To Two Bereaved

Now in your days of worst distress,
The empty days that stretch before,
When all your sweet's turned bitterness;—
The Hand of the Lord is at your door.

And when at morn beside your bed
Grief waits to tell you it is true,
That both your darling boys are dead;
The Mercy of the Lord bends down to you.

When you are frozen and stripped bare
And over your joy is raised a stone,
The foot of the Lord is on your stair;
The Lord's mercy is never done.

More than the joys of common men,—
The gifts of the Lord are past desire—
They shall be given to you again,
They shall sit down beside your fire.

The young and laurelled heads shall shine,
Making a glory in your days
As a light burns in a secret shrine:
The Love of the Lord is passing praise.

The Lord recalls not gifts once given:
They shall sit down beside your hearth;
They shall come in, in white, new-shriven,
Make you new Heaven and a new earth.

The Will of the Lord is great and good,
The cup of your joy shall He brim o'er;
They shall come in with life renewed.
They shall go out from you no more.