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The Mourner
How blessed the tears of him who still weeps on,When he has ceased to feel affliction's rod;
Forgetful that from him the chastening's gone;
His eye beholds in faith his Father, God!
Thy tears are pearls for which the world shall pay;
More precious they than India's valued gold,
Go on in humble mind thy kingly way,
Though oft shall scorch the sun and chill the cold;
Faint not; though travellers few shall bid thee cheer,
Thou know'st the road thy well tried feet have found;
And soon, be thou but strong, shalt thou draw near
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And ever onward journey thence with them,
And him who leads, the Prince of Bethlehem.
Poem No. 178; fall 1838–summer 1839
| Jones Very : The Complete Poems | |