University of Virginia Library

A little child,
A little meek-faced, quiet, village child
Sat singing, by her cottage door at eve,
A low, sweet, Sabbath song. No human ear
Caught the faint melody—no human eye
Beheld the upturned aspect, or the smile
That wreathed her innocent lips the while they breathed
The oft-repeated burden of the hymn,
“Praise God! praise God!”

A Seraph by the Throne
In the full glory stood. With eager hand,
He smote the golden harpstrings, till a flood
Of harmony on the celestial air
Welled forth, unceasing. Then with a great voice,
He sang the “Holy, Holy, evermore,
Lord God Almighty!” and the eternal courts
Thrilled with the rapture, and the hierarchies,
Angel, and rapt archangel, throbbed and burned
With vehement adoration. Higher yet
Rose the majestic anthem, without pause,
Higher, with rich magnificence of sound,
To its full strength, and still the infinite heavens
Rang with the “Holy, Holy, evermore!”
Till trembling from excess of awe and love,
Each sceptred spirit sank before the Throne,
With a mute hallelujah. But, e'en then,
While the ecstatic song was at its height,
Stole in an alien voice—a voice that seemed
To float, float upward from some world afar—
A meek and child-like voice, faint, but how sweet!
That blended with the seraph's rushing strain,
Even as a fountain's music, with the roll
Of the reverberate thunder. Loving smiles
Lit up the beauty of each angel's face
At that new utterance—smiles of joy that grew
More joyous yet, as ever and anon
Was heard the simple burden of the hymn,
“Praise God! Praise God!” And when the seraph's song
Had reached its close, and o'er the golden lyre
Silence hung brooding—when the eternal courts
Rang but with echoes of his chant sublime,
Still, through the abysmal space, that wandering voice
Came floating upward from its world afar,
Still murmured sweet on the celestial air,
“Praise God! Praise God!”