LINES ON THE DEATH OF H. W. B.
57
A pitying Saviour chideth not my tears;For when His eye beheld the grief of thoseWho mourned beside their only brother's tomb,His own great, loving heart with sympathyO'erflowed, and "Jesus wept." 'Twill not be long,Dear little Herbert; but a little whileAnd we shall meet where comes.no grief nor pain.Though now I cannot go to thee, I trustThy spirit-presence oft may hover near. And, whether God has numbered out to meYears few or many, may I well performMy life-work! 'Then, when I have gathered allThe brightest, noblest treasures that those yearsShall bring to me, together we will viewThe unveiled glories of those higher spheres.
