TEARS.
My tears have been my meat day and night, while they continually say unto me, Where is thy God?—Psalm xlii. 3.
The Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces.—Isaiah, xxv. 8.
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any heat.
For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.—Revelation, vii. 16, 17.
Not when the earth revives with genial heat,
To fresh and blooming flowers, the bee applies
With such delight, and bears on loaded thighs
The fragrant treasure to her loaded seat;
Not young and timorous hind with course so fleet,
Escaped to trackless forest from the cries
Of fell pursuit, now unsuspected flies,
Panting to reach the cooling waters sweet,
As I in those hot tears exult, which shower
From my relenting eyes, when up to God,
With love or kindling zeal my heart ascends.
“How great,” in transport thus my soul I pour,
“Must be their glory in the blest abode,
Whose joy the pleasure of my grief transcends!”
From the Italian of Gabriel Fiamma.
No sigh, no murmur the wide world shall hear;
From every face He wipes off every tear.
Pope.
To hurry at thy mandate, matchless King!
The orbs of night have cars of sapphire dyes;
To reach Thee th’ eagle hath at least his wing,
And nought have we except our sighs!
May thy saints’ voice ascend and calm thy wrath,
Terrestrial incense is the just man’s prayer;
But pass we sinners, nought the sinner hath,
Unto thy shrine, but tears to bear.
Lamartine.
Raise it to Heaven when thine eye fills with tears,
For only in a watery sky appears
The bow of light; and from th’ invisible skies
Hope’s glory shines not, save through weeping eyes.
Frances Ann Kemble.
Thou hast wept mournfully, O, human love!
E’en on this greensward; night hath heard thy cry,
Heart-stricken one! thy precious dust above,
Night, and the hills, which sent forth no reply
Unto thine agony!
But he who wept like thee, thy Lord, thy guide,
Christ, hath arisen, O love! thy tears shall all be dried.
Mrs. Hemans.
Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not
More grief than ye can weep for. That is well—
That is light grieving! lighter none befel,
Since Adam forfeited the primal lot.
Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot,
The mother singing: at her marriage bell
The bride weeps: and before the oracle
Of high-faned hills, the poet hath forgot
That moisture on his cheeks. Commend the grace,
Mourners who weep! Albeit, as some have done,
Ye grope, tear-blinded, in a desert place,
And touch but tombs,—look up! Those tears will run,
Soon, in long rivers, down the lifted face,
And leave the vision clear, for stars and sun.
Miss Barrett.
O, turn, and be thou turned! The selfish tear,
In bitter thoughts of low-born care begun,
Let it flow on, but flow refined and clear,
The turbid waters brightening as they run.
Let it flow on, till all thine earthly heart
In penitential drops have ebbed away;
Then fearless, turn where Heaven hath set thy part,
Nor shudder at the eye that saw thee stray.
O, lost and found! All gentle souls below
Their dearest welcome shall prepare, and prove
Such joy o’er thee as raptured seraphs know,
Who learn their lesson at the Throne of Love.
Keble.
What sadder scene can angels view
Than self-deceiving tears,
Poured idly over some dark page
Of earlier life, though pride or rage
A record of to-day engage,
A woe for future years?
Keble.
For Spring, and flowers of Spring,
Blossoms and what they bring,
Be our thanks given;
Thanks for the maiden’s bloom,
For the sad prison’s gloom;
And for the sadder tomb,
E’en as for heaven!
Great God thy will be done,
When the soul’s rivers run
Down the worn cheeks,
Done when the righteous bleed,
When the wrong’d vainly plead,
Done in the mended deed,
When the heart breaks.
Lo! how the dutiful
Snows clothe in beautiful
Life, the dead earth!
Lo! bow the clouds distil
Riches o’er vale and hill,
While the storm’s evil will
Dies in its birth!
Bless’d is the unpeopled down,
Bless’d is the crowded town,
Where the tir’d groan:
Pain but appears to be;
What are man’s fears to Thee,
God! if all tears shall be
Gems on Thy throne.
E. Elliot.
And tears once filled His eye
Beside a mortal’s grave,
Who left His throne on high
The lost to seek and save.
And fresh, from age to age,
Their memory shall be kept,
While man shall bless the page
Which tells that Jesus wept!
Bernard Barton.
Alas! who hath not tears on earth,
Perchance though often wept unseen?
On every soil they have their birth,
In hearts where blithest smiles have been.
Tears are the blessings of the heart,
When nature oft would fain rebel,
Yet bends beneath the rending dart,
And tears her deepest anguish tell.
Tears are the heir-loom of our race,
From sire to son profusely given;
Bright dew-drops on the mourner’s face,—
Bright only in the light of Heaven.
In that pure light the mother sees
Through her fast tears the cloud grow bright;
Hope gilded with sweet promises,
Smiling upon the brow of night.
Faith draws the distant vision nigh,
Where basks her child in thornless bowers;
While cherub hands suppress each sigh,
And wreath her heart with fadeless flowers.
In that bright world no tears are seen,
For God hath wiped all tears away;
Earth’s last deep groan of anguish keen
Ne’er mingles with Redemption’s lay.
Washed in the Saviour’s cleansing blood,
The white-robed saints in glory stand,
Hailing Earth’s lingerers o’er the flood
To the full bliss of Canaan’s land.
Oh, blest re-union! No more tears
Shall dim the sun-blaze of the soul,
But smiles shall be the chroniclers
Of joys that own not death’s control.
W. J. Brock.
The sage’s and the poet’s theme,
In every clime, in every age;
Thou charm’st in Fancy’s idle dream,
In Reason’s philosophic page.
That very law which moulds a tear,
And bids it trickle from its source;
That law preserves the earth a sphere,
And guides the planets in their course.
Rogers.