But never more his mother's eyes he'll bless,
Or with a fond embrace his sisters meet;
No brother's hand will he in welcome press,
Nor his hound's bay tell of his coming feet.
To us remains the mourner's _never more_,
And aching hearts and eyes with sorrow dim;
Thou who at Bethany their sorrow bore,
Draw nigh us also while we weep for him.
I WILL NOT BE COMFORTED BECAUSE ONE IS NOT
There is a gladness over all the earth,
For summer is abroad in breezy mirth,
Nature rejoices and the heavens are glad,
And I alone am desolate and sad,
For I sit mourning by an empty cot,
Refusing comfort because one is not.
And I will mourn because I am bereaved,
Others have suffered others too have grieved
Over hopes broken even as mine are broke,
By a swift unexpected bitter stroke,
And I must weep as weeping Jacob prest,
To grieving lips his last ones princely vest
You tell me cease weeping, to resign
Unto the Father's a will this will of mine,
You say my lamb is on the Shepherd s breast,
My flower blooms in gardens of the blest,
I know it all I say, Thy will be done
Yet I must mourn for him--my son! my son!
TO A FATHERS MEMORY
(J.
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