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To have tenderly bound up her scattered hair,
And have dried her tearful eyes !
And penitent tears to dry,
From her home in the starry sky.
O to have followed the mournful way
Of those faithful few forlorn !
The Cross for our Lord have borne !
To have wept at Mary's side, To have lived as a child in her home, and then
In her loving care have died !
Hush ! and with reverent sorrow still
Mary's great anguish share ;
Thy cross, like His, to bear.
With those which thy Lord has borne,
Nor leave thy soul forlorn.
O to have seen what we now adore,
And, though veiled to faithless fight, To have known, in the form that Jesus wore,
The Lord of Life and Light !
Hush! for He dwells among us still,
And a grace can yet be thine, Which the scoffer and doubter can never know,
The Presence of the Divine.
For His word can never deceive;
Miss A. A. Procter. 1859.
POOR wayfaring Man of grief
That I could never answer, Nay.
I spied him, where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock; his strength was gone; The heedless water mocked his thirst,
He heard it, saw it hurrying on:
’T was night; the floods were out ; it blew
A winter hurricane aloof;
To bid him welcome to my roof;
Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh to death,
I found him by the highway-side ;
Revived his spirit, and supplied
But from that hour forgot the smart,
Then in a moment to my view
The Stranger darted from disguise ;
My Saviour stood before mine eyes!
James Montgomery. 1826.