Bereavement

When some Beloveds, 'neath whose eyelids lay
The sweet lights of my childhood, one by one
Did leave me dark before the natural sun,
And I astonied fell and could not pray, —
A thought within me to myself did say,
"Is God less God, that thou art left undone?
Rise, worship, bless Him, in this sackcloth spun,
As in that purple!" — But I answered Nay!
What child his filial heart in words can loose
If he behold his tender father raise
The hand that chastens sorely? can he choose
But sob in silence with an upward gaze? —
And my great Father, thinking fit to bruise,
Discerns in speechless tears both prayer and praise.