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112
THE ANGEL'S BLOSSOM.
FROM HANS CHRISTIAN ANDERSEN.
I heard a maiden sighing,
And a mother at her prayers;
The maiden was a dying,
And the mother was in tears.
And a mother at her prayers;
The maiden was a dying,
And the mother was in tears.
I saw an angel enter
At the curtained window-bars,
Like silver light in winter
From the River in the stars;
At the curtained window-bars,
Like silver light in winter
From the River in the stars;
With raiment of rare whiteness,
And with wings of rosy red;
And a golden, golden brightness
For the glory of his head.
And with wings of rosy red;
And a golden, golden brightness
For the glory of his head.
He touched the mother's temples,
And the mother ceased to weep;
He kissed the maiden's dimples
And she sank into a sleep.
And the mother ceased to weep;
He kissed the maiden's dimples
And she sank into a sleep.
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He took the sleeping maiden
In gentleness and love,
With his little burden laden
Like a snow-flake on a dove;
In gentleness and love,
With his little burden laden
Like a snow-flake on a dove;
And whispered, “Thou art welcome
“To the place where planets shine;
“What wilt thou take to my home
“For a memory of thine?”
“To the place where planets shine;
“What wilt thou take to my home
“For a memory of thine?”
She answered, “Gentle Power,
“If the bud may blossom there,
“I will take the daisy flower
“Out from my mother's hair.”
“If the bud may blossom there,
“I will take the daisy flower
“Out from my mother's hair.”
The Angel gave the daisy
With a quiet, careful hand,
And flew by star-paths mazy
Up to the happy land.
With a quiet, careful hand,
And flew by star-paths mazy
Up to the happy land.
But she saw that in his fingers
Another flower shone;
The flower that latest lingers
When the golden days are gone.
Another flower shone;
The flower that latest lingers
When the golden days are gone.
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“And whither dost thou carry
“That bud?” He made reply,
“We may no longer tarry,
“I will tell thee as we fly!
“That bud?” He made reply,
“We may no longer tarry,
“I will tell thee as we fly!
“In the city we are leaving
“There lay a dying boy;
“The bud I bear to Heaven;
“It was his only joy.
“There lay a dying boy;
“The bud I bear to Heaven;
“It was his only joy.
“His days were long and dreary
“In the dismal, dismal street,
“And at night 'twas very weary
“To count the passing feet.
“In the dismal, dismal street,
“And at night 'twas very weary
“To count the passing feet.
“For he lay from morn to midnight
“Watching the shadows pass,
“And never saw the sunlight,
“Nor the pleasant country grass.
“Watching the shadows pass,
“And never saw the sunlight,
“Nor the pleasant country grass.
“But when his flower opened
“He knew the fields were green,
“And its falling leaves betokened
“That all the flowers had been.
“He knew the fields were green,
“And its falling leaves betokened
“That all the flowers had been.
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“He saw it ere he slumbered,
“He watched it as it grew;
“Its very leaves he numbered,
“And its coming buds he knew.
“He watched it as it grew;
“Its very leaves he numbered,
“And its coming buds he knew.
“And to his aching bosom
“It brought such happy rest,
“That he loved his little blossom
“Next to his mother—best.
“It brought such happy rest,
“That he loved his little blossom
“Next to his mother—best.
“'Twas in the white December
“God took the boy above;
“Yet doth he still remember
“His lowly flower-love.
“God took the boy above;
“Yet doth he still remember
“His lowly flower-love.
“It was not made to wither,
“A thing so good and fair;
“Therefore I sought it thither,
“And take it to him there.
“A thing so good and fair;
“Therefore I sought it thither,
“And take it to him there.
“In Heaven's soil abiding
“These buds shall brighter blow,
“And tell us pleasant tiding
“Of those that live below.
“These buds shall brighter blow,
“And tell us pleasant tiding
“Of those that live below.
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“How know'st thou this, bright Power?”
Then splendidly he smiled!
“Should I not know my flower?
“I was that sickly child.”
Then splendidly he smiled!
“Should I not know my flower?
“I was that sickly child.”
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