Classic Poem

Yes , thou art right! His loving heart,
Which felt for human woe,
And suffered from keen sorrow's dart
In ages long ago,
Still beats as warm, as true, as high,
For every mortal grief, —
Still bends, like the o'er-arching sky,
To whisper sweet relief.

No withered heart by sorrow seared,
With hopes by grief destroyed,
But finds for it the cross upreared;
In Christ, peace unalloyed.
Then, confident, thine offerings bring,
O humble, contrite soul!
Thy presence bids the angels sing
Where tides of glory roll.

The flowers upon each heavenly height
Are ever sweet and fair;
But, to the tender Shepherd's sight,
No blossoms are more dear
Than those which early fade on earth
Beneath a clouded sky,
Too frail to bear the storm, the dearth
Of heaven-born sympathy.

For such, celestial breezes blow,
The " airs of Paradise; "
Such blossoms will, transplanted, grow,
Perfecting, in the skies.
There flowers of faith immortal bloom,
The buds of hope n'er die,
And wreaths of love adorn the home
Of spirits in the sky.

Then let no weary soul despair:
A garden shall be found,
Where graces bloom whose fragrance here
Oft makes earth hallowed ground.
Unfading there Love's rose shall bloom,
Faith's floweret droop no more:
Oh when, dear Master, may our home
Be found upon that shore!