Poems (Hale)/"He that overcometh shall inherit all things"

by Mary Whitwell Hale

"HE THAT OVERCOMETH SHALL INHERIT ALL THINGS."

Blest promise to the sorrowing heart
Which sees its early hopes depart,
Like some sweet flower whose radiant bloom
Sends up at morn a rich perfume;
But ere has beamed the sunset ray,
Lies scentless in the traveler's way.

Yet, treasured in love's fountain-cells
The memory of its fragrance dwells;
And o'er our path its dew is shed,
When hopes less bright in death are fled.
So come their memory o'er the heart,—
The early-called from life to part.

Ye who around the bed of death
Have knelt to catch the parting breath;
Ye who the fervent prayer have given
Through him who points the eye to heaven,
Who once the same dark pathway trod;
In meekness kiss the chastening rod.

What though within their vacant place,
The vanished forms no more ye trace?
What though be fled the spirit-gem,
Is not the promise truth for them?
Have they not shared the sacred rest,——
The glorious guerdon of the blest?

No night is there. The King of kings
The uncreated day-beam brings.
He bids the tear of grief be dry
And hushed the anguished spirit's sigh.
Death may not tread the courts above,
Where all is peace and perfect love.

Our Father! Thou whose sovereign will
Can bid grief's gushing tide "be still!"
Whose voice recalls the gifts it sent,—
The blessings which thy mercy lent!
Whose name we own, the Good! the Just!
Whose love renews our sinking trust!—

"Thy will be done!" We may not scan
The dealings of Thy hand to man.
Secure in Thee whose goodness sheds
Its daily mercies o'er our heads;
We bow to Thee, Eternal One!
And humbly breathe, "Thy will be done!"

Then let the eye no longer weep,
But fixed in view the promise keep.
Gird we the armor to the breast,
To follow where their feet have pressed.
So may we tread the path they trod,—
The path to heaven, to bliss, to God.