To Mrs. P—, on the Death of Her Husband

MOURNER, why weepest thou?
Why falls the briny tear
So often on that new made grave,
Thy loved one is not there:
For hark what words thy Saviour speaks,
“He is not dead, he only sleeps.”

Oh, sweet inspiring thought,
What joy the assurance gives,
To lift the eye of faith above,
And say, “Behold, he lives”
Far, far away beyond the tomb,
Where pain and death can never come.

Rejoice, bereaved one,
Though hard thy lot appears,
For oh, thou art not left alone,
To shed those bitter tears:
There was a time when Jesus wept
O’er the cold grave where Lazarus slept!

Mourner, He cares for thee,
He knows thy smallest woe,
And every pang that wounds thy breast,
Thy Saviour feels it too;
For thou with Him art truly one,
Flesh of His flesh, bone of His bone.

Then raise thy drooping head,
And brush away the tear,
Look, look within those pearly gates,
And see thy loved one there:
He sings the “new eternal song,”
In which thou shalt unite ere long.

Yes! when thy Lord appears
To bid the dead arise,
Though shalt be called from earth away,
To meet him in the skies;
To dwell for ever in that home
Where sad farewells are never known.