Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Thoughts for Mourners
THOUGHTS FOR MOURNERS.
Ye say 'tis Mercy that doth rend
Of Hope the healthful root?
The visitation of a Friend
That blights affection's fruit?
A tender florist's care, that pours
The riven blossoms round,
And strews the richest, fairest flowers
To perish on the ground?
Yon tree, that from the noon-day heat
Did shield the traveler's head,
And when the tempest fiercely beat
A sheltering shadow spread,
Whose boughs reviving fragrance cast
O'er all the sons of ill,
Behold it smitten 'neath the blast,
Say ye 'twas Mercy still?
Yea, Mercy! Not that erring love
Which man to man extends,
But His high discipline above
Who pain with wisdom blends.
Beyond the cloud, the pang, the tomb
Of this terrestrial clod,
Where trees of glory ever bloom
Fast by the throne of God,
Ye in the page of Heaven may read
With seraph students blest,
How Sorrow's sternest teachings lead
To everlasting rest.