Classic Poem

The Man of Sorrows stood beside the tomb,
Beneath whose shadow lay the friend He loved,
And as He gazed into its silent gloom,
Unspoken anguish deep His spirit moved.
He gazed in pity on the mourning throng —
Those few sad friends who weeping vigil kept, —
His loving look on Mary lingered long,
His trembling bosom heaved, and Jesus wept.

The Saviour wept! how precious were the tears
That streamed in sorrow from His holy eyes;
We think of them and calm our troubled fears;
We think of them, and all our sorrow flies!
Our hearts no longer feel the sickening doubts —
The darkling gloom that o'er the soul had crept —
No longer heed the cold world's haughty flouts,
Or mark its mockery since the Saviour wept!

Thou sinner, mourning o'er thy evil ways,
Oh, know there still is pardon offered free!
Then why not join with those who sing the praise
Of Him who lived, who wept, who died for thee?
Thou silent mourner, sorrowful and lone,
Weeping o'er joys that long have buried slept
In the sad tomb of Memory, weep on,
For tears are holy things since " Jesus wept!"