I thought not, in my love
That we were doomed to part,
Now I am childless, and my fate
Falls heavy on my heart
O Thou who gave the gift,
Who took the gift away,
Who only can heal up the wound,
Give answer while I pray!
Do Thou send comfort down,
All goodness as Thou art,
Even in Thy last passion, Thou
Didst soothe a mother's heart.
I would not take her back,
From Thee, from Heaven and bliss,
Though yearning for her twining arms,
And happy loving kiss
I miss her bounding step,
Her voice of bird like glee,
Yet thank Thee I had such a child
To give her back to Thee
Father, my child! my child,
Is laid beneath the sod!
and, oh! with quivering lips I try
To kiss the chastening rod
Father, Thy will be done
Oh make my will the same!
And teach me in this trying hour,
To glorify Thy name.
SERVANTS.
They are but servants, say the words of scorning,
As though they meant to say, we're finer clay,
Yet, all the universe holds solemn warning,
Against this pride in creatures of a day
In fashion's last new folly, flaunting slowly,
With white plumes tossing on the Sabbath air
They pass with scornful words a sister lowly.
Do scornful lips know anything of prayer?