Footsteps Of Angels - HWL

Asked and answered - if I had been from another era and had the talent to write the words with such divinity; I would have channeled my pain, closed my eyes and let the emotions flow from my heart to my finger tips forming such beauty...I would have written and spoken these words for you.
(12/14 TY)

Footsteps Of Angels

When the hours of Day are numbered,
And the voices of the Night
Wake the Better soul, that slumbered,
To a holy, calm delight;
Ere the evening lamps are lighted,
And, like phantoms grim and tall,
Shadows from the fitful firelight
Dance upon the parlor wall;
Then the forms of the departed
Enter at the open door;
The beloved, the true-hearted,
Come to visit me once more;
He, the young and strong, who cherished
Noble longings for the strife,
By the roadside fell and perished,
Weary with the march of life!
They, the holy ones and weakly,
Who the cross of suffering ore,
Folded their pale hands so meekly,
Spake with us on earth no more!
And with them the Being Beauteous,
Who unto my youth was given,
More than all things else to love me
And is now a saint in heaven.
With a slow and noisless footstep
Comes that messenger divine,
Takes the vacant chair beside me,
Lays his gentle hand in mine.
And he sits and gazes at me
With those deep and tender eyes,
Like the stars, so still and saint-like,
Looking downward from the skies.
Utter not, yet comprehended,
Is the spirit's voiceless prayer,
Soft rebukes, in blessings ended
Breathing from his lips of air.
O, though oft depressed and lonely,
All my fears are laid aside,
If I but remember only
Such as these have lived and died!

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow