Her ChoiceThe trump had sounded, and on pinions whiteAscended they who in the grave had lain;And seraph bands in floods of golden lightGuided before the pure and heavenly train.And on, past comet and past lurid starThey winged their way unto the throne of grace;The burning world behind them glowed far,As low in worship, bowed each angel face.There was among the chosen of the earthA woman beautiful and young and fair;So sweet and chaste, and breathing love and worth,She stood the loveliest of the angels there.And then from out the band about the throne,With eager eyes and outstretched hands, there cameThe forms of two. Each once had been her own,And she on earth of each had borne the name.(Oh, heaven being love, why should not love be thine,And heart to heart strayed souls again unite,And wife to husband there for aye entwineTheir spirit tendrils where is no blight?)And each had been her husband; and each spokeHer name and claimed her with fond eyesAnd beckoning hands, till from her dream she wokeAnd gazed. Then spake a Voice kind-toned and wise:“Choose you between them who your mate shall be;For heaven were not heaven if it were to loseThe other half of self, the ecstasyOf loving and of being loved—so choose.”The woman raised her down-cast eyes, and o’erThe gathered host of spirits swept her gaze.Twice had her heart gone out in love before;Twice had she felt its warm, eternal rays.Wild, sweet and tender to her memory cameHer first love’s recollections, like the startOf mighty breakers. Then the steady flameUprising from her second smote her heart.With pleading eyes, the two stayed on her choice,Each thinking one must win and one must lose.And then she spake, uplifting her sweet voice,And said in tender tones: “And must I choose?”“Yea, verily,” the Voice replied. “Be freeTo follow where your heart points out the way.For love, once kindled, fills eternity;’Tis heaven, not earth, that lights his brightest ray.”And then the woman, with fond beaming eye,Spake up and said: “These two are both N. G.They made me tired. I think I’ll tryThat nice blond angel by that apple tree.”—W. S. P.(Houston Daily Post, Sunday morning, January 12, 1896.)
The trump had sounded, and on pinions whiteAscended they who in the grave had lain;And seraph bands in floods of golden lightGuided before the pure and heavenly train.
And on, past comet and past lurid starThey winged their way unto the throne of grace;The burning world behind them glowed far,As low in worship, bowed each angel face.
There was among the chosen of the earthA woman beautiful and young and fair;So sweet and chaste, and breathing love and worth,She stood the loveliest of the angels there.
And then from out the band about the throne,With eager eyes and outstretched hands, there cameThe forms of two. Each once had been her own,And she on earth of each had borne the name.
(Oh, heaven being love, why should not love be thine,And heart to heart strayed souls again unite,And wife to husband there for aye entwineTheir spirit tendrils where is no blight?)
And each had been her husband; and each spokeHer name and claimed her with fond eyesAnd beckoning hands, till from her dream she wokeAnd gazed. Then spake a Voice kind-toned and wise:
“Choose you between them who your mate shall be;For heaven were not heaven if it were to loseThe other half of self, the ecstasyOf loving and of being loved—so choose.”
The woman raised her down-cast eyes, and o’erThe gathered host of spirits swept her gaze.Twice had her heart gone out in love before;Twice had she felt its warm, eternal rays.
Wild, sweet and tender to her memory cameHer first love’s recollections, like the startOf mighty breakers. Then the steady flameUprising from her second smote her heart.
With pleading eyes, the two stayed on her choice,Each thinking one must win and one must lose.And then she spake, uplifting her sweet voice,And said in tender tones: “And must I choose?”
“Yea, verily,” the Voice replied. “Be freeTo follow where your heart points out the way.For love, once kindled, fills eternity;’Tis heaven, not earth, that lights his brightest ray.”
And then the woman, with fond beaming eye,Spake up and said: “These two are both N. G.They made me tired. I think I’ll tryThat nice blond angel by that apple tree.”
—W. S. P.
(Houston Daily Post, Sunday morning, January 12, 1896.)