THE LIGHT OF STARS. HE night is come, but not too soon; All silently, the little moon There is no light in earth or heaven, Is it the tender star of love? The star of love and dreams? O no! from that blue tent above A hero's armor gleams. And earnest thoughts within me rise, Suspended in the evening skies, The shield of that red star. O star of strength! I see thee stand Within my breast there is no light, The star of the unconquered will, And thou, too, whosoe'er thou art O, fear not in a world like this, To suffer and be strong. FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. HEN the hours of Day are numbered, Wake the better soul, that slumbered, Ere the evening lamps are lighted, Then the forms of the departed The beloved, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more; He, the young and strong, who cherished By the roadside fell and perished, Weary with the march of life! 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 And she sits and gazes at me With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. Uttered not, yet comprehended, O, though oft depressed and lonely, If I but remember only Such as these have lived and died! FLOWERS. PAKE full well, in language quaint and olden, One who dwelleth by the castled Rhine, When he called the flowers, so blue and golden, Stars, that in earth's firmament do shine. Stars they are, wherein we read our history, As astrologers and seers of eld; Yet not wrapped about with awful mystery, Like the burning stars, which they beheld. Wondrous truths, and manifold as wondrous, |