 | Songs for Sufferers |  |
12
ANGELS EVERYWHERE.
Who says there are no Angels, lies to God,
And soils his soul with an eternal shame,
Has had no wife, no mother;
He is a sexless thing, who never trod
The paths of human passion roofed with flame—
Nor walked with Christ our Brother;—
For Angels crowd the picture and the frame.
There is no little spot on sea or land
Where, robed in beauty, doth no Angel stand.
And soils his soul with an eternal shame,
Has had no wife, no mother;
He is a sexless thing, who never trod
The paths of human passion roofed with flame—
Nor walked with Christ our Brother;—
For Angels crowd the picture and the frame.
There is no little spot on sea or land
Where, robed in beauty, doth no Angel stand.
The earth is full of Angels; at each turn
Of every corner in market or in street,
They throng the field and city;
And when with pangs our aching bosoms burn,
One is close by with lovely if lame feet
To bear the cup of pity
And make the whole world with her presence sweet.
Ah, where they follow in the sufferer's wake,
All life is larger, richer, for their sake.
Of every corner in market or in street,
They throng the field and city;
And when with pangs our aching bosoms burn,
One is close by with lovely if lame feet
To bear the cup of pity
And make the whole world with her presence sweet.
Ah, where they follow in the sufferer's wake,
All life is larger, richer, for their sake.
O not above is heaven, but here it lies,
With women of the hospitable breast,
Shaped but to shield and carry;
To shed the presence of great sanctities
By which our souls are glorified and blest,
Where Christ may home or tarry,
And for His piercèd brow find balm or rest;
Yes, at the gates of paradise or hell
Watch Angels fair, who guide or guard us well.
With women of the hospitable breast,
Shaped but to shield and carry;
To shed the presence of great sanctities
By which our souls are glorified and blest,
Where Christ may home or tarry,
And for His piercèd brow find balm or rest;
Yes, at the gates of paradise or hell
Watch Angels fair, who guide or guard us well.
| Songs for Sufferers | |