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THE VIOLENCE OF GRIEF. 219
All grief has its limits, all chastenings their pause; Thy love and our weakness are sorrow's two laws; No burdens of Thine are too great to be borne, Didst Thou know how this sorrow would leave us forlorn ?
We had said we were ready, whatever should chance ; Of our hearts' preparations we made a romance; And we bade Thee sincerely to strike at Thy will ; Thou hast struck, but how far are our hearts from being still!
What a voiceless despair, what a tempest of tears, What a perfect rebellion and clamor of fears, What murmurs unchecked, tempers unreconciled ! All within us, but faith, is disordered and wild.
Yet see how we crouch to Thee, Lord! after all; We wished Thee far off while the blow did not fall, And now our sole joy is to feel Thee so near, And we fling ourselves down on Thy lap without fear.
We fling ourselves on Thee with passionate trust; Thou art always most loving when forced to be just; And our ravings and tears are no worse in Thine eyes, Than the newly-weaned mountain lamb's pitiful cries.
Our foolish wild words are some worship to Thee, Thou hast made us so, Lord! and wouldst have it so be; |
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