Classic Poem

Ours is the grief who still are left in this far wilderness,
Which will at times, now they are gone, seem blank and comfortless.
For moments spent with loving hearts are breezes from the hills
And the balm of Christian brotherhood like Eden's dew distils;
And we, whose footsteps and whose hearts so often fail and faint,
Seem ill to spare the cheering voice of one departed saint.

But oh, we sorrow not like those whom no bright hopes sustain,
For them who sleep in Jesus, God will with Him bring again.
Love craves the presence and the sight of all its well beloved,
And therefore weep we in the homes whence they are far removed;
Love craves the presence and the sight of each belovèd one,
And therefore Jesus spake the word which caught them to His throne;
“Father, I will that all Mine own, whom Thou hast granted Me,
Be with Me where I am to share My glory's bliss with Thee.”

Thus heaven is gathering, one by one, in its capacious breast,
All that is pure and permanent, and beautiful and blest;
The family is scatter'd yet, though of one home and heart,
Part militant in earthly gloom, in heavenly glory part.
But who can speak the rapture, when the circle is complete,
And all the children sunder'd now around one Father meet?
One fold, one Shepherd, one employ, one everlasting home:
“Lo, I come quickly!” “Even so, Amen. Lord Jesu, come!”