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SONG TO THE BIRDS. 151
My Father, is it wrong to sigh, When many a strong and kindred tie Is from the spirit torn ? ,
Ah! is it wrong, when passion's wave Rolls its high surges round the grave,
Breaking amidst the gloom; Can it be wrong, at such an hour, To feel its overwhelming power,
And weep above the tomb ?
It is not wrong! Sure I may feel, Yet be submissive to the will
Of Him who dealt the blow: "Tis right to feel! 'tis right to weep! My Saviour wept in anguish deep,
While wand'ring here below.
God will not chide me for my tears— He knows how dark the cloud appears,
Which has shut out the dawn; Full well he knows I 'm reconcil'd, And, though I weep with anguish wild,
Can say, *' Thy will be done!"
SONG TO THE BIEDS. Ye restless wand'rers through the air,
Pause on your tireless wings awhile, And watch with me the sunset fair,
And see the radiant landscape smile.