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Lathrop, Rose Hawthorne, 1851-1926

"Memories of Hawthorne"

]
THE SERAPH AND THE DOVE.
A Seraph strayed to earth from upper spheres,
Impelled by inward motion, vague yet strong:
He knew not wherefore he must leave the throng
Of kindred hierarchs for a world of tears:
But, mailed in proof divine, he felt no fears,
Obedient to an impulse clear of wrong:
And so he ceased awhile his heavenly song,
To measure his immortal life by years.
His arched brow uprose, a throne of light,
Where ordered thought a rule superior held;
Within his eyes celestial splendors dwell'd,
Ready to glow and bless with subject might,
When he should find why God had sent him here,
Shot like a star from out his native sphere.
He was alone; he stood apart from men:
His simple nature could not solve their ways;
For he had lived a life of love and praise,
And they forgot that God their Source had been.
So mused he on the visions of his mind,
Which, wondrous fair, recalled his home above:
He wist not why he was to space confin'd,
But waited, trusting in Omnific love.
Then lo! came fluttering to his arms a Dove,
Which for her foot had never yet found rest:
The Seraph folded her within his breast,
And as he felt the brooding warmth, he conscious, smiled and said, "Yes,
Father! Heaven can only be where kindred spirits wed!"
["My Dove" was one of my father's names for my mother; he found her a
seal with a dove upon it. She several times referred to this title
with joy, in talks with me.


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