An angel with a radiant face,
       &nbsp Above a cradle bent to look,
Seemed his own image there to trace,
       &nbsp As in the waters of a brook.

"Dear child! who me resemblest so,"
       &nbsp It whispered, "come, O come with me!
Happy together let us go,
       &nbsp The earth unworthy is of thee!

"Here none to perfect bliss attain;
       &nbsp The soul in pleasure suffering lies;
Joy hath an undertone of pain,
       &nbsp And even the happiest hours their sighs.

"Fear doth at every portal knock;
       &nbsp Never a day serene and pure
From the o'ershadowing tempest's shock
       &nbsp Hath made the morrow's dawn secure.

"What then, shall sorrows and shall fears
       &nbsp Come to disturb so pure a brow?
And with the bitterness of tears
       &nbsp These eyes of azure troubled grow?

"Ah no! into the fields of space,
       &nbsp Away shalt thou escape with me;
And Providence will grant thee grace
       &nbsp Of all the days that were to be.
"Let no one in thy dwelling cower,
       &nbsp In sombre vestments draped and veiled;
But let them welcome thy last hour,
       &nbsp As thy first moments once they hailed.

"Without a cloud be there each brow;
       &nbsp There let the grave no shadow cast;
When one is pure as thou art now,
       &nbsp The fairest day is still the last."

And waving wide his wings of white,
       &nbsp The angel, at these words, had sped
Towards the eternal realms of light!—
       &nbsp Poor mother! see, thy son is dead!