214

TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING.

To William E. Channing.

No power can die that ever wrought for truth;
Thereby a law of Nature it became,
And lives unwithered in its sinewy youth
When he who called it forth is but a name.

Therefore I can not think thee wholly gone;
The better part of thee is with us still:
Thy soul its hampering clay aside hath thrown,
And only freer wrestles with the ill.

Thou livest in the life of all good things;

What words thou spak'st for freedom shall not

die:

Thou sleepest not; for now thy love hath wings
To soar where hence thy hope could hardly fly.

And often from that other world on this

Some gleams from great souls gone before may shine,

TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING.

To shed on struggling hearts a clearer bliss, And clothe the right with luster more divine.

Thou art not idle: in thy higher sphere

215

Thy spirit bends itself to loving tasks; And strength to perfect what it dreamed of here Is all the crown and glory that it asks.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

216

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

Footsteps of Angels.

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,

He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,

By the roadside fell and perished,

Weary with the march of life;

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

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 saintlike, 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.

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218

FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS.

Oh! though oft depressed and lonely,

All my fears are laid aside,

If I but remember only,

Such as these have lived and died.

LONGFELLOW.