  I I DREAMED we sat within a shaded place, Where mournful waters fell, and no sun shone; And suddenly, a smile upon his face, There came to us a winged, mysterious one, And said, with pitying eyes: “O mourning souls, arise! “Take up your travelling staves, your sandals lace, And journey to the Northland and the snow, Where wild and leaping Borealis trace Fantastic, glistening dances to and fro; Where suns at midnight beam, to fright the sleeper’s dream. “There, in the icy, solitary waste, God’s goodness grants this boon,—that thou shalt see, And hold communion for a little space With that dear child so lately gone from thee. Arise, and haste away; God may not let her stay.” So we arose, and quickly we went forth; How could we slight such all undreamed-of boon? And when we reached the ultimate far North— All in a hush of frozen afternoon, Lit by a dim sun-ray, liker to night than day— There, o’er the white bare feld we saw her come, Our little maid, in the dear guise we knew, With the same look she used to wear at home, The same sweet eyes of deepest, dark-fringed blue; Her steps they made no sound upon the icy ground. She kissed us gently, and she stood and smiled, While close we clasped and questioned her, and strove To win some hint or answer from the child That should appease the hunger of our love, Something to soothe the pain when she must go again. And was she happy, happier than of old? Did heaven fulfil its promises of bliss? And had she seen our other dead, and told The story of that loving faithfulness Which held them dearly yet and never would forget? To all these questions she made no replies: She only smiled a softly wistful smile, And looked with gentle eyes into our eyes, And kissed us back; and in a little while She said, “Now I must go; my Lady told me so.” Then jealously we cried: “What is the name Of this thy ‘Lady’? Is she good to thee? Has she above all other angels claim To thine obedience, dear; or can it be The Mother of our Lord?” She answered not a word! But sighed, and laid her finger on her lips, And kissed us all, and straightway from our sight, As twilight wanes and melts in night’s eclipse, She vanished, and we looked to left and right, And wildly called her name, but, oh! no answer came. And with the anguished call the vision broke, The equal sky of summer shone o’erhead; The earliest birds were singing as I woke.— All was a dream, except that she was dead, And that familiar pain I tasted once again. Thank God, it was a dream! How could we bear To see her stand with wistful eyes down bent, In the old likeness that she used to wear, And know her sad and only half-content, Better, far better, not to know or see! O Lord, whose faithfulness all ages prove, We trust the darling of our hearts to thee, Asking no explanations of thy love; Keep thou her safe alway, and give her back some day. |
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