So, last night I thought about thee On my pillow, till, at last, I was gone in quiet slumber; And a dream before me passed. In it, I beheld my rose tree Stripped of flower, and bud and leaf; While thy naked stalk and branches Filled me with surprise and grief. Then, methought, I wept to see thee Spoiled of all that made thee dear, Till a band of smiling angels Mildly shining, hovered near. Gently as they gathered round thee, All in silence, one of them Laid his soft, fair fingers on thee, Pulling leaves from out the stem. One by one thy twigs he furnished With a dress of foliage green; While another angel followed, Bringing buds the leaves between. Then came one the buds to open; He their silken rolls unsheathed, While the one who tints the roses, Through their loosened foldings breathed. Then the angel of the odors Filled each golden-bottomed cell, Till, between the parting petals, Free on air the fragrance fell. Lifting then their shining pinions, Quick the angels passed from sight; Leaving, where aloft they vanished, But a stream of fading light. There I heard sweet strains of music, And their voices far above, Dying in the azure distance, Naming thee a gift of love. And, my rose tree stood before me, Finished thus by angel hands; Perfect in its bloom and fragrance, Beautiful, as now it stands. Hence, whenever I behold thee, I shall think of angels too; And the countless works of goodness They descend on earth to do. All unseen and silent, round us They their careful watches keep; Whether we may wake, or slumber, Guardian angels never sleep! THE INFANT BAPTIST. And the child grew, and waxed strong in spirit, and was in the deserts until the day of his showing unto Israel. LUKE i. 80. Child, amid the honeyed flowers Passing life's bright morning hours-- Playing in the silver rills, Where they bathe Judea's hills-- Looking, with an earnest eye, At the wild bird flitting by-- Infant of the joyous heart, Canst thou tell me who thou art? Thou, whose little hand in play Hurls the clustered grapes away; While thou lov'st to watch the bee, Or to win a lamb to thee, And to see the fleecy flock Resting by the shadowy rock,-- Know'st thou, tender, beauteous boy, What 's thine errand--whence thy joy? 'T was thy name that Gabriel spoke, By the altar, while the smoke From thy father's incense rolled, When thy being was foretold! Thou art come, the promised one, As the dayspring to the sun, Soon to usher in new light Through the realms of death and night!