  “Come, come,” said the bright angel, In a whisper sweet and low, “To yonder stream so lonely Together let us go.” And the child made haste to follow The guide she could not see, For she said, “A sweet child angel Is whispering to me.” The morning sun shone brightly Through the branches overhead, And summer leaves upon the ground Their dancing shadows spread. And still, upon the cool, green earth The trembling dew-drops lay, And fell in showers, beneath her touch, From every leaf and spray. Yet onward, onward went the child Without a thought of fear, For the voice of the sweet angel Still sounded in her ear. And now the path is hidden By branches bending low, And, pausing there, she listens To hear the waters flow; And from the opening blossoms, That smile beside her feet, She twines, with ready fingers, A wreath, for angel meet. The deep and waveless river Spread out before her lies, And she sees the fair child angel Look fondly in her eyes. One cry of joy she utters, Her arms extending wide To clasp the lovely phantom Beneath that treacherous tide. Weep not, thou childless mother, Above that beauteous clay, For the voice of blessed angels Has called the soul away. Think, when thy lips are pressing That pure and marble brow, In heaven thy own child angel Is living for thee now. |
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