In this dim world of clouding cares,
We rarely know, till 'wildered eyes
See white wings lessening up the skies,
The Angels with us unawares.
_Ballad of Babe Christabel_. G. MASSEY.
Around our pillows golden ladders rise,
And up and down the skies,
With wingèd sandals shod,
The angels come, and go, the Messengers of God!
Nor, though they fade from us, do they depart--
It is the childly heart:
We walk as heretofore,
Adown their shining ranks, but see them nevermore.
_Hymn to the Beautiful_. R.H. STODDARD.
For God will deign
To visit oft the dwellings of just men
Delighted, and with frequent intercourse
Thither will send his wingèd messengers
On errands of supernal grace.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. VII_. MILTON.
But sad as angels for the good man's sin,
Weep to record, and blush to give it in.
_The Pleasures of Hope, Pt. II_. T. CAMPBELL.
What though my wingèd hours of bliss have been,
Like angel-visits, few and far between.
_The Pleasures of Hope, Pt. II_. T. CAMPBELL.