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Title: The Angels Of Earth
Author: James Avis Bartley [
More Titles by Bartley]
Angels of Earth! they soothe and bless
The troubled soul of man,
Bestow the most of happiness,
They can.
Angels of Earth--they are but few,
Sustained by Heavenly grace,
To raise again, and to renew,
Our race.
Predestined thus they do retain
That image earliest given,
To Adam, yet unknowing pain,
From heaven.
They move before our wondering eyes,
A vision passing strange,
And sure we feel from yonder skies,
They range.
But oft, as brightest flowers and bows,
The earliest fade and die;
This glorious vision soonest goes
On high.
Our verdant vale once knew a maid,
Who dwelt in such a light,
Her presence made the spirit's shade,
Look bright.
Harmonia was her name. Her voice
Was tremulously low;
To hear it made the heart rejoice
And glow.
Could I compare that voice divine,
To bird's most joyous lay,
When hailing from his lofty pine,
Young day?
Or, to the thrush's full, rich song
That gushes from her breast,
And hushes all wild Passion's throng
To rest?
Could I compare the sight of her,
To glorious angel spring--
To whose sweet breath--all lands--seas--stir,
And sing.
Oh fair Harmonia! God is love,
Who gave thee to our earth,
To renovate and lift above
Our birth.
Harmonia dwelt within a vale
Of wildest loveliness,
Where sweetest odors fill'd the gale
To bless.
And so they called it "vale of Spring,"
This dear Harmonia's home;
Where Beauty shed, with spendthrift wing,
Her bloom.
The pine-crowned mountains stood around,
To screen the lovely dale,
From tempest's stroke, and lightning's wound,
Fierce gale.
Harmonia grew to woman's pride,
And blent her life with one;
Like rivers bright, now side by side,
They run.
The tale of grief, the sinner's tear,
Come not to them in vain;
The sad, remorseful wretch they cheer,
Again.
Oh ne'er thought we, a vale of earth,
With morn, and noon, and even,
Could seem to own the very worth
Of heaven.
Such is the valley of the spring,
Our sweet Harmonia's home,
Where beauty sheds, with liberal wing,
Her bloom.
Meek Eva is another soul,
Ordained to soothe and bless,
And charm to joy, with soft control,
Distress.
Meek Eva hath great, gleaming eyes,
Full-orbed with radiant light,
Which bring the beauty of the skies,
To sight.
No word of anger ever falls,
From her sweet mouth of grace;
No sinful passion ever palls
Her face.
Sweet Eva lives to do but good,
In all her gentle life:
With her good fame, the neighborhood,
Is rife.
Angels of good, they shed abroad
The spirit of the dove;
For He who gave them, is a God
Of love.
Angels of light--they make a heaven
Of such a world as this--
They make the rugged pathway even,
To Bliss.
Angels of Earth--but we shall see
These angels yet again;
Where angels, robed in purity,
E'er reign.
[The end]
James Avis Bartley's poem: Angels Of Earth
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