Oh, was it a death-dream not dreamed through, <br />That eyed her like a foe? <br />Or only a sorrow left over from life, <br />Half-finished years ago? <br /> <br /> <br />How long was it since she died-who told? <br />Or yet what was death-who knew? <br />She said: 'I am come to Heaven at last, <br />And I'll do as the blessèd do.' <br /> <br /> <br />But the custom of earth was stronger than Heaven, <br />And the habit of life than death, <br />How should an anguish as old as thought <br />Be healed by the end of breath? <br /> <br /> <br />Tissue and nerve and pulse of her soul <br />Had absorbed the disease of woe. <br />The strangest of all the angels there <br />Was Joy. (Oh, the wretched know!) <br /> <br /> <br />'I am too tired with earth,' she said, <br />'To rest me in Paradise. <br />Give me a spot to creep away, <br />And close my heavy eyes. <br /> <br /> <br />'I must learn to be happy in Heaven,' she said, <br />'As we learned to suffer below.'- <br />'Our ways are not your ways,' he said, <br />'And ours the ways you go.' <br /> <br /> <br />As love, too wise for a word, puts by <br />All a woman's weak alarms, <br />Joy hushed her lips, and gathered her <br />Into his mighty arms. <br /> <br /> <br />He took her to his holy heart, <br />And there-for he held her fast- <br />The saddest spirit in the world, <br />Came to herself at last.<br /><br />Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-angel-joy/
