Father Ryan's Poems (24)

    Cometh a voice from a far-land！ Beautiful, sad, and low； Shineth a light from the star-land！ Down on the night of my woe； And a white hand, with a garland, Biddeth my spirit to go.

    Away and afar from the night-land, Where sorrow o'ershadows my way, To the splendors and skies of the light-land, Where reigneth eternity's day； To the cloudless and shadowless bright-land, Whose sun never passeth away.

    And I knew the voice； not a sweeter On earth or in Heaven can be； And never did shadow pass fleeter Than it and its strange melody； And I know I must hasten to meet her, "Yea, ~Sister！~ thou callest to me！"

    And I saw the light； 'twas not seeming, It flashed from the crown that she wore, And the brow, that with jewels was gleaming, My lips had kissed often of yore！ And the eyes, that with rapture were beaming, Had smiled on me sweetly before.

    And I saw the hand with the garland, Ethel's hand —— holy and fair； Who went long ago to the far-land To weave me the wreath I shall wear； And to-night I look up to the star-land, And pray that I soon may be there.