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Wednesday October 18, 2006

Footsteps of Angels

Footsteps of Angels
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When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight

Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall

Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more

He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!

They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering bore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!

And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me,
And is now a saint in heaven.

With a slow and noiseless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays her gentle hand in mine.

And she sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.

Uttered not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended,
Breathing from her lips of air.

Oh, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!


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Written by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow One of my all time Fav Poem.
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Posted by Philips at 6:25 PM
2 Comments

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Comments:

Clap clap. Good job Doodlebug.

Sweeties Said on 10/18/2006 11:57:21 PM


geart poem!

Soul_Man Said on 11/5/2006 9:26:22 AM