To us across the ages borne, Comes the deep word the Master said: "Blessed are they that mourn; They shall be comforted!" Strange mystery! It is better then To weep and yearn and vainly call, Till peace is won from pain, Than not to grieve at all! Yea, truly, though joy's note be sweet, Life does not thrill to joy alone. The harp is incomplete That has no deeper tone. Unclouded sunshine overmuch Falls vainly on the barren plain; But fruitful is the touch Of sunshine after rain! Who only scans the heavens by day Their story but half reads, and mars; Let him learn how to say, "The night is full of stars!" We seek to know Thee more and more, Dear Lord, and count our sorrows blest, Since sorrow is the door Whereby Thou enterest. Nor can our hearts so closely come To Thine in any other place, As where, with anguish dumb, We faint in Thine embrace. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH: A DREAM OF PONCE DE LEON by HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH SUDDEN LIGHT by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI NOCTURNE by JOHN VAN ALSTYN WEAVER LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND: 1. LORD CRASHTON by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM |