Classic Poem

Who cometh wandering hither in my need?
What gentle Ghost from Heaven cometh now? —
Oh, I am broken to the rod indeed —
Father, my earthly father, is it thou?
The stooping shape with piteous human brow,
The dear quaint gesture, and the feeble pace,
The weary-eyed, world-worn, belovid face,
Ev'n as they wildly faded, meet me now.
A gentle voice flows softly, saying plain:
" From death comes light, from pain beatitude;
Chide not at loss, for out of loss comes gain;
Chide not at grief, for 'tis the Soul's best food —
Out of my death-chamber, out of wrong and pain,
Cometh a life and odour. God is good."