Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/179

178 And then methought she heard A sound of heavenly harpings, and beheld Celestial gleamings of cherubic wings, And mid the song of ransom'd infancy Unto its Saviour, caught the tuneful voice Of her own cherish'd nursling. So her lip Join'd in deep praise. For how could she forbear To thank her God for him who ne'er should taste Of trouble more? Was it his tender tone That whisper'd, as she lay that night in dreams, "Oh, mother, weep no more; but with a heart Of holy love, hold on thy Christian path, And come to me. For He who took on earth Young children to his arms, will bid in heaven The mother find her babe. So keep thine eye Clear from the grief-cloud, for the time is short, The way is plain: dear mother, come to me."