FOOTSTEPS OF ANGELS. BY HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. WHEN the hours of day are numbered, Ere the evening lamps are lighted, Then the forms of the departed The beloved ones, the true-hearted, Come to visit me once more ; 2 He, the young and strong, who cherished Noble longings for the strife, By the road-side fell and perished, They, the holy ones and weakly, And with them the Being Beauteous, With a slow and noiseless footstep, And she sits and gazes at me, With those deep and tender eyes, Like the stars, so still and saint-like, Looking downward from the skies. |