The angel was flying through sky in midnight, And softly he sang in his flight; And clouds, and stars, and the moon in a throng Hearkened to that holy song. He sang of the garden of God's paradise, Of innocent ghosts in its shade; He sang of the God, and his vivacious praise Was glories and unfeigned. The juvenile soul he carried in arms For worlds of distress and alarms; The tune of his charming and heavenly song Was left in the soul for long. It roamed on earth many long nights and days, Filled with a wonderful thirst, And earth's boring songs could not ever replace The sound