A tiny thing came drifting through the air,
And sought my heart—to find subsistence there.
It strove to enter; but the door was fast,
And cold the hearth within; the winds that passed
Were not more cruel than the coldness drear
That held the thing at bay, nor felt it near.
A silent thing—straight from the vaults of heaven,
White-winged and pure, like snowflakes that are driven
Down to this sordid earth, making it fair!
Patient, it wavers not, but nestles there;
And in the cold recesses of my heart
A tender warmth unfolds, the quick flames dart,
The cold gray embers glow with radiant heat,
And wide the door is thrown—a guest to greet!
A step—a voice—two hands that clasp again—
One tender word! Was ever hate or pain?
O'erflowing heart! The ice-bound thoughts of years
Are melted now; a thousand treacherous fears
That crowded round thee, dark'ning as they throve,
Flow now in God's pure sunlight, streams of love.
Ah, grateful heart, hast answer to thy prayer?
Lo, thou hast entertained an angel unaware!
