Song of Azael.

I heard the voice of the Death Angel speak,
    As slowly he pass'd me by,
And I saw him throw snow on the crimson cheek,
    And darken the laughing eye.
I saw him glide down through many a street;
    Tears followed him like spring rain;
And yet ever unheeding tears or prayers,
    He mattered his wild wild refrain,
"Come away with me, sweet baby so bright,
I love the young flowers of the rosebud's hue,
What? mother would keep thee always in sight,
And see the sad tears in those eyes so blue.
    Come with me, little one.
All thorns and crosses for you are done,
Mother will meet thee where all is fair,
Grown to the height of the angels there.
    Quiet and deep,
    Be now thy sleep,
    Baby, so white.

For thou shalt travel where sorrow and strife
Never shall darken thy pathway again.
Azael must take home to the Lord of Life
The darlings He bought on the cross with pain.
    Ah! you smile, little one.
Pleasure and glory for you are won,
Near to the angels, you're not afraid
Of going with me far into the shade.
        The casket grows cold,
        The jewel I hold,
        For hearts of love.

Come along with me, thou trader in gold,
Many have turned from thy office to-day.
Thou hast no time to consider the claim
Of the wronged or helpless who crossed thy way.
    You shudder, trembling one.
Close up the ledger, business is done.
Let you stay till your vessel comes in?
I'll take you far from the market's din,
        And you'll have time,
        In that strange clime,
        To meditate.

For thou wilt awaken, I would not hold.
If I could, the past from memory's ken.
I fancy that other ledgers unfold,
Their pages for some of you business men;
    Rest to night, tired one.
Not half of your merchandise is done?
The steamers, the banks, the corn exchange?
No, Azael deals not in notes or change;
        He keeps no gold,
        In his fingers cold,
        He takes no bribe.

Come along with me, sweet lady so fair,
Who told thee I was so grim and so cold;
Know you that I covet that sunny hair,
And those delicate arms's caressing fold;
    Fear me not, gentle one.
What if the hymn and the task are done,
In my arms there is far calmer rest,
Then thou wilt find on thy lover's breast.
        Sleep, sleep for awhile,
        Then waken to smile,
        Ever and aye.

True life is progressive, my lady fair,
And thou wilt re-open those radiant eyes;
Think you that I have no burden of care,
Azael has to account for each prize.
    Banish doubt, gentle one.
Quicksands and pitfalls for thee are all done;
Human love may ere long deceive thee,
But Azael's love will never leave thee
        Till those earth-dim eyes
        Look on Paradise,
        Never to weep.

The song of Azael melted away,
        On the solemn midnight's bieath,
I thought of the talents, the oilless lamps--
        Oh, Azael, Angel of Death,
I know that ere long thou wilt come for me.
        Immanuel, Lord of life,
By Thy victory gained on the bitter cross,
        Save in that hour of strife.