Her Going. - Suggested By A Picture.

She stood in the open door,     She blessed them faint and low:     "I must go," she said, "must go     Away from the light of the sun,     Away from you, every one;     Must see your eyes no more,--     Your eyes, that love me so.     "I should not shudder thus,     Nor weep, nor be afraid.     Nor cling to you so dismayed,     Could I only pierce with ray eyes     Where the dark, dark shadow lies;     Where something hideous     Is hiding, perhaps," she said.     Then slowly she went from them,     Went down the staircase grim,     With trembling heart and limb;     Her footfalls echoed     In the silence vast and dead,     Like the notes of a requiem,     Not sung, but uttered.     For a little way and a black     She groped as grope the blind,     Then a sudden radiance shined,     And a vision her eyelids burned;     All joyfully she turned,     For a moment turned she back,     And smiled at those behind.     There in the shadows drear     An angel sat serene,     Of grave and tender mien,     With whitest roses crowned;     A scythe lay on the ground,     As reaping-time were near,--     A burnished scythe and a keen.     She did not start or pale     As the angel rose and laid     His hand on hers, nor said     A word, hut beckoned on;     For a glorious meaning shone     On the lips that told no tale,     And she followed him, unafraid.     Her friends wept for a space;     Then one said: "Be content;     Surely some good is meant     For her, our Beautiful,--     Some glorious good and full.     Did you not see her face,     Her dear smile, as she went?"