Viewed Only by the Feeble Rays

Viewed only by the fee­ble rays

The lamp of hu­man wis­dom lends

How dark the pro­vi­den­tial ways

That rob us of our dear­est friends!

But yes­ter­day we looked on them

Whose years we count­ed far ahead!

When

lo! the mor­row’s sun looked down

And they we loved so well

are dead.

With eyes be­dimmed and bat­ed breath

We look up­on the pal­lid face

And won­der why the An­gel Death

Should call them to his cold em­brace.

But

no! We’ll not think thus of them;

’Tis but the mor­tal that is mute;

The same keen frost that breaks the bur

Will sweet­en and ma­ture the fruit.

’Tis hard when earth­ly ties are torn;

The heart will bleed—God made it so;

But

O be­side the point­ed thorn

The frag­rant rose of hope will grow.

We would not quell our heav­ing breast;

We would not check the tears that fall;

For they who knew our loved ones best

Know

too

that they de­serve them all.

But though to­day we weep for them

Whose voice is hushed

whose hands are chill

We look be­yond this house of clay

And think of them as liv­ing still.

To us their me­mo­ry shall be dear

And when we sing of Je­sus’ love

We’ll list! Per­haps our hearts may hear

The same sweet song from them above.