Weep With Those Who Weep.

A poem by Nora Pembroke

(Mary Maud.)


O friends, I cannot comfort, but will share with you your grieving,
In the valley of the shadow where you sit in helpless tears;
Greater is the parting anguish, than the joy of first receiving
The sweet gift that was your treasure through five happy, golden years

When I laid within your arms the dear babe that God had given,
There was hidden in the future all the tears that you must weep,
Ah! the little ones so tangled in our heart-strings, they are riven
In the parting, are but treasures lent not given us to keep

There's silence in the places her voice filled with happy laughter,
Stillness waiting for the echo of the patter of her feet,
You are gazing on her picture, and your heart is longing after
The tender touch of the little hands, the mouth that was most sweet

In the valley of the shadow, where by God's will you are sitting,
Earthly sounds shut out and stilled, yea, and heaven so very near,
That the little golden head, through the open doorway flitting,
Might come smiling any moment and be greeted without fear

With earthly toil and serving we will not get encumbered,
Our hearts rise to our treasures that are laid up with the King,
There your little maiden, Maud, with His jewels fair are numbered,
There she learns the songs of gladness that the heavenly children sing

Among those pure and precious who have known no earthly sinning,
The Beloved's fair white lilies in the Paradise of God,
Those He looked upon and loved, when their lives were but beginning,
And brought home before their tender feet grew weary of the road

There clothed on with his beauty, round the child all bliss will gather,
All the brightness of the Father's face when looking on His own;
For the little children's angels see the bright face of the Father,
And gather on the rainbow steps that are around the throne.

For evermore in safety, by the Lamb led to the valleys,
Where the light of God is brooding, and life's storms are ever furled;
No more watching, no more praying, no more guarding from the malice
Of all evil, lest her garments should be spotted by the world.

Heaven draws nearer in our sorrow, and the earth-born cares keep silence,
And the still, small voice says kindly, "Though the child may come no more,
Time is passing, and the moment approaches from the distance,
When the message to come after will appear within the door."

Oh, well it is for baby, safe, and past all toil and grieving,
The dear head is laid so early on a loving Saviour's breast;
Be not faithless, oh my friends, but submissive and believing,
The Hand that makes no blunders hath laid the babe at rest