The stars are gleaming; The maiden sleeps-- What is she dreaming?

For see--she weeps.

By her side is an Angel With folded wings; While the Maiden slumbers The Angel sings: He sings of a Bridal, Of Love, of Pain, Of a heart to be given,-- And all in vain; (See, her cheek is flushing, As if with pain;) He telleth of sorrow, Regrets and fears, And the few vain pleasures We buy with tears; And the bitter lesson We learn from years.

The stars are gleaming Upon her brow: What is she dreaming So calmly now?

By her side is the Angel With folded wings; She smiles in her slumber The while he sings.

He sings of a Bridal, Of Love divine; Of a heart to be laid On a sacred shrine; Of a crown of glory, Where seraphs shine; Of the deep, long rapture The chosen know Who forsake for Heaven Vain joys below, Who desire no pleasure, And fear no woe.

The Bells are ringing, The sun shines clear, The Choir is singing, The guests are here.

Before the High Altar Behold the Bride; And a mournful Angel Is by her side.

She smiles, all content With her chosen lot,-- (Is her last night's dreaming So soon forgot?) And oh, may the Angel Forsake her not!

For on her small hand There glitters plain The first sad link Of a life-long chain;-- And she needs his guiding Through paths of pain.

VERSE: THE ANGEL'S BIDDING

Not a sound is heard in the Convent; The Vesper Chant is sung, The sick have all been tended, The poor nun's toils are ended Till the Matin bell has rung.

All is still, save the Clock, that is ticking So loud in the frosty air, And the soft snow, falling as gently As an answer to a prayer.

But an Angel whispers, "Oh, Sister, You must rise from your bed to pray; In the silent, deserted chapel, You must kneel till the dawn of day; For, far on the desolate moorland, So dreary, and bleak, and white, There is one, all alone and helpless, In peril of death to-night.

"No sound on the moorland to guide him, No star in the murky air; And he thinks of his home and his loved ones With the tenderness of despair; He has wandered for hours in the snow-drift, And he strives to stand in vain, And so lies down to dream of his children And never to rise again.

Then kneel in the silent chapel Till the dawn of to-morrow's sun, And ask of the Lord you worship For the life of that desolate one; And the smiling eyes of his children Will gladden his heart again, And the grateful tears of G.o.d's poor ones Will fall on your soul like rain!--

"Yet, leave him alone to perish, And the grace of your G.o.d implore, With all the strength of your spirit, For one who needs it more.

Far away, in the gleaming city, Amid perfume, and song, and light, A soul that Jesus has ransomed Is in peril of sin to-night.

"The Tempter is close beside him, And his danger is all forgot, And the far-off voices of childhood Call aloud, but he hears them not; He sayeth no prayer, and his mother-- He thinks not of her to-day, And he will not look up to Heaven, And his Angel is turning away.

"Then pray for a soul in peril, A soul for which Jesus died; Ask, by the cross that bore Him, And by her who stood beside; And the Angels of G.o.d will thank you, And bend from their thrones of light, To tell you that Heaven rejoices At the deed you have done to-night."

VERSE: SPRING

Hark! the Hours are softly calling, Bidding Spring arise, To listen to the raindrops falling From the cloudy skies, To listen to Earth's weary voices, Louder every day, Bidding her no longer linger On her charmed way; But hasten to her task of beauty Scarcely yet begun; By the first bright day of summer It should all be done.

She has yet to loose the fountain From its iron chain; And to make the barren mountain Green and bright again; She must clear the snow that lingers Round the stalks away And let the snowdrop's trembling whiteness See the light of day.

She must watch, and warm, and cherish Every blade of green; Till the tender gra.s.s appearing From the earth is seen; She must bring the golden crocus From her hidden store; She must spread broad showers of daisies Each day more and more.

In each hedgerow she must hasten Cowslips sweet to set; Primroses in rich profusion, With bright dewdrops wet, And under every leaf, in shadow Hide a Violet!

Every tree within the forest Must be decked anew And the tender buds of promise Should be peeping through, Folded deep, and almost hidden, Leaf by leaf beside, What will make the Summer's glory, And the Autumn's pride.

She must weave the loveliest carpets, Chequered sun and shade, Every wood must have such pathways Laid in every glade; She must hang laburnum branches On each arched bough;-- And the white and purple lilac Should be waving now; She must breathe, and cold winds vanish At her breath away; And then load the air around her With the scent of May!

Listen then, Oh Spring! nor linger On thy charmed way; Have pity on thy prisoned flowers Wearying for the day.

Listen to the raindrops falling From the cloudy skies; Listen to the hours calling Bidding thee arise.

VERSE: EVENING HYMN

The shadows of the evening hours Fall from the darkening sky; Upon the fragrance of the flowers The dews of evening lie: Before Thy throne, O Lord of Heaven, We kneel at close of day; Look on Thy children from on high, And hear us while we pray.

The sorrows of Thy Servants, Lord, Oh, do not Thou despise; But let the incense of our prayers Before Thy mercy rise; The brightness of the coming night Upon the darkness rolls: With hopes of future glory chase The shadows on our souls.

Slowly the rays of daylight fade; So fade within our heart, The hopes in earthly love and joy, That one by one depart: Slowly the bright stars, one by one, Within the Heavens shine;-- Give us, Oh, Lord, fresh hopes in Heaven, And trust in things divine.

Let peace, Oh Lord, Thy peace, Oh G.o.d, Upon our souls descend; From midnight fears and perils, Thou Our trembling hearts defend; Give us a respite from our toil, Calm and subdue our woes; Through the long day we suffer, Lord, Oh, give us now repose!

VERSE: THE INNER CHAMBER

In the outer Court I was singing, Was singing the whole day long; From the inner chamber were ringing Echoes repeating my song.

And I sang till it grew immortal; For that very song of mine, When re-echoed behind the Portal, Was filled with a life divine.

Was the Chamber a silver round Of arches, whose magical art Drew in coils of musical sound, And cast them back on my heart?

Was there hidden within a lyre Which, as air breathed over its strings, Filled my song with a soul of fire, And sent back my words with wings?

Was some seraph imprisoned there, Whose voice made my song complete, And whose lingering, soft despair, Made the echo so faint and sweet?

Long I trembled and paused--then parted The curtains with heavy fringe; And, half fearing, yet eager-hearted Turned the door on its golden hinge.

Now I sing in the court once more, I sing and I weep all day, As I kneel by the close-shut door, For I know what the echoes say.

Yet I sing not the song of old, Ere I knew whence the echo came, Ere I opened the door of gold; But the music sounds just the same.

Then take warning, and turn away Do not ask of that hidden thing, Do not guess what the echoes say, Or the meaning of what I sing.

VERSE: HEARTS

I.

A trinket made like a Heart, dear, Of red gold, bright and fine, Was given to me for a keepsake, Given to me for mine.

And another heart, warm and tender, As true as a heart could be; And every throb that stirred it Was always and all for me.

Sailing over the waters, Watching the far blue land, I dropped my golden heart, dear, Dropped it out of my hand!