Guardians of the Good to come
Wear from far the frown of doom,
For we face their out-flung gloom
While we front the rising sun
Of the nobler day begun,
Which, as heralds, they fore-run.
Wardens of the open gate
Sill like smiling seraphs wait,
Guides to a diviner state.
All the clouds of grief o’er blows
Are the canvass for joy’s sun
To paint nascent rainbows on.
When the dawn of life is fair.
And our little mist of care
Only glorifies the air,
Tears are greeted with a “Nay!
If ye flow,” we fondly say,
“Ye will wear our joys away!”
But thee comes, a little after,
Weariness of “hollow laughter,
When the soul with sighs” to wait her,
Steams her clouds up to the day:
“Sweet tears! would ye flow” we say,
“Ye might wear our griefs away!”
In the wreaths of morning mist,
By the happy sunlight kiss’d,
Come what angel-shapes we list;
But if any darker fold,
Underneath the fluid gold,
Hints what grimmer shapes they hold,
Straight our spirit checks her breath;
“Go! thou marres Life,” she saith,
“Go away, dark Angel Death!”
Then anon the clouds come down,
With, their vault of sunless brown,
O, and all aweary grown,
Heart beats faint, and spirit saith,
“Welcome! welcome gentle Death!
Rest is sweet for pained breath.”
As their waiting souls despond
O’er the tomb’s marmoreal bond
Life and Light flash out beyond!
Veiled Angels