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Title: To My Friend
Author: Margaret Moran D. McDougall [
More Titles by McDougall]
Dearest of all, whose tenderness could rise
To share all sorrow and to soothe all pain;
The blessings breathed for thee with weeping eyes
Will come to thee as sunshine after rain.
My spirit clings to thine, dear, in this hour;
Thy sorrow touches me as though 'twere mine;
And pleading prayers for thee shall have the power
To draw down comfort from my Lord and thine.
For thou hast felt the sorrow and the care
Of other lives, as though they were thine own;
And grateful prayers, for a memorial are
Laid up for thee before the great white throne.
You sit bereaved, and I sit with you there
In sympathy, my soul and yours can meet;
Missing the face that was so very fair,
Missing the voice that was so very sweet.
I know how hard to bear heart-hunger is
For her quaint words and bits of bird-like song;
The touch of dimpled hands, the soft warm kiss,
O Friend, it makes the "little while" so long!
Take comfort, dear, the "little while" is brief,
It is His love sends pain to thee or me,
We gather fruit of peace from blossomed grief
And where our treasure is our hearts shall be
'Tis good to suffer, as He knows whose hand
Mixes the bitterness for every cup,
No grief befals but love divine has planned,
Every bereavement cries to us, look up
Dearest, look up, and see where, sweet and fair,
Flow the bright waters ruffled by no storm,
Under the trees whose leaves for healing are,
See 'mid the blessed throng one angel form
The tired pet, who wanted to go home,
The Elder Brother drew her to his breast,
Earth weariness earth soil alike unknown,
Crowned without conflict, bore her into rest
Among the shining ones she walks my friend,
Robed in the garments of her Fatherland,
And your earth-weary feet shall upward tend,
Drawn by the beck of that dear pierced hand
Who in his arms enfolds your little one,
And calls you, "Come up higher where we are,
For with the well belov'd the child is gone,
Follow and faint not, friend, it is not far
"The little one for whom your fond heart bleeds,
The dear, dear lamb who sees her Father's face,
Up to the great white throne the rough path leads,
Where Christ shall fold you both in one embrace"
[The end]
Margaret Moran D. McDougall's poem: To My Friend
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