Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/179

                                       And then methought she heard
A sound of heavenly harpings, and beheld
Celestial gleamings of cherubic wings,
And mid the song of ransom'd infancy
Unto its Saviour, caught the tuneful voice
Of her own cherish'd nursling.
                                                   So her lip
Join'd in deep praise. For how could she forbear
To thank her God for him who ne'er should taste
Of trouble more?
                              Was it his tender tone
That whisper'd, as she lay that night in dreams,
"Oh, mother, weep no more; but with a heart
Of holy love, hold on thy Christian path,
And come to me. For He who took on earth
Young children to his arms, will bid in heaven
The mother find her babe. So keep thine eye
Clear from the grief-cloud, for the time is short,
The way is plain: dear mother, come to me."