The Requital
LOUD roared the tempest,
Fast fell the sleet;
A little Child Angel
Passed down the street,
With trailing pinions
And weary feet.
The moon was hidden;
No stars were bright;
So she could not shelter
In heaven that night,
For the Angels- ladders
Are rays of light.
She beat her wings
At each windowpane,
And pleaded for shelter,
But all in vain;-
-Listen,â? they said,
-To the pelting rain!â?
She sobb-d, as the laughter
And mirth grew higher,
-Give me rest and shelter
Beside your fire,
And I will give you
Your heart-s desire.â?
The dreamer sat watching
His embers gleam,
While his heart was floating
Down hope-s bright stream;
...So he wove her wailing
Into his dream.
The worker toil-d on,
For his time was brief;
The mourner was nursing
Her own pale grief;
They heard not the promise
That brought relief.
But fiercer the tempest
Rose than before,
When the Angel paus-d
At a humble door,
And ask-d for shelter
And help once more.
A weary woman,
Pale, worn, and thin,
With the brand upon her
Of want and sin,
Heard the Child Angel
And took her in:
Took her in gently,
And did her best
To dry her pinions;
And made her rest
With tender pity
Upon her breast.
When the eastern morning
Grew bright and red,
Up the first sunbeam
The Angel fled;
Having kiss-d the woman
And left her-dead.
Adelaide Anne Procter
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