I WILL NOT BE COMFORTED BECAUSE ONE IS NOT

There is a gladness over all the earth, For summer is abroad in breezy mirth, Nature rejoices and the heavens are glad, And I alone am desolate and sad, For I sit mourning by an empty cot, Refusing comfort because one is not.

And I will mourn because I am bereaved, Others have suffered others too have grieved Over hopes broken even as mine are broke, By a swift unexpected bitter stroke, And I must weep as weeping Jacob prest, To grieving lips his last ones princely vest

You tell me cease weeping, to resign Unto the Father's a will this will of mine, You say my lamb is on the Shepherd's breast, My flower blooms in gardens of the blest, I know it all I say, Thy will be done Yet I must mourn for him—my son! my son!