Page:Scenes and Hymns of Life.pdf/49

Rh

What griefs that make no sign, That ask no aid but thine, Father of Mercies! here before thee swell! As to the open sky, All their dark waters lie To thee revealed, in each close bosom cell.

The sorrow for the dead, Mantling its lonely head From the world's glare, is, in thy sight, set free; And the fond, aching love, Thy minister, to move All the wrung spirit, softening it for thee.

And doth not thy dread eye Behold the agony In that most hidden chamber of the heart, Where darkly sits remorse, Beside the secret source Of fearful visions, keeping watch apart?