Classic Poem

Take thou thy way by the grave wherein thy dear one lies
—Umm-al-’Ala,—and lift up thy voice: ah, if she could hear!
How art thou come—for very fearful wast thou—to dwell
in a land where not the most valiant goes but with quaking heart?
God's love be thine and his mercy, O thou dear lost one!
not meet for thee is the place of shadow and loneliness.
And a little one hast thou left behind—God's ruth on her!
She knows not what to bewail thee means, yet weeps for thee;
For she misses those sweet ways of thine that thou hadst with her,
and the long night wails, and we strive to hush her to sleep in vain.
When her crying smites in the night upon my sleepless ears,
straightway my eyes brimful are filled from the well of tears.