  I remember once, when a careless child, I played on the mossy lea; The stars looked forth in the shadowy west, And I stole to my mother's knee, With a handful of stemless violets, wet With the drops of gathering dew, And asked of the wonderful points of light That shone in the distant blue. Through the measureless depths above, Created by infinite might and power, Supported by infinite love. She told of a faith that she called divine, Of a fairer and happier home; Of hope unsullied by grief or fear, And a loftier life to come. She told of seraphs, on wings of light, That floated from star to star, And were sometimes sent on a mission high To a blighted orb afar. And with childish sense, I forgot the worlds, She had pointed out on high, And deemed each wonderful beam of light The glance of an angel's eye. I know each petition now,— I saw the gleam of those wings of light Lie beautiful on her brow. Years passed, and in earliest youth I knelt By my mother's dying bed; The lips were mute that had spoken love, And the eye's bright glance had fled. And when I turned from that silent room Where the latest word was spoken, The shadow of death o'er my spirit lay, And I thought that my heart was broken I sought the hush of the midnight air, And wept till the founts were dry; The earth was clad in a wintry garb, But the star host filled the sky. And the loftier life to come, And felt the shadow of Death depart From my childhood's sacred home. And often now when my heart is faint With earth and its wearying care, When my soul is sick with a feverish thirst And burdened with contrite prayer, I hasten forth to the starry gems, That circle the brow of night, And track with them the eloquent depths Of the boundless Infinite. They whisper low of a holier life And a faith sublime and high; And again I fancy each golden beam The glance of a seraph's eye, I stole to my mother's knee, And asked of the wonderful points of light That shone o'er the deep, blue sea. |
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