be:       And when the secret of their griefs they tell, Look on them with thy mild, half-human eyes; Say what thou wast on earth; thou knowest well; So shall they cease from unavailing sighs. THE ANGEL.      —Why thus, apart,—the swift-winged herald spake,     —Sit ye with silent lips and unstrung lyres While the trisagion's blending chords awake In shouts of joy from all the heavenly choirs? THE FIRST SPIRIT.      —Chide not thy sisters,—thus the answer came;     —Children of earth, our half-weaned nature clings To earth's fond memories, and her whispered name Untunes our quivering lips, our saddened strings;       For there we loved, and where we love is home, Home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts, Though o'er us shine the jasper-lighted dome:—       The chain may lengthen, but it never parts! Sometimes a sunlit sphere comes rolling by, And then we softly whisper,—can it be? And leaning toward the silvery orb, we try To hear the music of its murmuring sea; To catch, perchance, some flashing glimpse of green, Or breathe some wild-wood fragrance, wafted through The opening gates of pearl, that fold between The blinding splendors and the changeless blue. THE ANGEL.      —Nay, sister, nay! a single healing leaf      Plucked from the bough of yon twelve-fruited tree, Would soothe such anguish,—deeper stabbing grief Has pierced thy throbbing heart—                      THE FIRST SPIRIT.                                        —Ah, woe is me! I from my clinging babe was rudely torn; His tender lips a loveless bosom pressed Can I forget him in my life new born? O that my darling lay upon my breast! THE ANGEL.      —And thou? THE SECOND SPIRIT. I was a fair and youthful bride, The kiss of love still burns upon my cheek, He whom I worshipped, ever at my side,     —Him through the spirit realm in vain I seek. Sweet faces turn their beaming eyes on mine; Ah! not in these the wished-for look I read; Still for that one dear human smile I pine; Thou and none other!—is the lover's creed. THE ANGEL.      —And whence thy sadness in a world of bliss Where never parting comes, nor mourner's tear? Art thou, too, dreaming of a mortal's kiss Amid the seraphs of the heavenly sphere? THE THIRD SPIRIT.      —Nay, tax not me with passion's wasting fire; When the swift message set my spirit free, Blind, helpless, lone, I left my gray-haired sire; My friends were many, he had none save me. I left him, orphaned, 

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