“Thou knowest that through our tears
Of hasty, selfish weeping
Comes surer sin, and for our petty fears
Of loss thou hast in keeping
A greater gain than all of which we dreamed;
Thou knowest that in grasping
The bright possessions which so precious seemed
We lose them; but if, clasping
Thy faithful hand, we tread with steadfast feet
The path of Thy appointing,
There waits for us a treasury of sweet
Delight, royal anointing
With oil of gladness and of strength.”
Sorrow makes deep scars; indeed, it writes its record ineffaceably on the heart which suffers. We really never get over our deep griefs; we are really never altogether the same after we have passed though them as we were before.
“There follows a mist and a weeping rain,
And life is never the same again.”
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