could not
Say, “Thy will, not mine, be done.”
Spring-time came with genial showers,
Bursting buds and opening flowers,
Singing birds and sunny hours,
Filling heaven and earth with light.
But the Summer—fair deceiver!—
Came with pestilence and fever,
Came my little bud to blight.
O’er my threshold silent stealing,
Chilling every sense and feeling,
All the fount of grief unsealing,
Came the great white angel, Death;
And my flower upon my bosom
Withered, like an early blossom
Stricken by the north wind’s breath.
And I saw him weakly lying,
Heard his parched lips faintly sighing,
Knew that he was dying—dying!
And my love was vain to save!
All my wild, impassioned pleading,
All my fervent interceding,
Could not triumph o’er the grave.
Vainly did I crave permission,
That my anxious, tearful vision,
Might behold the land Elysian—
Forth into the unknown dark,
On that broad, mysterious river,
Did the hand of God, the Giver,
Launch that little, fragile bark.
Then my brain grew wild to madness,
Changing to a sullen sadness,
Tempered by no ray of gladness;
And I cursed the God above,
That, with Heaven all full of angels,
Sounding forth their glad evangels,
He should take my little dove.
Then my eyelids knew no sleeping:
Once my midnight watch while keeping,
I had wept beyond all weeping,—
Suddenly there seemed to fall
From my spiritual being,
From my inward sense of seeing,
Scales, as from the eyes of Paul.
Heavenly gales were round me playing,
Angel hands my soul were staying,
And I heard a clear voice saying,
“Come up hither,—come and see!
O, thou sorrow-stricken mother!
Unto thee, as to none other,
Heaven unfolds her mystery.”
God’s own Spirit seemed to move me,
All the Heaven grew bright above me,
All the angels seemed to love me,—
Waved their white hands as they smiled;
And one, fair as Summer moonlight,
Crowned with starry gems of midnight,
Brought to me my angel child.