Classic Poem

Brave woman, treading with unfaltering feet,
A path of sorrow, wet with many a tear,
Sustaining, with a courage rare and sweet,
Your heavy weight of grief, so hard to bear;

A sister greets you. Could my lips but speak
In language sweet and tender, strong and true,
All the full sympathies that utterance seek,
Some crumb of comfort it might bring to you.

I know you well. I mark your sunny face,
Your bright and kindly smile, your cheerful tone;
Yet, hidden close within its sacred place,
I know that patient grief still holds its throne.

All that your friends can give you gladly take;
You bid them welcome to your lovely home;
And yet your heart still holds its weary ache,
Its darkened chambers where no friend can come.

The lonely night, with dreams of pleasure past,
The waking but to feel they are no more;
The long, long days (they once did fly so fast!)
The sense of dreary loss, the longing sore.

I know all these; and yet I know that Time —
Time, the dread spoiler — hath a touch of healing;
O'er cherished graves snow falls, and winter rime
Cool grasses creep, and moss comes softly stealing.

Earth hath a tender clasp. In slumber deep
Folds she our dear ones to her peaceful breast,
For them all trial ends; so, let us weep
Few bitter tears o'er their untroubled rest.

No need that we forget; let grief pass by,
While we live o'er the tender precious hours,
The touch, the kiss — so dear to memory.
These are our own — sweet, never-fading flowers.

Sad are our partings, dark the night of sorrow,
Yet blest are we, if hope descry the dawn;
If faith reach forward to a sweet to-morrow,
Whose joys await us when the night is gone.