H.W. Parker and His Writings

The Removal

The fiend had gone, and all was still

In each affrighted hall and room;

And moonlight lay on roof and hill--

A deathly smile across the gloom.

A grandame old had fled--a wound

Her steps had tracked with dotting blood;

Within the hall a man had swooned,

And there a trembling maiden stood.

She had escaped the vengeful arm

That smote a father, mother, child;

And there she leaned in fixed alarm,

And gazed around in horror wild.

A half-hushed cry was heard alone--

The wailing of a dying girl

Who lay where firelight-flashes shone

On lily cheek and flossy curl.

And were these all that filled the scene--

The living twain, the dying three?

Ah, had we spirit-eyes, I ween

There had been other sight to see.

The gloomy shadows of the night,

The moonlight cold and pale and thin

The stars above, the fading light

Of feeble fire and lamp within--

Had all been lost in light and song--

The glory of a hidden world,

And we had seen a gathering throng

That stood with angel-pinions furled.

They stooped above the child--that host,

And with them gazed two others there,

Not pale and misty like a ghost,

But as the angels bright and fair.

They were the spirits of the dead,

In f lowing robes of glistening white,

With circling halos round each head,

And glancing wings of silver light.

They watched until the wailings ceased,

And flame-like from the lifeless clay,

The infant-spirit was released,

Awakened to immortal day.

As birds shake off the spangled dew,

And greet the dawn and cheerly sing,

The infant to its parents flew

With joyful flutter of the wing.

Then, hand in hand, they trod the air,

And touched no more the sanguined floor;

Nor is their presence heeded there,

Nor needs their passage open door.

A parting glance at hallowed home

They cast--their journey then begun,

They mounted thro' the starry dome,

And passed the last resplendent sun

Still up they floated, hand in hand--

It was a glorious sight to see!

Around them still the flaming hand,

With song and heavenly pageantry

At length, a glory met their sight,

That mortal eye may not behold--

Broad gates of pearl, and spires of light,

and long-drawn streets of lucid gold.

The reached at last the inmost space

Where, on a lofty jasper throne,

Sat One from whose unveiled face

The earth and heavens may well have flown.

They stood amid the sun-like glow--

The child and parents in a band,

And looked not up and bowed them low,

With covered face and clasping hand.

They took no harp--no anthem sang,

But knelt in humble silence there,

And, (while the heavens with welcome rang,)

For him who slew them, breathed a prayer.