And after labor Love may charm away
What could not enter for the press of care.

But when thou'st bidden all _this_ world good-night,
And enterest that which lies so close to mine,
_Call me by name_--it is my angel's right--
And I shall hear thee, though I give no sign.

When morn undoes the high, white gates of sleep,
Pause, as thou comest forth, to speak to me:
It may seem vain, for silence will be deep,
But uttered wishes wait on prophecy.

And when some day far distant thou dost feel
That night and morrow will no longer come,
The pitying heart will let me then reveal
My presence to thee on the passage home.

CHARLOTTE F. BATES.




THE MATCHLESS ONE:

A TALE OF AMERICAN SOCIETY, IN FOUR CHAPTERS.


CHAPTER III.