IT came-the parting;
And our weary hearts
Fell torn and bleeding at the feet
Of One who knew each pang:
His name-" The Man of Sorrows."
No stranger He to grief; for once,
Alone, despised, forsaken e'en of God,
His heart, divine, yet human, bore the load
Of all creation's misery!
Man's hatred too-He bore it all.
And yet loved on!
And now we needed not to call, for He
Had watched each moment of our fleeting joy
With tenderest sympathy. His ear
Had caught the " farewell " which the lips
Refused to utter, and His heart
O'erflowed with love-with yearning, pitying love.
His arms He clasped around us, and our heads
Cradled upon His breast; while to each weary child
Spake He of rest. And from those lips
Dropped on each wounded heart the fragrant mirth,
Soothing-restoring.
Sweet was that hour of peace!
Deep as the ocean calm, when the waves are still'd,
When the wild winds sink to rest,
And the last thunder-roll dies murmuring away,
And faint grows the note of the storm-bird's cry
As she seeks her lonely nest.
But stealing-slowly stealing along the eastern sky,
Are streaks of glory-harbingers of morn,
Telling of common radiance-of a cloudless day.
So stealing-sweetly stealing upon the wondering soul,
Came visions of His glory, of joys before unknown.
And on each list'ning ear fell there a sound
Of words most sweet, speaking of love
Which could not change, of hope which fadeth not,
Of meeting in a land where partings come not
And only joy is known.
*****
So He spake peace! And from each heart
Burst forth a song of praise; we could not grieve;
Each aching void was filled-for He was ours,
And was not He enough?
E. C. L.