JACK, are you awake? So am I! And, Jack, I say

I'm truly very sorry for the words I said today 

When you and I were angry; you broke my doll, you know, 

And I thought you were just hateful, and, and I told you so.

But since I went to sleep, I had a dream so queer! 

And somehow it has made me very sorry, brother dear, 

For the quarrel that we had. And, O Jack, I'll tell you true, 

All day I've been unhappy because of it. Have you?

It can't be very late, mamma hasn't come up yet; 

And I want to tell my dream before I quite forget. 

Turn your face toward me, Jack, and I'll whisper very low; 

And, Jack, if I can kiss you, I'll be happier, you know! 

Well, I dreamed a pure white dove went slowly flying by, 

But his wings were, oh, so tired! And he couldn't reach the sky; 

And something made him falter, he seemed to be in pain, 

And, Jack, his wings were covered with some dark kind of stain.

Then I said, "Oh, what's the matter?  What can the trouble be?" 

And the dove said, "Little girl, you and Jack have wounded me. 

All the naughty words you spoke without a thought or care

Up to the skies above us, for record I must bear. 

But the burden is so heavy that I tire on the way! 

Though the words must be recorded that are uttered day by day. 

And the angels up in Heaven, oh, you can't think how they grieve 

For every word of anger, or unkindness, they receive!"

Then the dove flew sadly on, and, O Jack, it made me cry 

To think how much of sorrow we are sending to the sky!

I was sorry, oh, so sorry! And presently, dear Jack, 

What do you think? Why, presently, the dove came flying back; 

And his wings were white as snow, and light as light could be, 

And the burden he had carried, no longer could I see! 

And he told me that my sorrow made his burden fall away; 

Then, O Jack! I felt so happy! More glad than I can say!

Then something woke me up, and I wanted to tell you; 

And Jack, give me your hand; are, are you crying too'? 

I've been thinking it's much better to make the angels glad 

Than ever send a record to grieve and make them sad. 

And, Jack, I do not know, but it somehow seems to me 

That mamma's most an angel, she's good as she can be; 

So we'll try and never grieve her, or give her any pain. 

Now kiss me, dear old Jack, and let's go to sleep again.

 Youth's Companion.