The meadow is not green, but blue and golden
The flowers like dewdrops bright;
When it is night, they burn and glow and glisten--
Men call them stars of light.
Through Heaven's gate they all must pass to find it,
Where Peter with the key
Keeps watch and warns the little angels kindly
How good they all must be.
They must not fly about or run too quickly,
Nor go too far away,
And when upon his golden key he calls them,
Then they must all obey.
One day it was so very hot in Heaven
That good St. Peter slept,
And when the little angel children saw it,
Away they quickly crept.
Ah! then they ran and flew about with laughter,
And fluttered far and wide,
So far they wandered that of Heaven's meadow
They reached the other side.
They came to where the strong, tall, wooden paling
Shuts all that place away,
Where idle, careless, mischief-loving, naughty,
The Imps of Darkness stray.
And there the angels stopped, devoutly wishing
Some opening there might be,
So that they might each one in turn peep through it,
And see what they could see.
But not a chink or hole, for all their seeking,
No gleam of light pierced through,
So with their little wings outspread and eager,
Right to the top they flew.
Pages:
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724