For I know my master will come, says he,
And when he comes he will call for me.
The other angels pass him by
As they hurry towards the throne,
And he watches them with a wistful eye
As he sits at the gates alone.

But I know if I just wait patiently
That someday my master will call for me.
And his master, down on Earth below,
As he sits in his easy chair,
Forgets sometimes, and whispers low
To the dog, who is not there.

And the little dog angel cocks his ears,
And dreams that his master's voice he hears.
And when at last his master waits
Outside in the dark and cold,
For the hand of death to open the door,
That leads to those courts of gold,
He will hear a sound through the gathering dark,
A little dog angel's bark.

Originally published by J.M. Dent and Sons, Ltd. From 'Spun Yarn and Spindrift' by Norah Holland

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