* * * * *
LI.
THE VOICE IN RAMAH.
"RACHEL WEEPING FOR HER CHILDREN, AND WOULD NOT HE COMFORTED, BECAUSE
THEY WERE NOT."
We have heard the voice in Ramah,
The grief in the days of yore,
When the beautiful "flowers of the martyrs"
Went to bloom on another shore.
The light of our life is darkness,
And with sorrow we are not done;
For thine is the bitterest mourning,
Mourning for an only son!
And what shall I utter to comfort
The heart that is dearest of all?
Too young for the losses and crosses,
Too young for the rise and the fall?
O, yes; we own it, we own it;
But not too young for the grace
That was so nameless and blameless,
For the yearning and tender embrace!
He hung, he hung on thy bosom
In that happiest, weariest hour,
A dear little bird to its blossom,
The beautiful, dutiful flower.
And thus he grew by its sweetness,
He grew by its sweetness so
That smile unto smile responded--
But a little while ago!
And you and I were happy
In many a vision fair
Of a ripe and glorious manhood
Which the world and we should share.
In a little while the patter
Of two little feet was heard;
And many a look it cheered us,
A look that was more than a word.
In a little while he uttered
The words we longed to hear;
And mamma and papa blessed him
With a blessing of hope and fear.
Pages:
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505