Eyes That Are Used to Weeping

Through lonely hours of gloom, And silent vigils keeping O’er a loved but hopeless tomb; From beyond Life’s dusky curtain, From the shore of the dim unknown— Where vague shadows flit uncertain— Comes a message all thine own:

“The deeper becomes the measure Of the cup of grief you drain, The larger the draught of pleasure For you it may contain.”

Hearts that are used to breaking O’er vows that have come to naught, That, in hopeless silence aching, With pain are overfraught; Though Life’s taper be dimly burning, So that shadows faintly fall, There comes through this vale of mourning A spirit voice to all: “The deeper becomes the measure Of the cup of grief you drain, The larger the draught of pleasure For you it may contain.”