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 window pane,And pleaded for shelter,But all in vain:-"Listen,"they said,"To the pelting rain!"
She sobbed,as the laughter And mirth grew higher,"Give me rest and shelter Beside your fire,And I will give you Your heart's desire."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 toiled 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 paused At a humble door,And asked 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 kissed the woman And left her--dead.
