The Angel Voice Poem by William Pinkney Ewing

'Oh mother, dear mother,
As calmly last night
I lay on my pallet
An angel in white
Hover'd o'er me, and softly
Said-'come, brother, come,
Away from this world,
To a heavenly home!''

'Then let me die, mother-
Tho' sweet birds are singing,
And flowers in brightness
And beauty are springing
On hillside and mountain,
O'er meadow and lea,
They no longer possess
Any sweetness for me.'

'For that angelic voice,
Ringing still in my ear,
Has attuned my heart
To a holier sphere;
And like a caged eagle,
My soul pines to stay
So long from its home-
Its redeemer away.'

O, pale grew that mother,
And heavy her heart,
For she knew her dear boy
From her sight must depart,
And be laid, cold and stiff,
In the earth's humid breast,
Where the wicked cease troubling,
The weary have rest;

But she smoothed down his pillow,
And murmured a prayer,
For the Giver of mercies
Her loved one to spare;
But ere she had finished
Her pious request,
His spirit had flown
To the realms of the blest!