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A little changeling Spirit Crept to my arms one day. I had no heart or courage To drive the child away.

So all day long I soothed her And hushed her on my breast; And all night long her wailing Would never let me rest.

I dug a grave to hold her, A grave both dark and deep: I covered her with violets, And laid her there to sleep.

I used to go and watch there, Both night and morning too; It was my tears, I fancy, That kept the violets blue.

I took her up: and once more I felt the clinging hold, And heard the ceaseless wailing That wearied me of old.

I wandered and I wandered With my burden on my breast, Till I saw a church door open, And entered in to rest.

In the dim, dying daylight, Set in a flowery shrine, I saw the kings and shepherds Adore a Child divine.

I knelt down there in silence; And on the Altar-stone I laid my wailing burden, And came away,—alone.

And now that little Spirit That sobbed so all day long, Is grown a shining Angel, With wings both wide and strong.

She watches me from heaven, With loving, tender care, And one day, she has promised That I shall find her there.

A. A. P.