'Along the path thy bleeding feet'

The laughing Hours before her feet, Are scattering spring-time roses, And the voices in her soul are sweet As music's mellowed closes; All hopes and passions, heavenly born, In her, have met together, And Joy diffuses round her morn A mist of golden weather. As o'er her cheek of delicate dyes, The blooms of childhood hover, So do the tranced and sinless eyes, All childhood's heart discover; Full of a dreamy happiness, With rainbow fancies laden, Whose arch of promise grows to bless Her spirit's beauteous Adenne. She is a being born to raise Those undefiled emotions, That whisper of our sunniest days, And most sincere devotions; In her, we see renewed and bright, That phase of earthly story. Which glimmers in the morning light, Of God's exceeding glory. Why, in a life of mortal cares, Appear these heavenly faces, Why, on the verge of darkened years, These clear, celestial graces? 'Tis but to cheer the soul that faints With pure and blest evangels, To prove, if Heaven is rich with saints, That Earth may have her angels. Enough! 'tis not for me to pray That on her life's sweet river, The calmness of a virgin day May rest, and rest forever; I know a guardian Genius stands Beside those waters lowly, And labors with ethereal hands To keep them pure and holy.