LOUD roared the tempest, 
 Fast fell the sleet; 
A little Child Angel 
 Passed down the street, 
With trailing pinions 
 And weary feet. 
 
The moon was hidden; 
 No stars were bright; 
So she could not shelter 
 In heaven that night,
For the Angels? ladders 
 Are rays of light. 
 
She beat her wings 
 At each windowpane, 
And pleaded for shelter,
 But all in vain;? 
?Listen,? they said, 
 ?To the pelting rain!? 
 
She sobb?d, as the laughter 
 And mirth grew higher,
?Give me rest and shelter 
 Beside your fire, 
And I will give you 
 Your heart?s desire.? 
 
The dreamer sat watching 
 His embers gleam, 
While his heart was floating 
 Down hope?s bright stream; 
?So he wove her wailing 
 Into his dream.
 
The worker toil?d on, 
 For his time was brief; 
The mourner was nursing 
 Her own pale grief; 
They heard not the promise 
 That brought relief. 
 
But fiercer the tempest 
 Rose than before, 
When the Angel paus?d 
 At a humble door,
And ask?d for shelter 
 And help once more. 
 
A weary woman, 
 Pale, worn, and thin, 
With the brand upon her
 Of want and sin, 
Heard the Child Angel 
 And took her in: 
 
Took her in gently, 
 And did her best
To dry her pinions; 
 And made her rest 
With tender pity 
 Upon her breast. 
 
When the eastern morning 
 Grew bright and red, 
Up the first sunbeam 
 The Angel fled; 
Having kiss?d the woman 
 And left her?dead.