Classic Poem

I think that God is proud of those who bear
— A sorrow bravely — proud indeed of them
Who walk straight through the dark to find Him there,
— And kneel in faith to touch His garment's hem.
Oh, proud of them who lift their heads to shake
— Away the tears from eyes that have grown dim,
Who tighten quivering lips and turn to take
— The only road they know that leads to Him.

How proud He must be of them — He who knows
— All sorrow, and how hard grief is to bear!
I think He sees them coming, and He goes
— With outstretched arms and hands to meet them there,
And with a look, a touch on hand or head,
— Each finds his hurt heart strangely comforted.

I think that God is proud of those who bear
— A sorrow bravely — proud indeed of them
Who walk straight through the dark to find Him there,
— And kneel in faith to touch His garment's hem.
Oh, proud of them who lift their heads to shake
— Away the tears from eyes that have grown dim,
Who tighten quivering lips and turn to take
— The only road they know that leads to Him.

How proud He must be of them — He who knows
— All sorrow, and how hard grief is to bear!
I think He sees them coming, and He goes
— With outstretched arms and hands to meet them there,
And with a look, a touch on hand or head,
— Each finds his hurt heart strangely comforted.