Classic Poem

“I T is so hard!” I said,
And sat within and told my troubles o'er;
A hand fell softly on my bowèd head,
Yet no one passed my door.

“A fancy!” then I said;
“But oh! to feel that touch forevermore!
Methinks, indeed, I could be comforted!”
And sorrowed as before.

“No other heart can know!”
Brake out my grief again with bitter cry;
‘And God is far—so far my faith lets go
Her hold on Heaven to die!”

Then some one stoopèd low,
His heart full-throbbing, as with tears, close by;
“Lord! is it Thou so movèd by my woe?”
He answered, “It is I.”