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2 22 FABER'S HYMNS.
Old grief is worse than new; its pain
Is deeper in the heart; The dull blind ache is worse to bear
Than blow, or wound, or smart.
Deeper and deeper in my soul The weight of grief is stealing.
And, strange to say, I feel it more When it has sunk past feeling.
O grief! when thou wert fresh and sharp.
Part of life felt thy blow ; But, grown the habit of my heart,
Thou art my whole life now.
Most sovereign when least sensible, Most seen when out of sight,
Thou art the custom of the day, And the haunting of the night.
Oh that they would not comfort me!
Deep grief cannot be reached; Wisdom, to cure a broken heart,
Must not be wisdom preached.
Deep grief is better let alone;
Voices to it are swords; A silent look will soothe it more
Than the tenderness of words.