Classic Poem

The angels in high places
— Who minister to us,
Reflect God's smile, — their faces
— Are luminous;
Save one, whose face is hidden,
— (The Prophet saith),
The unwelcome, the unbidden,
— Azrael, Angel of Death.
And yet that veiled face, I know
— Is lit with pitying eyes,
Like those faint stars, the first to glow,
— Through cloudy winter skies.

That they may never tire,
— Angels, by God's decree,
Bear wings of snow and fire, —
— Passion and purity;
Save one, all unavailing,
— (The Prophet saith),
His wings are gray and trailing,
— Azrael, Angel of Death.
And yet the souls that Azrael brings
— Across the dark and cold,
Look up beneath those folded wings,
— And find them lined with gold.