Closed the tabernacle door,
While the pilgrim lowly, lowly,
Bent in rapture to adore.
"Pilgrim," spoke the angel sweetly,
"I must bid thee my adieu;
Love! oh! love the Infant Jesus! --"
And he vanished from his view.

* * * * *

All was silent -- silent -- silent --
Faded was the vision bright --
But the pilgrim long remembered
In his heart that Christmas night.




A Reverie ["Those hearts of ours -- how strange! how strange!"]



Those hearts of ours -- how strange! how strange!
How they yearn to ramble and love to range
Down through the vales of the years long gone,
Up through the future that fast rolls on.

To-days are dull -- so they wend their ways
Back to their beautiful yesterdays;
The present is blank -- so they wing their flight