past renown. 
    Ah, me! how regally the heavens look down,
  O’ershadowing beautiful autumnal woods,
    And harvest-fields with hoarded incense brown,
  And deep-toned majesty of golden floods,
    That lift their solemn dirges to the sky,
    To swell the purple pomp that floateth by.

[Footnote 96:  A poet and critic of much Note; a native of South Carolina.]

* * * * *

=_Rosa V. Johnson Jeffrey_=[97] about =_1832-._=

=_421._= ANGEL WATCHERS.

  Angel faces watch my pillow, angel voices haunt my sleep,—­
  And upon the winds of midnight, shining pinions round me sweep;
  Floating downward on the starlight, two bright infant-forms I see—­
  They are mine, my own bright darlings, come from heaven to visit me.

  Earthly children smile upon me, but those little ones’ above,
  Were the first to stir the fountains of a mother’s deathless love,
  And, as now they watch my slumber, while their soft eyes on me shine,
  God forgive a mortal yearning still to call his angels mine.

  Earthly children fondly call me, but no mortal voice can seem
  Sweet as those that whisper “Mother!” ’mid the glories of my dream;
  Years will pass, and earthly prattlers cease perchance to lisp my name;
  But my angel babies’ accents shall be evermore the same.

  And the bright band now around me, from their home perchance will rove,
  In their strength no more depending on my constant care and love;
  But my first-born still shall wander, from the sky in dreams to rest
  Their soft cheeks and shining tresses on an earthly mother’s breast.

  Time may steal away the freshness, or some ’whelming grief destroy
  All the hopes that erst had blossomed, in my summer-time of joy;
  Earthly children may forsake me, earthly friends perhaps betray,
  Every tie that now unites me to this life may pass away;—­

  But, unchanged, those angel watchers, from their blest immortal home,
  Pure and fair, to cheer the sadness of my darkened dreams shall come;
  And I cannot feel forsaken, for, though ’reft of earthly love,
  Angel children call me “Mother,” and my soul will look above.

[Footnote 97:  A native of Mississippi, but of late a resident of Kentucky; the author of several novels, and of many poetical pieces.]

* * * * *

=_Sarah J. Lippincott._=

From Putnam’s Magazine.

=_422._= “ABSOLUTION.”

  The long day waned, when spent with pain, I seemed
  To drift on slowly toward the restful shore,—­
  So near, I breathed in balm, and caught faint gleams
  Of Lotus-blooms that fringe the waves of death,
  And breathless Palms that crown the heights of God.

  Then I bethought me how dear hands would close
  These wistful eyes in welcome night, and fold
  These poor, tired hands in blameless idleness. 
  In tender mood I pictured forth the spot
  Wherein I should be laid to take my rest.