A Thought Of The Stars.

I remember once, when a careless child,     I played on the mossy lea;     The stars looked forth in the shadowy west,     And I stole to my mother's knee,     With a handful of stemless violets, wet     With the drops of gathering dew,     And asked of the wonderful points of light     That shone in the distant blue.     She told me of numberless worlds, that rolled     Through the measureless depths above,     Created by infinite might and power,     Supported by infinite love.     She told of a faith that she called divine,     Of a fairer and happier home;     Of hope unsullied by grief or fear,     And a loftier life to come.     She told of seraphs, on wings of light,     That floated from star to star,     And were sometimes sent on a mission high     To a blighted orb afar.     And with childish sense, I forgot the worlds,     She had pointed out on high,     And deemed each wonderful beam of light     The glance of an angel's eye.     And when she knelt with her babes in prayer, -     I know each petition now, -     I saw the gleam of those wings of light     Lie beautiful on her brow.     Years passed, and in earliest youth I knelt     By my mother's dying bed;     The lips were mute that had spoken love,     And the eye's bright glance had fled.     And when I turned from that silent room     Where the latest word was spoken,     The shadow of death o'er my spirit lay,     And I thought that my heart was broken     I sought the hush of the midnight air,     And wept till the founts were dry;     The earth was clad in a wintry garb,     But the star host filled the sky.     And then I remembered the faith divine     And the loftier life to come,     And felt the shadow of Death depart     From my childhood's sacred home.     And often now when my heart is faint     With earth and its wearying care,     When my soul is sick with a feverish thirst     And burdened with contrite prayer,     I hasten forth to the starry gems,     That circle the brow of night,     And track with them the eloquent depths     Of the boundless Infinite.     They whisper low of a holier life     And a faith sublime and high;     And again I fancy each golden beam     The glance of a seraph's eye,     As in days of yore, when a careless child,     I stole to my mother's knee,     And asked of the wonderful points of light     That shone o'er the deep, blue sea.