 | Devotional Poems |  |
37
TO MY GUARDIAN ANGEL
At Lustleigh, Devon, September.
Angel mine, I am glad to be
Here in this beautiful hill country;
Glad, so glad, to have left the town,
And see the blue instead of the brown.
Oh, such a wonder of purple and blue,
Lovely, my angel, even to you
Who know the ineffable heights that rise
In the smile of God our Father's eyes.
Here in this beautiful hill country;
Glad, so glad, to have left the town,
And see the blue instead of the brown.
Oh, such a wonder of purple and blue,
Lovely, my angel, even to you
Who know the ineffable heights that rise
In the smile of God our Father's eyes.
Tell me, is it not easier far
To be good where space and colouring are,
Here, in the glory of Lustleigh down,
Than far to the east, in London Town?
Friend of the kind, wise brow, I wot
I speak as a child that knoweth not.
But oh, thank God for these hills so dear;
And oh, thank God that He brought me here.
Angel mine, to whom it is given
To know the glorious heights of heaven,
To drink from the undefiléd rills
That rise in the everlasting hills,
Teach me, through these my mortal eyes
Something of them to realize;
Learning, in this my mortal spell,
The invisible things by the visible.
Bid hills of Devon whisper me
Thought of what heaven's fair heights must be,
Those heights that Mary in spirit trod
As she carried the happy news of God
In swiftness all unhurriedly
To her blessed kin of the hill country,
All the while that her spirit fair
Was breathing the dear own-country air
Far above earthly joys and ills,
On the heights of the everlasting hills.
Help me to gain the footing sure
Of those the dear Lord counteth pure,
On the glorious hills that Mary knew,
And ever calleth her children to.
To be good where space and colouring are,
Here, in the glory of Lustleigh down,
Than far to the east, in London Town?
56
I speak as a child that knoweth not.
But oh, thank God for these hills so dear;
And oh, thank God that He brought me here.
Angel mine, to whom it is given
To know the glorious heights of heaven,
To drink from the undefiléd rills
That rise in the everlasting hills,
Teach me, through these my mortal eyes
Something of them to realize;
Learning, in this my mortal spell,
The invisible things by the visible.
Bid hills of Devon whisper me
Thought of what heaven's fair heights must be,
Those heights that Mary in spirit trod
As she carried the happy news of God
In swiftness all unhurriedly
To her blessed kin of the hill country,
All the while that her spirit fair
Was breathing the dear own-country air
Far above earthly joys and ills,
On the heights of the everlasting hills.
Help me to gain the footing sure
Of those the dear Lord counteth pure,
On the glorious hills that Mary knew,
And ever calleth her children to.
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