[WRITTEN FOR THE 'WORKER.']
They say that the angels are with us
As ever we come and go;
Unseen they hover around us
Noiseless, and soft, and slow.
But once I saw an angel
Not very long ago.
Just at the hour of sunset.
When the lights were red in the sky.
And golden and dim in the distance
The clouds went sailing by.
She stood at the stockyard sliprails
And smiled as I passed her by.
Not crowned with a shining halo,
Not robed in a snowy gown
With lifted glance seraphic
And ringlets floating down,
But clad in an old straw sun hat
And a faded gingham gown.
Yet the angel-look of pity
And of patient love was there;
And the eyes were true and tender
That beamed 'neath her clust'ring hair,
With a smile of brave endurance
That met and baffled care.
A beautiful household angel,
With power to love and bless,
She smiled on the little children
That clung to her faded dress.
Faithful, and fond, and loving-
But an angel, none the less.
The Worker, 16 April 1898, p6.