Mournful murmurs, direful discords,
Greet you from Destruction’s night,
For Life’s lower stratum, heaving,
Brings long-buried wrongs to light,
And your souls shall find no refuge,
Save with the Eternal Right.
In one grand, unbroken phalanx,
Firm, united, bravely stand,
Faithful in the way of duty,
Ready at the Truth’s command,
And forever let your motto
Be this—“God and my Right Hand!”
MY ANGEL.
Oft from the summer hights of love,
Along the ways of Time,
The pilgrims of this lower sphere
Catch gleams of light sublime,
That stream adown the azure way,
From heaven’s unshadowed clime.
There, on the balmy, golden air,
Celestial music swells,
Like harps Eolian, gently blown,
Or chime of silver bells—
And there my star, my angel love,
My spotless lily dwells.
She came to me, when from my soul
A demon had been cast;
When I had rent the servile chain,
Which long had held me fast,
And stood erect, in conscious power,
A strong, free man at last.
The burnt-out fire-crypts of my life
Had lost their crimson gleam,
And emptied of their baleful glare,
I walked as in a dream,
With one great purpose in my heart,
To be and not to seem.
Life’s holiest lesson then was mine,
For when at peace within,
And I had cleansed my erring heart
From its foul taint of sin,
That gentle maiden, pure and sweet,
Like sunshine entered in.
She was my idol—O my God!
Have angel hearts above,
Through their long line of endless life,
Such depth of power to love,
As that with which I folded close,
My tender, trusting dove?
It was not long, for when the flowers
Upon the green hill-side
Closed their bright eyes to wake no more,
My own sweet darling died.
The angels oped the shining door,
And called her from my side.