PART II.

Years passed; the boy a man had grown, And shadowy things of fear With many an ill his path had strown; Foes trooping came, and friends had flown, But one white wing, to him unknown, Kept ever hovering near.

It was a lovely sight to see, By those who watched above, That Spirit glorious and free In such an humble ministry, Unfalteringly, unfalteringly, Pursue his work of love.

When the worn youth lay down to rest, The Angel stood beside; And stole the burden from his breast, And soothed his wearied sense to rest, Fanned his hot brow, his cheek caressed, And blissful dreams supplied.

Once on a mountain peak stood he, A high and rugged steep; Where many dangerous shapes there be, And many things most fair to see, While shouting crowds bent low the knee, And broke wild Echo’s sleep.

Pride centered in his burning eye, Pride mantled on his brow; “Who ever stood the clouds so nigh?” Ah! he has climbed a step too high! For giddily, bewilderingly, His brain is whirling now.

But ever that pure Watcher bright Pleads softly in his ear, “Think, mortal, of the coming night! Think of the mildew and the blight; Think of thy ransomed spirit’s light, Dimmed by thy dallying here!”

He hears, and lo! his pulses wild Are hushed, and in his veins The riot ebbs; things which beguiled, Seem heaps of mist about him piled; He bends his knee, a little child, And tears efface his stains.