The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince Edited by R. A. Douglas Lithgow |
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ONE ANGEL MORE. |
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 | The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince |  |
275
ONE ANGEL MORE.
A bonny and a blessed bird
Has gone from out my nest,
And left a void of agony
Within the parent breast;
A young and loving bird it was,
Whose chirp and song were gay,
Chasing away the darkest thoughts
Of every cloudy day.
Has gone from out my nest,
And left a void of agony
Within the parent breast;
A young and loving bird it was,
Whose chirp and song were gay,
Chasing away the darkest thoughts
Of every cloudy day.
Of the sweet birds within my nest,
I had but only three,
And this which took its heavenward flight,
Was very dear to me!
Her gleesome voice, her sunny face,
Gave melody and light;
But, oh! her loss has plunged us both
In grief's oppressive night.
I had but only three,
And this which took its heavenward flight,
Was very dear to me!
Her gleesome voice, her sunny face,
Gave melody and light;
But, oh! her loss has plunged us both
In grief's oppressive night.
Both, did I say?—Ah! yes, indeed,
Her fond and mournful mother
Weeps for her lost and lovely one,
As if she had no other:
But time may soothe the stricken heart,
And calm the troubled mind,
And only make us love the more
The dear ones left behind.
Her fond and mournful mother
Weeps for her lost and lovely one,
As if she had no other:
But time may soothe the stricken heart,
And calm the troubled mind,
And only make us love the more
The dear ones left behind.
276
And yet, we cannot help but keep
Remembrance of the past,—
Recall her winning ways, that made
All love her to the last:
And when some neighbour breathes the name
Of our delightsome thing,
Up from our hearts the hidden tears
Gush like a sudden spring.
Remembrance of the past,—
Recall her winning ways, that made
All love her to the last:
And when some neighbour breathes the name
Of our delightsome thing,
Up from our hearts the hidden tears
Gush like a sudden spring.
Oh! it was sweet at eventide
To watch her winsome wiles,—
Our bosoms beating with delight,
Our faces wreathed with smiles;
While she would blithely prattle on,
Over some pictured page,
With questions and suggestive words
Beyond her infant age.
To watch her winsome wiles,—
Our bosoms beating with delight,
Our faces wreathed with smiles;
While she would blithely prattle on,
Over some pictured page,
With questions and suggestive words
Beyond her infant age.
But when her sister's fingers touched
The casket of sweet sound,
She started from her book or play
With an exultant bound,
And listened to the melody,
As if it ne'er could cloy;
The music seemed to her young soul
A passion and a joy.
The casket of sweet sound,
She started from her book or play
With an exultant bound,
And listened to the melody,
As if it ne'er could cloy;
The music seemed to her young soul
A passion and a joy.
And in the summer fields, how bright
Grew her inquiring eyes!
For every object touched her heart
With gladness and surprise;
Sweet Nature seemed to swathe her round
With a diviner grace;
While the quick light of wakening thought
Flashed out upon her face.
Grew her inquiring eyes!
For every object touched her heart
With gladness and surprise;
Sweet Nature seemed to swathe her round
With a diviner grace;
While the quick light of wakening thought
Flashed out upon her face.
277
It cannot now avail to us
How she appeared on earth;
But let us dream of what she is
Since her celestial birth:
Let us not mourn that her white feet
Tread the transcendent shore;
The loss is ours,—but Heaven has gained
One little angel more.
How she appeared on earth;
But let us dream of what she is
Since her celestial birth:
Let us not mourn that her white feet
Tread the transcendent shore;
The loss is ours,—but Heaven has gained
One little angel more.
| The Poetical Works of John Critchley Prince | |