THE ANGELS' SONG Ir came upon the midnight clear, To hear the angels sing. Still through the cloven skies they come, They bend on heavenly wing, Yet with the woes of sin and strife The world has suffered long; Beneath the angel-strain have rolled Two thousand years of wrong; And man, at war with man, hears not The love-song which they bring: O, hush the noise, ye men of strife, And hear the angels sing! And ye, beneath life's crushing load Whose forms are bending low; Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow,Look now! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing; O, rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing. For lo! the days are hastening on, Comes round the age of gold; EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS THE OTHER WORLD Ir lies around us like a cloud, The world we do not see; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be. COME BACK COME back and bring my life again Or leaves me wretched, dead and chill! Thy presence was of life a part; Thine absence leaves the blank of death. They wait thy presence eye and heart, With straining gaze and bated breath. The light is darkness, if thine eyes I see no star in evening skies, Save thou look up and point the way. Nor bursting buds in May's young bloom, Nor sunshine rippling o'er the sea, Bears up to heaven my heart's perfume Save thou my monitor can be. There are two paths for human feet, But thou must walk beside me there, And thou some guilt of loss must bear. SONG 'T Is said that absence conquers love! But, oh! believe it not; I've tried, alas ! its power to prove, I plunge into the busy crowd, But when I ask my heart the sound, Thy name is echoed there. And when some other name I learn, And would not be forgot; E'en as the wounded bird will seek So, lady! I would hear thee speak, I've tried, alas ! its power to prove, FREDERICK WILLIAM THOMAS BLIND LOUISE SHE knew that she was growing blind,— That soon would fall, without a star, Yet never did she make complaint, She dreaded that eclipse which might Sad memories of a leafless world, She'd rather that the verdure left She had her wish; for when the sun A world of May-time flowers, We found her seated, as of old, GEORGE WASHINGTON DEWEY |