The Parting Soul And Her Guardian Angel.

(Written during sickness).     Soul -         Oh! say must I leave this world of light         With its sparkling streams and sunshine bright,         Its budding flowers, its glorious sky?         Vain 'tis to ask me - I cannot die!     Angel -         But, sister, list! in the realms above,         That happy home of eternal love,         Are flowers more fair, and skies more clear         Than those thou dost cling to so fondly here.     Soul -         Ah! yes, but to reach that home of light         I must pass through the fearful vale of night;         And my soul with alarm doth shuddering cry -         O angel, I tell thee, I dare not die!     Angel -         Ah! mortal beloved, in that path untried         Will I be, as ever, still at thy side,         Through gloom to guide till, death's shadows passed,         Thou nearest, unharmed, God's throne at last.     Soul -         Alas! too many close ties of love         Around my wavering heart are wove!         Fond, tender voices, press me to stay -         Think'st thou from them I would pass away?         Daily my mother, with anguish wild,         Bends o'er the couch of her dying child,         And one, nearer still, with silent tears,         Betrays his anguish, his gloomy fears -         Yes, even now, while to thee I speak,         Are hot drops falling upon my cheek;         Think you I'd break from so close a tie?         No, my guardian angel, I cannot die!     Angel -         Poor child of earth! how closely clings         Thy heart to earth and to earthly things!         Wilt thou still revolt if I whisper low         That thy Father in Heaven wills it so -         Wills that with Him thou should'st henceforth dwell,         To pray for those whom thou lovest so well,         Till a time shall come when you'll meet again,         To forget for ever life's grief and pain?     Soul -         Spirit, thy words have a potent power         O'er my sinking heart in this awful hour,         And thy soft-breathed hopes, with magic might.         Have chased from my soul the shades of night.         Console the dear ones I part from now,         Who hang o'er my couch with pallid brow,         Tell them we'll meet in yon shining sky -         And, Saviour tender, now let me die!