An angel's wing is waving over their head
While they, the brother and the sister, walk
Nor dare, as heedless of its fanning, talk
Of woes, which are not buried with the dead.
Hand clasped in hand they move; adown their cheek,
From the full heart-spring, tears overflowing gush;
Close and more close they clasp, as if to speak
Would wake the sorrows which they seek to hush.
Down to the mansion slow their footsteps tend,
Where blank despair is soothed by mercy's spell,
Pausing in momentary prayer to bend
Ere the cheered sister passes to her cell,
Sure in the hope that yet there will be given
Calm and sweet hours of peace--foretastes of heaven.
C. V. Le Grice (1773-1858)
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