A Fancied Loss
IF some day in your heart is born the thought
That one held dear is careless of the gift
Of tenderness, so fully, freely given,
I pray you, friend, to strangle it at birth.
There are no losses half so real to us,
As losses which are not—have never been—
A friendship gone! we say, and drop a tear
For wasted faith, and love, and loyalty.
When, if we did but know the simple truth,
The gladness in these foolish hearts of ours—
The gladness and the full content would leave
No room for sadness, and no place for doubt.
How Close?
HOW close will Jesus come to thee?
So close thine eyes can trace
The wondrous love He has for thee,
Upon His shining face.
How close will Jesus come to thee?
So close, that thou cans’t feel
The sense of safety that He brings
O’er all thy being steal.
How close will Jesus come to thee?
So close that thou canst hear
The whisper of His tender voice
Ring softly on thine ear.