An angel was crossing the pale vault of night,

And his song was as soft as his flight,

And the moon and the stars and the clouds in a throng

Stood enthralled by this holy song.

He sang of the bliss of the innocent shades

In the depths of celestial glades;

He sang of the Sovereign Being, and free

Of guile was his eulogy.

He carried a soul in his arms, a young life

To the world of sorrow and strife,

And the young soul retained the throb of that song

—without words, but vivid and strong.

And tied to this planet long did it pine

Full of yearnings dimly divine,

And our dull little ditties could never replace

Songs belonging to infinite space.