132
poems.
ON THE DEATH OF A NEAR RELATIVE.
"Let not your heart be troubled . . . . Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God." Holy Writ.
Blissful and glorious meed!
What to the sorrowing spirit could be given,
Breathing so much of hope, of joy, of heaven?
Blessed are they, indeed,
Who, from the shrouding veil of earth set free,
Can face to face their Heavenly Father see.
What to the sorrowing spirit could be given,
Breathing so much of hope, of joy, of heaven?
Blessed are they, indeed,
Who, from the shrouding veil of earth set free,
Can face to face their Heavenly Father see.
Being of perfect love!
Who, though Thy hand grief's deepest fount may stir,
Dost in Thy darkest counsels never err,
Up to Thy throne above,
Our stricken souls their weight of anguish send,
Our Rock of strength, our never-failing Friend!
Who, though Thy hand grief's deepest fount may stir,
Dost in Thy darkest counsels never err,
Up to Thy throne above,
Our stricken souls their weight of anguish send,
Our Rock of strength, our never-failing Friend!
Yet with a quenchless trust,
That once again love's fount shall be unsealed,
To Thee this treasure of our hearts we yield.
Most merciful and just!
Let not our confidence of hope be vain,—
Shall we not meet where peace and rapture reign?
That once again love's fount shall be unsealed,
To Thee this treasure of our hearts we yield.
Most merciful and just!
Let not our confidence of hope be vain,—
Shall we not meet where peace and rapture reign?
Never again below,
Where once in love our hearts were wont to meet,
Shall that closed eye our gazing vision greet.
Yet where, all ceaseless, flow
Where once in love our hearts were wont to meet,
Shall that closed eye our gazing vision greet.
Yet where, all ceaseless, flow
