Encouragement
I
do
not
weep;
I
would
not
weep;
Our
mother
needs
no
tears:
Dry
thine
eyes,
too;
'tis
vain
to
keep
This
causeless
grief
for
years.
What
though
her
brow
be
changed
and
cold,
Her
sweet
eyes
closed
for
ever?
What
though
the
stone—the
darksome
mould
Our
mortal
bodies
sever?
What
though
her
hand
smooth
ne'er
again
Those
silken
locks
of
thine?
Nor,
through
long
hours
of
future
pain,
Her
kind
face
o'er
thee
shine?
Remember
still,
she
is
not
dead;
She
sees
us,
sister,
now;
Laid,
where
her
angel
spirit
fled,
'Mid
heath
and
frozen
snow.
And
from
that
world
of
heavenly
light
Will
she
not
always
bend
To
guide
us
in
our
lifetime's
night,
And
guard
us
to
the
end?
Thou
knowest
she
will;
and
thou
mayst
mourn
That
WE
are
left
below:
But
not
that
she
can
ne'er
return
To
share
our
earthly
woe.
