To us remains the mourner's never more,
And aching hearts and eyes with sorrow dim;
Thou who at Bethany their sorrow bore,
Draw nigh us also while we weep for him.
I WILL NOT BE COMFORTED BECAUSE ONE IS NOT
There is a gladness over all the earth,
For summer is abroad in breezy mirth,
Nature rejoices and the heavens are glad,
And I alone am desolate and sad,
For I sit mourning by an empty cot,
Refusing comfort because one is not.
And I will mourn because I am bereaved,
Others have suffered others too have grieved
Over hopes broken even as mine are broke,
By a swift unexpected bitter stroke,
And I must weep as weeping Jacob prest,
To grieving lips his last ones princely vest
You tell me cease weeping, to resign
Unto the Father's a will this will of mine,
You say my lamb is on the Shepherd's breast,
My flower blooms in gardens of the blest,
I know it all I say, Thy will be done
Yet I must mourn for him—my son! my son!
TO A FATHERS MEMORY
(J. M. D.)
I thank Thee Father that I feel Thee near,
That it is hand of Thine that's raised to smite,
Oh, make Thy loving kindness to appear,
Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right!
Poor woe-worn watchers! he is going home;
No skill can save him, and no love can keep;
He served his generation—he is gone,
And gathered to his fathers, falls asleep.
We've bitter cups to drain—but his is dry;
Burdens of care—but care has left his breast;
Tears—but they never more shall dim his eye;
Labour,—but he has entered into rest.