Upward floats the voice of mourning—
"Jesus, Master, dost thou care?"
Aye, He feels each drop of anguish—
"He doth all our sorrows bear."
Wipe thine eyes, O heavy laden;
Look beyond the clouds and see,
With your dear one on His bosom,
Jesus stands and calls to thee.
Waits with yearning, all unfathomed—
Love you cannot understand,
Lures you upward with the beckoning
Of your buried baby's hand.
A RAINY DAY.
Patter, patter, patter,
On the window-pane;
Drip, drip, drip,
Comes the heavy rain.
Now the little birdies
Fly away to bed,
And each tender blossom
Droops its pretty head.
But the little rootlets,
In the earth below,
Open wide their tiny mouths
Where the rain-drops flow;
And the thirsty grasses
Soon grow fresh and green,
With the pretty daisies
Springing up between.