SUCCOUR IN BEREAVEMENT

Alone, in dark bereavement’s hour,

When stilled that comrade voice so dear,

What are those strains of higher power

That claim my half-reluctant ear?

His voice it is who shaped my loss

And placed it on my trembling heart,

He marks my solitary road

And calls me to Himself apart.

O thou, my trembling soul, be still

And listen to that heavenly voice;

Learn thou the secrets of His will,

So shall this mourning heart rejoice.

(This old poem appeared over the initials M.S.S. If any reader knows who was the author we would be grateful to be told—Ed.)