Dramatic chapters, poems and songs By Charles Swain |
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 | Dramatic chapters, poems and songs |  |
185
THE ANGEL-WATCH, OR THE SISTERS.
A daughter watched at midnight
Her dying mother's bed;
For five long nights she had not slept,
And many tears were shed:
A vision like an angel came,
Which none but her might see;
“Sleep, duteous child,” the angel said,
“And I will watch for thee!”
Her dying mother's bed;
For five long nights she had not slept,
And many tears were shed:
A vision like an angel came,
Which none but her might see;
“Sleep, duteous child,” the angel said,
“And I will watch for thee!”
Sweet slumber like a blessing fell
Upon the daughter's face;
The angel smiled, and touched her not,
But gently took her place;
And oh, so full of human love
Those pitying eyes did shine,
The angel-guest half mortal seemed—
The slumberer half divine.
Upon the daughter's face;
The angel smiled, and touched her not,
But gently took her place;
And oh, so full of human love
Those pitying eyes did shine,
The angel-guest half mortal seemed—
The slumberer half divine.
195
Like rays of light the sleeper's locks
In warm loose curls were thrown;
Like rays of light the angel's hair
Seemed like the sleeper's own.
A rose-like shadow on the cheek,
Dissolving into pearl;
A something in that angel's face
Seemed sister to the girl!
In warm loose curls were thrown;
Like rays of light the angel's hair
Seemed like the sleeper's own.
A rose-like shadow on the cheek,
Dissolving into pearl;
A something in that angel's face
Seemed sister to the girl!
The mortal and immortal each
Reflecting each were seen;
The earthly and the spiritual
With death's pale face between.
O human love, what strength like thine?
From thee those prayers arise
Which, entering into Paradise,
Draw angels from the skies.
Reflecting each were seen;
The earthly and the spiritual
With death's pale face between.
O human love, what strength like thine?
From thee those prayers arise
Which, entering into Paradise,
Draw angels from the skies.
The dawn looked through the casement cold—
A wintry dawn of gloom,
And sadder showed the curtained bed,—
The still and sickly room:
“My daughter?—art thou there my child?
Oh, haste thee, love, come nigh,
That I may see once more thy face,
And bless thee, ere I die!
A wintry dawn of gloom,
And sadder showed the curtained bed,—
The still and sickly room:
“My daughter?—art thou there my child?
Oh, haste thee, love, come nigh,
That I may see once more thy face,
And bless thee, ere I die!
196
If ever I were harsh to thee,
Forgive me now,” she cried;
“God knows my heart, I loved thee most
When most I seemed to chide;
Now bend and kiss thy mother's lips,
And for her spirit pray!”
The angel kissed her; and her soul
Passed blissfully away!
Forgive me now,” she cried;
“God knows my heart, I loved thee most
When most I seemed to chide;
Now bend and kiss thy mother's lips,
And for her spirit pray!”
The angel kissed her; and her soul
Passed blissfully away!
A sudden start!—what dream, what sound,
The slumbering girl alarms?
She wakes—she sees her mother dead
Within the angel's arms!
She wakes—she springs with wild embrace—
But nothing there appears
Except her mother's sweet dead face—
Her own convulsive tears.
The slumbering girl alarms?
She wakes—she sees her mother dead
Within the angel's arms!
She wakes—she springs with wild embrace—
But nothing there appears
Except her mother's sweet dead face—
Her own convulsive tears.
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