There is no Death! What seems so is transition; This life of mortal breath Is but a suburb of the life elysian, Whose portal we call death. She is not dead--the child of our affection-- But gone unto that school Where she no longer needs our poor protection, And Christ himself doth rule. In that great cloister's stillness and seclusion, By guardian angels led, Safe from temptation, safe from sin's pollution, She lives, whom we call dead. Day after day we think what she is doing In those bright realms of air; Year after year, her tender steps pursuing, Behold her grown more fair. Thus do we walk with her and keep unbroken The bond which nature gives, Thinking that our remembrance, though unspoken, May reach her where she lives. * * * * * We will be patient, and assuage the feeling We may not wholly stay; By silence sanctifying, not concealing, The grief that must have way. --Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. MADE PERFECT THROUGH SUFFERING I bless thee, Lord, for sorrows sent To break my dream of human power; For now, my shallow cistern spent, I find thy founts, and thirst no more. I take Thy hand, and fears grow still; Behold thy face, and doubts remove; Who would not yield his wavering will To perfect Truth and boundless Love? That Love this restless soul doth teach The strength of thine eternal calm; And tune its sad but broken speech To join on earth the angel's psalm. Oh, be it patient in thy hands, And drawn, through each mysterious hour, To service of thy pure commands, The narrow way of Love and Power. --Samuel Johnson. GO NOT FAR FROM ME Go not far from me, O my strength, Whom all my times obey: Take from me any thing Thou wilt, But go not thou away-- And let the storm that does thy work Deal with me as it may. On thy compassion I repose, In weakness and distress; I will not ask for greater ease, Lest I should love Thee less. Oh 'tis a blessed thing for me To need thy tenderness. While many sympathizing hearts For my deliverance care, Thou, in thy wiser, stronger love, Art teaching me to bear-- By the sweet voice of thankful song, And calm, confiding prayer. Thy love has many a lighted path, No outward eye can trace, And my heart sees thee in the deep, With darkness on its face. And communes with thee, 'mid the storm, As in a secret place. O Comforter of God's redeemed, Whom the world does not see, What hand should pluck me from the flood That casts my soul on thee? Who would not suffer pain like mine To be consoled like me?