Page:The Poets and Poetry of the West.djvu/625

 1850-(i0.] ROSA VERTNER JOHNSON. 609 ANGEL WATCHERS. Angel faces watch my pillow, angel voices haunt my sleep, And U230n the winds of midnight shining pinions round me sweep ; Floating downward on the starlight two bright infant forms I see — They are mine, my own bright darlings, come from heaven to visit me. Earthly children smile upon me, but those little ones above, Were the first to stir the fountains of a mother's deathless love, And, as now they watch my slumber, while their soft ey^bn me shine, God forgive a mortal yearning still to call his angels mine. Earthly children fondly call me, but no mortal voice can seem Sweet as those that whisper " Mother ! " 'mid the glories of my dream ; Years will pass, and earthly prattlers cease perchance to lisp my name, But my angel babies' accents shall be evermore the same. And the bright band now around me, from their home perchance will rove, In their strength no more depending on my constant care and love ; But my first-born still shall wander, from the sky in dreams to rest Their soft cheeks and shining tresses on an earthly mother's breast. Time may steal away the freshness, or some whelming grief destroy All the hopes that erst had blossomed, in my summer-time of joy ; Earthly children may forsake me, earthly friends perhaps betray. Every tie that now unites me to this life may pass away ; — But, unchanged, those angel watchers, from their blessed immortal home, Pure and fair, to cheer the sadness of my darkened dreams shall come, And I cannot feel forsaken, for, though 'reft of earthly love, Angel children call me "Mother!" and my soul will look above. THE MIDNIGHT PRAYER. 'Mid the deep and stifling sadness, the stillness and the gloom. That hung a vail of mourning round my dimly-lighted room, I heard a voice at midnight, in strange tones of anguish, say : "Come near me, dearest mother! Now, my God, O let me pray ! " He prayed — and dumb with anguish did my trembling spirit wait, Till that low wail had entered at the ever- lasting gate ; And then I cried, " Father ! throngs of angels dwell with thee. And he is thine — but leave him yet a little while with me! " Two buds has Azrael plucked from out the garden of my love. And placed them in the living wreath that spans thy throne above ; Twice o'er love's consecrated harp have swept his cold, dark wings. And when I touch it now, alas ! there are two broken strings. " Twice have his strong, sharp arrows pierced the lambs within my fold. And now in his unerring grasp another shaft behold ! " Two prayers went up at midnight — and the last so full of woe, That God did break the arrow set in Az- rael's shining bow. 39