Classic Poem

Yes , weep with them that weep,
Who bend in speechless sorrow;
Where lies in dreamless sleep,
The breast that knows no morrow;
Thou too must wail the dead,
And have thy heart-links broken,
Thy tear-drops must be shed,
Though grief be all unspoken.
Then let thy soul go forth,
In true and kindly feeling,
A single word has worth,
That word thy love revealing.
The whispered word of God,
The hand's own friendly pressure,
To him who feels the Rod,
Is more than India's treasure.
As sunbeams seek the wave,
And dews the smiling blossom,
Thus " balm and oil " will crave,
Thy brother's aching bosom;
In Wealth thou may'st be poor,
And have no gift to offer,
Be Feeling then thine ore,
And Sympathy thy coffer;
Thus when thy heart is crushed,
Thy ties by Death all riven,
Thy sorrows shall be hushed,
With pictured joys of Heaven.