When the bell tolls and the
brown earth gapes and the form of the loved one is passed from sight
for ever, it is bitter--ah, how bitter! But the chastening touch of
Time takes away the bitterness, and there is left only an intense
gentleness which seeks to soothe those who suffer; and the mother
whose babe seemed to take her very heart away when it went into the
Darkness can pity the other bereaved ones; so that her soul is exalted
through its grief. The poet is thought by some to have uttered a mere
aimless whim in words when he said--
"To Sorrow
I bade good-morrow,
And thought to leave her far away behind;
But cheerly, cheerly,
She loves me dearly--
She is so constant to me and so kind.
I would deceive her,
And so leave her;
But, ah, she is so constant and so kind!"
It sounds like a whim; but it is more than that to those who have been
in the depths of grief; for they know that out of their affliction
grew either a solemn scorn of worldly ills or a keen wish to be
helpful to others.
I have no desire to utter a paradox when I say that all the world
holds of best has sprung from sorrow.
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