Poems (Hoffman)/The Three Comforters
THE THREE COMFORTERS
A little Job of modern yearsSat down in life's SaharaIn ashes, and such bitter tearsAs filled the pools of Mara,When in there came as come they mustThree friends as wise as sagesTo little Jobs who sit in dustThrough all the troubled ages.The first said: "Why do you repine?I sing with sorrows doubled,If you had griefs and cares like mineWhy then you might be troubled."The next said: "Look around you, dear,And see how others suffer,Your neighbor's life is far more drear,How many paths are rougher."The third who was of stoic turnRemarked in tone sarcastic:"Control yourself as I, and learnTo not be quite so plastic,"Then little Job was left alone,When from life's battle scarryCame one with gentle look and toneWho said: "I am so sorry."And little Job has lived to seeOne weep, 'midst suffering neighborsAnd she who sang triumphantlyStop singing at her labors,And she of strong and stoic willToo hard and cold for human,While little Job is growing stillA sweeter, wiser woman.And she who wiped her tears awayIn paths serene and starry The only one of all to-dayFor whom she is not sorry;And little Job has found a keyShe will not lose to-morrowThe heart's gold key is—sympathy,Its iron door—human sorrow,And she will take the Christ-like taskTo comfort all who sufferNot even taking time to askIf some paths are not rougher,Not even telling of her trustThat walks serene and starry,Until her lips have whispered firstThat golden key—"I'm sorry."