A little changeling spirit Crept to my arms one day:I had no heart or courage To drive the child away.
So all day long I soothed her,And hushed her on my breast;And all night long her wailing Would never let me rest.
I dug a grave to hold her,A grave both dark and deep;I covered her with violets,And laid her there to sleep.
I used to go and watch there,Both night and morning too:-It was my tears,I fancy,That kept the violets blue.
I took her up:and once more I felt the clinging hold,And heard the ceaseless wailing That wearied me of old.
I wandered,and I wandered,With my burden on my breast,Till I saw a church-door open,And entered in to rest.
In the dim,dying daylight,Set in a flowery shrine,I saw the Virgin Mother Holding her Child divine.
I knelt down there in silence,And on the Altar-stone I laid my wailing burden,And came away--alone.
And now that little spirit,That sobbed so all day long,Is grown a shining Angel,With wines both wide and strong.
She watches me from Heaven,With loving,tender care,And one day she has promised That I shall find her there.
