"THE MAN OF SORROWS."
God hath sent thee many trials,
But strength is as thy day;
Do not despair or say, my child,
"I have no heart to pray."
For God's ways are not your ways,
And tho' thou art bereft
Of all that's most endearing,
There is one comfort left.
When a dear one has departed
To enter into rest,
And you feel so broken-hearted
That you cannot say "'Tis best";
There is One Who will always help you
And bring you great relief:
For He was a Man of Sorrows
And acquainted sore with grief.
When your dearest idol's taken
And you are dumb with pain;
When your faith in man is shaken
And everything seems vain,
There is One you can rely on,
Tho' of sinners you are chief:
For He was a Man of Sorrows
And acquainted sore with grief.
Oh! weary, wandering, wilful child,
Think of that dying thief,
Who sought his Saviour, e'en tho' late,
In the bitterness of grief;
And say no more you are alone,
Bereft of every friend:
The Man of Sorrows is your stay
And comfort to the end.
—Dorcas Skeffington.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Major Herbert Stepney, Irish Guards, was killed while commanding the Battalion in the first Battle of Ypres.