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Alas! had ever grief of man
Such discontent as mine ? Yet how I crave to have my will
Simply content with Thine !
Bear with me, patient God of Job!
Bear with Thy weakly child; My thoughts are fevered with my grief,
My heart is going wild.
From some abyss these causeless bursts
Of stormy sorrow flow ; It seems as if nor outward thing,
Nor inward, brought the woe.
All of itself it comes, and sweeps
The landmarks quite away; And these sudden tempests mostly come
On the eve of a quiet day.
There is some change within my grief,
Some shifting of my cross: What overweights me is not grief,
It is the sense of loss.
What was a grief is now a loss,
A stationary want, An absence felt in every room,
In each familiar haunt.