Placed a branch of crimson roses

Tenderly beside him there.

While the child, thus clinging, floated
Towards the mansions of the Blest,

Gazing from his shining guardian
To the flowers upon his breast,
Thus the angel spake, still smiling
On the little heavenly guest :

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Know, dear little one, that Heaven Does no earthly thing disdain, Man's poor joys find there an echo Just as surely as his pain; Love, on earth so feebly striving, Lives divine in Heaven again!

"Once in that great town below us,
In a poor and narrow street,
Dwelt a little sickly orphan;
Gentle aid, or pity sweet,
Never in life's rugged pathway

Guided his poor tottering feet.

"All the striving, anxious forethought, That should only come with age,

Weigh'd upon his baby spirit,

Show'd him soon life's sternest page.

Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow

Was his only heritage.

"All too weak for childish pastimes,
Drearily the hours sped;

On his hands so small and trembling
Leaning his poor aching head,
Or, through dark and painful hours,
Lying sleepless on his bed.

"Dreaming strange and longing fancies

Of cool forests far away;

And of rosy, happy children,

Laughing merrily at play,

Coming home through green lanes, bearing

Trailing boughs of blooming May.

"Scarce a glimpse of azure heaven Gleam'd above that narrow street,

And the sultry air of Summer

(That you call so warm and sweet) Fever'd the poor Orphan, dwelling

In the crowded alley's heat.

"One bright day, with feeble footsteps Slowly forth he tried to crawl, Through the crowded city's pathways, Till he reach'd a garden-wall;

Where 'mid princely halls and mansions Stood the lordliest of all.

"There were trees with giant branches, Velvet glades where shadows hide; There were sparkling fountains glancing, Flowers, which in luxuriant pride

Ever wafted breaths of perfume

To the child who stood outside.

"He against the gate of iron

Press'd his wan and wistful face, Gazing with an awe-struck pleasure At the glories of the place;

Never had his brightest day-dream

Shone with half such wondrous grace.

"You were playing in that garden,

Throwing blossoms in the air, Laughing when the petals floated

Downwards on your golden hair;

And the fond eyes watching o'er you,
And the splendour spread before you,
Told a House's Hope was there.

"When your servants, tired of seeing Such a face of want and woe,

Turning to the ragged Orphan,

Gave him coin, and bade him go, Down his cheeks, so thin and wasted, Bitter tears began to flow.

"But that look of childish sorrow
On your tender child-heart fell,
And you pluck'd the reddest roses,
From the tree you loved so well,
Pass'd them through the stern cold grating,
Gently bidding him 'Farewell!'

"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure
And the gentle voice he heard,

In the poor forlorn boy's spirit,
Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirr'd;
In his hand he took the flowers,
In his heart the loving word.

"So he crept to his poor garret,

Poor no more, but rich and bright, For the holy dreams of childhood,

Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light— Floated round the Orphan's pillow

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Through the starry summer night.

Day dawn'd, yet the visions lasted;

All too weak to rise he lay;

Did he dream that none spake harshlyAll were strangely kind that day? Surely then his treasured roses

Must have charm'd all ills away.

"And he smiled, though they were fading; One by one their leaves were shed; 'Such bright things could never perish, They would bloom again,' he said : When the next day's sun had risen

Child and flowers both were dead.

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Know, dear little one! our Father

Will no gentle deed disdain ;

Love on the cold earth beginning,

Lives divine in Heaven again,