Grace Aguilar: «Sabbath Thoughts IV»
- Oh! ’tis such bitter pang to part
From friends whom God has given,—
The silver links around the heart
Seem all so rudely riven;
Yet He who gave them bids them go,
And He will heal each hidden wo,
And soothe the burning teardrop’s flow,
E’en from His throne in Heaven.
- And will He, sceptic-spirit say,
Look down on friendship’s hours?
Will He cast down from heaven, one ray
To gild such earthly flowers?
He will, for He can read all hearts;
He knows the bliss that love imparts,
The source whence sorrow’s sad tear starts,
When loneliness is ours.
- He framed the heart, and feels each throb
Of suffering and wo;
He hears the mourner’s stifled sob,
Tho’ tears may never flow.
He knew that man could ne’er sustain
Alone, the load of guilt and pain,
When sin assumed her baleful reign
To darken all below.
- Nor was it then; love’s sweetest flowers
Unto this earth were given;
They smiled on Eden’s sinless bowers,
Ere thence frail man was driven:
And if e’en there man might not be
From ev’ry care and sorrow free,
Without affliction’s sympathy,
There must be love in Heaven!
- And e’en the “Monarch Minstrel” felt
The bliss that friendship gave;
When round him darkening dangers dwelt
A friend was there to save;
Their souls were knit—their hearts were twined—
One spirit theirs—one will—one mind;
Oh! say, was love like theirs designed
To perish in the grave?
- Then, oh! e’en in that sorrowing hour
When friends on earth must part,
Alone to tread where dark clouds lower,
And bursting feels each heart:
Oh! let us seek our God in prayer;
Though man may scorn such love to share,
Our God will all our burden bear,
And His deep love impart;
- And teach us, tho’ awhile we sever,
Still we shall meet again—
If not on earth—with Him for ever!
Where there is no more pain.
Then let us struggle on, and pray
For strength to tread our lonely way,
And on our God the weak heart stay,
That seeks its loved in vain
- And pray’r will fly thro’ time and space
That friends in life divide,
Till thro’ earth’s desert drear, we trace
Those golden portals wide,
That ope on realms of fadeless joy,
Which porting hours can ne’er alloy,
Nor that pure blissful love destroy,
Which hath on God relied.
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