  Of all the flowers that greet the light, Or open ’neath the summer’s sun, With fragrance sweet, and beauty bright, The Lily is the fairest one, And in its incense-cup there lies A perfume, as from Paradise. O, once there lived a fair, sweet child, And Lily was her gentle name; As beautiful and meekly mild, As if from Heaven’s pure life she came— A breathing psalm, a living prayer, To make men think of worlds more fair. O, there was sunshine in her smile, And music in her dancing feet, And every tender, artless wile, Made her dear presence seem more sweet; But ever in her childish play, A strange, unfathomed mystery lay. Her playmates—well, we could not see That which our darling Lily saw— But often in her childish glee, She filled our loving hearts with awe, When, pointing to the viewless air, She told us of the Angels there. “O, very beautiful!” she said, “And very gentle are they all; At night they watch around my bed, And always answer to my call. I asked to go with them one day, But a tall angel told me nay.” Yes—the “tall Angel” told her nay, But it was only for a time; We knew our Lily could not stay Long in this uncongenial clime. Into their home of love and light The Angels led her from our sight. They led her from the earth away, Into the blessÉd “summer-land,” Leaving to us her form of clay, With budding lilies in the hand; An emblem of her life, to be Unfolded in Eternity. O, though there falls a gloom like night From Sorrow’s overshadowing wing, How often does returning light A ray of heavenly brightness bring, And problems that were dark before Can vex the soul with doubt no more. Beneath that heavy cloud we stood, Through which no ray of gladness stole, But well we knew that Sorrow’s flood Would cleanse and purify the soul; And when its ministry should cease, Our lives would blossom fair with peace. One evening, when the summer moon With silver radiance filled the sky, And through the fragrant flowers of June The balmy breeze sighed dreamily, With spirits calm and reconciled, We talked of our dear Angel child. We spoke of her we loved so well, As one who only went before— When lo! just where the moonlight fell With mellow lustre on the floor, We saw our own sweet darling stand, With half-blown lilies in her hand. She seemed more beautiful and fair Than when a simple child of earth; The golden glory in her hair Betokened her celestial birth; But as she sweetly looked and smiled, We knew she was our own dear child. O, strange to say! we did not start, We did not even wildly weep, For each had schooled the wayward heart The law of perfect peace to keep— And deep as Love’s unfathomed sea Had been our faith that this would be. O, shall we tell those moments o’er— And all her words of love repeat— And say how, through Time’s open door She glided in with noiseless feet? Nay, rather let us purely hold Such things too sacred to be told. Enough to say we wait our time, With heaven’s own sunshine in the heart, Rejoicing in the faith sublime, That those who love can never part, And wheresoe’er the soul may dwell, That God will order all things well. |
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