And it would please me wouldst thou tell
Thine own, thy little Rosabel,
What thoughts amid thy sight's eclipse
Can bring the smiles upon thy lips.
Old age, I've heard, is full of care,
But thou art happy, thine is fair;
So fair-and yet it cannot be—
I think that Angels visit thee."
"Dear Rosabel, 'tis even so!
There are more Angels than we know.
Lend me thy hand, my seat prepare,
Let me inhale the morning air,
Receive the sunlight on my cheek,
And feel thy presence as I speak,
And I will tell of Angels three,
Who daily come and visit me.
"Though I am frail, and old, and blind,
God sends His sunshine to my mind.
"T was He bestowed the visual ray,
'Twas He who took the gift away;
But when His chastening hand withdrew
Earth's outward forms from sensuous view,
He opened to my mental sight
The inner spirit infinite.
"And self-communion, calm and long-
Deep musings upon right and wrong,
And conflicts with the pride and sin
That ever surged and swoll within,
Cleared from my soul some mists obscure,
And filled it with revealings pure;
I knew myself, and humbled low,
Drew comfort in my deepest woe.
"I see no more the fields and bowers,
Nor endless beauty of the flowers;
I see no more the rivers run,
Nor hill-tops gilded by the sun;
I see no more Creation's grace;
I see no more thy gentle face;
And all the glory of the skies
Is hidden from my withered eyes.
"But when I hear the wild wind call
To forest-boughs that answer all—
The sedges rustling in the lake-
The black-bird singing in the brake-
The far-off murmurs of the shore-
Deep-throated ocean's moan and roar―
Remembrance wakens in my mind,
And paints the pictures of the blind.
""Tis then an Angel, one of three,
Descends to bear me company.
Sweet are the accents of his tongue,
He keeps my heart for ever young;
In his companionship I stray
Back to my childhood's early day,
And live again a wondering boy,
Heir of a world of life and joy.
"With him I hold communion fit;
His voice makes music where I sit.
I listen, and before me pass
World-shadows in a mystic glass;
The torrent falls, the landscape spreads, The steadfast forests nod their heads, And the eternal oceans roll,
In the clear mirror of my soul.
"Whene'er the early cuckoo's voice
Bids thee and all the meads rejoice;
Whene'er I find a new delight,
In opening day, or closing night;
Whene'er I sit in sun or shade,
And bless the world and Him who made,
And feel the joys I cannot see,
I know this Angel visits me.
"And evermore, when he departs,
Another cheers my heart of hearts,
With soft blue eyes-two azure spheres,
Bright with the luxury of tears.
Sweet is the song of early birds,
Yet sweeter far are human words-
This Angel loves them, so do I;
He links me to Humanity.
"Whene'er thy father, pleased with home,
Has smiles for all who go and come;
Whene'er his daily labour done,
He breathes his evening orison;
Whene'er thy mother, good and mild,
Sings lullaby to soothe her child;
I feel a sympathy sincere,
And know this Angel hovers near.
"Whene'er I hear the children play,
With many a chaunt and roundelay ;
Whene'er the trample of their feet
Makes music round my lonely seat;
Whene'er I hear thee sing thy song,
In happy innocence of wrong,
And love all children, thee, the best;
I know that Angel is my guest.
"Whene'er I hear of generous thought,
Of noble deeds by manhood wrought,
Of Patience long and sorely tried,
Walking with Virtue side by side,
Of Love supreme amid distress,
Of courage great in gentleness,
And feel the tears suffuse mine eyes,
I share angelic sympathies.
"Whene'er I hear of sin and guilt,
Of human blood in warfare spilt,
Of wrong and suffering unrelieved,
Of tender innocence aggrieved,
Of harsh oppression, hate, and scorn,
Yet feel not utterly forlorn,
But hopeful of a time to be,
I'm sure that Angel visits me.
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