The white-robed angels went and came-- The white-robed angels saw me there-- And one, in our dear Father’s name, Came at my spirit’s voiceless prayer. “Dear child,” he said, “why dost thou wait With weeping at the heavenly gate?” “O, weary are my feet,” I cried, “With wandering o’er the earthly way; Lo, all my hopes hang crucified, And all my idols turn to clay; Far distant now the Father seems, And heaven comes only in my dreams.” He laid his hand upon my head, And tenderly the angel smiled. “Thy Father knows thy need,” he said, “And he will aid his suffering child. Return unto thine earthly home-- His kingdom yet shall surely come.” Obedient at the word I turned, And sought mine earthly home once more, While all my soul within me burned, With joy I never knew before; For that blest vision of the night Had filled me with celestial light. Still o’er my life its glories stream, The solace of my lonely hours, Fair as the sunset’s golden gleam, And lovely as the bloom of flowers; A sweet assurance, calm and deep, Which treasured in my soul I keep. Henceforth I wait with anxious eyes, Until the shadows flee away, To see the morning star arise, Which ushers in that glorious day. Be patient, O my heart! be still Till time the promise shall fulfill. THE SPIRIT OF NATURE. “The bond which unites the human to the divine is Love, and Love is the longing of the Soul for Beauty; the inextinguishable desire which like feels for like, which the divinity within us feels for the divinity revealed to us in Beauty. Beauty is Truth.”--PLATO. I HAVE come from the heart of all natural things, Whose life from the Soul of the Beautiful springs; You shall hear the sweet waving of corn in my voice, And the musical whisper of leaves that rejoice, For my lips have been touched by the spirit of prayer, Which lingers unseen in the soft summer air; And the smile of the sunshine that brightens the skies, Hath left a glad ray of its light in my eyes. On the sea-beaten shore--’mid the dwellings of men-- In the field, or the forest, or wild mountain glen; Wherever the grass or a daisy could spring, Or the musical laughter of childhood could ring; Wherever a swallow could build ’neath the eaves, Or a squirrel could hide in his covert of leaves, I have felt the sweet presence, and heard the low call, Of the Spirit of Nature, which quickens us all.