As she beheld Him living who was dead.
Away the clouds of Time such meetings chase.
Wells of delight like those by tears are fed;
The soul to joy like hers by sorrow must be led.
II.
Psalm lxxxiii. 6-8.
The mountain-roots lie in the lowly vale.
Mother bereaved! from height to vaster height
Ever ascending, his last triumph hail!
On wings of fire her love has taken flight,