Rachel, soft and shy and blushing, pass'd into the angel wife,
Tears of joy within the rapture of her sweetly-drooping eyes;
While an Iris, many-colour'd, overarch'd her novel life,
Like the first sweet gush of sunlight sloping down on Paradise.
Then, with head bent in her meekness, slowly did she turn away;
Heard a rough yet manly voice make music in her raptured ear;
Leant upon an arm that through this life was now her wish'd-for stay;
Heart! but in such time the heavens surely must be very near.
So she pass'd into her home, and stood upon the shining hearth,
Heaven's mission, like a halo, resting on her queenly head;
And her lips and eyes had parted with their dear old maiden's mirth
For a staider look and gladness that were springing up instead.
Happy now with him, her idol, like the cadence of a song,
Swept the days above her, adding sweetness to her tender dream,
Till at last, as comes the tempest, burst upon her head a wrong,
Blighting all her life, as trees that shrink before the lightning's gleam.
Standing by the doorway looking in the evening light for him,
Lo! a band of rugged faces with a solemn burden come,
And they bear it o'er the threshold, mangled in the face and limb;
'Killed at his work,' they whisper, and they stand beside her, dumb!
O, the wail of woman's sorrow, heard in Heaven's highest place!
Sister angels bowing lowly, as if weeping holy tears,
Till they look again and catch upon the heavenly Father's face
All the wisdom that we see not for our paltry human fears.
Rachel knelt beside him, laid his head upon her throbbing breast—
Ah! beneath it beat a little life that soon would see the light;
Kiss'd his lips and eyes that knew not why they were so madly press'd;
Called his name, but all was silent as the slowly coming night.
Silent round the dead and living, as beneath some potent spell,
Stood the rough forms, tann'd with labour, looking down on human grief,
Till within their own deep hearts the tears began to throb and swell,
And rise slowly upward, giving to their pent-up breath relief.
Then they took her from the dead, that soon must rest within the grave,
Weak and weary as an infant with the tears that she had wept;
But when she woke again to feel her loss and moan and rave,
Her life's broken idol calmly in the village churchyard slept.
Then the kindly ones that watch'd through weary nights her bitter pain
Whisper'd softly to each other, 'All this grief will never cease
Till the baby comes, and with it Heaven's healing light again,
That shall crown her mother's being with its perfect rest and peace.'
And it came—a tiny thing, its father's cherish'd name to bear—
Lay within her arms the harbinger of God's wide love below;
And her life broke from its grief, and took to channels clear and fair,
Something of her old life's music mingling in its quiet flow.
So when night came down on Rachel, with its deep celestial calm,
And the past rose upward—sacred in her eyes for evermore—
And her baby in her bosom slumber'd, breathing hope's own balm,
Then her heart fill'd up with blessings at the joy she had in store.
Ye who in this world's darkness stand, and see no star to guide—
God's left hand from out the shadows laid upon your head to smite—
Bow, and in your heart despair not, flinging restless doubts aside,
For ye know not all the good He holds within His right.