  His reverend head was bowed upon his hands; When in the lamp-light, thro’ his study door, Sleep’s angel came, who wisely understands How burdened hearts can be revived once more. The day, with all it’s quiet hours, was past; The sermon, that his weary brain prepared, Had, with a hopeful heart, been preached at last, And yet it seemed that not one listener cared. Life’s crosses looked too great for him to bear, And Hope was crushed beneath his spirit’s weight; His soul, at last, had yielded to despair And prayed for freedom, ere it was too late. The answer came, but not as he had prayed,— Life conquered death and sleep had mastered all; Like some fond mother gently now she stayed To soothe, and bless, and wake him at her call. Sleeping he dreamed that, on her heavenly way, The angel Death had listened to his prayer, And led him upward to the endless day, Beyond the valley known as Heart’s Despair. Above, the gates of Heaven were swinging wide, And he beheld the City of the King; His angel friends were standing close beside, Who, near the throne, the songs of Zion sing; And, as he looked, a chariot of gold Was passing o’er the pavement pearly-laid; A gleam of heavenly light he could behold Whose radiance warmed his soul and with him stayed. “Who passes?” cried he; “Tell his honored name, And whither will the golden chariot go?” “To all the world,” the answer sweetly came;— “’Tis Christ, the King of Heaven and earth below.” Then, in the brightness of that blessed light, He followed on, with never-tiring speed; The chariot wheels he ever kept in sight,— For strength was given, in the hour of need. The chariot stopped, beside a crystal stream, And Christ, descending, loosed the reins of gold; Then, gazing downward past the heavenly gleam, “Here lies the earth,” said he; “Come and behold!” The follower came, as comes the wandering dove, When seeking shelter from the storms of night; And as he looked from that great height above, He saw below a strange and sickening sight;— The earth was there, like some great marshy tract, With crowds, like blind men, wandering to and fro; Some struggling upward, others falling back, And crying out: “We know not where to go!” He saw among them many of his own To whom he preached the word of God each year; There stood the little chapel, built of stone, Where once he grieved, because some would not hear. The darkness came; he heard their piteous cry,— Weeping and moaning sounded thro’ the air, As, one by one, they lost “the way” near by And souls were yielding to a death’s despair. He saw it all as never seen before,— His eyes were opened, now he could not stay; Standing with Christ his spirit did implore:— “O send me back that I may point the way!” Dreaming, he woke; the lamp was burning dim,— The moon-beams thro’ the casement softly crept; A revelation had been made to him Which changed his heart, the while he sweetly slept. Despair departed, love for life-work came; The holy dream had made the man more wise. He knelt to breathe a prayer in Jesus’ name, While angels sang in peaceful Paradise. |
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