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[126] And this heart-consuming care,
All our fears of here or there,
Change and absence, loss and death,
Prove but simple lack of faith. “

Thou, O Most Compassionate!
Who didst stoop to our estate,
Drinking of the cup we drain,
Treading in our path of pain,—

Through the doubt and mystery,
Grant to us thy steps to see,
And the grace to draw from thence
Larger hope and confidence.

Show thy vacant tomb, and let,
As of old, the angels sit,
Whispering, by its open door:
‘Fear not! He hath gone before!’


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