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.