1.
“Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should
not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they
may forget, yet will I not forget thee.”
Not in the glowing centre of all bliss,
But in the sea of overwhelming woe,
Of sorrow beyond sorrows which men know,
The Teacher's chair is set; the dark abyss
Surrounds Him, yet can move no thought amiss,
Or ruffle with impatience His meek Brow,
Calm as the face of summer lake. And now
What is the lesson at death's gate, but this—
The touching lore of filial piety,
With human sweet affections at the close,
Amid the multitude of dying throes?
And these Thy loving words for ever rest,
Like a rose-tingèd cloud on evening sky
That lingers, of the golden rays possessed.
