Poems (Barker)/To Mrs Dr. Leet
To Mrs. Dr. Leet
Poor, broken, bruised and wounded heart,Look up! the clouds are rifting, The somber gloom, the curtain dark,A tender hand is lifting. And far away above the night,That round thee now is sweeping, The lamp of love is burning bright,Look up, and cease thy weeping.
Look up! That light will ne're grow dim,Its gleam to earth returning, His hand, the hand of him you lovedWill keep it trimmed and burning. It matters not how dark the gloom,How cold the night, and dreary, It matters not how late the hour,His watch will never weary.
Look up, beyond the darksome cloud, Toward his glorious dwellingBright with the Savior's loving smile, Fairer than mortal telling.Reach up thy hands towards his hands, And clasp them close together,Bridge o'er the rolling stream of death, And be his own for ever.
Look up, oh wounded, aching heart, Look past the bitter sorrow, Beyond the anguish of to-day,Into the glad to morrow. It is not long he bids us wait,Earth's warfare soon is over, Beyond its pain, so soon to meetThe husband and the lover.
His noble, earnest, faithful life Will leave its sacred story,Imprinted on full many lives, When heads now fair, are hoary, For little children spoke his name,With tenderness and gladness, And many hearts are bowed with thine,And speak his name with sadness.
Look up, the troubled stream of life Still bears thee near and nearer,His loving arms are open wide,The view grows clear and clearer. And far away above the night,That "round thee now is sweeping, The lamp of love is burning bright,Look up, and cease thy weeping.