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By D. A. Casey

He came to her from out eternal years,

A smile upon His lips, a tender smile

That, somehow, spoke of partings and of tears.

’Twas eventide, and silence brooded low

On earth and sky—the hour when haunting fears

Of mystery pursue us as we go.

Strange, mystic shadows filled the temple dim,

But on the Golden Door the ruby glow

Spoke orisons more sweet than vesper hymn.

No human accents voiced His gentle call,

No crashing thunderbolts did wait on Him,

As when of old He deigned to summon Saul.

But heart did speak to heart, an unseen chord

In Love’s own scale did sweetly rise and fall;

Nor questioned she, but meekly answered “Lord!”

To-night some household counts a vacant chair,

But far on high Christ portions the reward,

A hundred-fold for each poor human care.