Law, Henry – Comfort for Mourners
Sorrow has crossed the threshold of your home, and sits a downcast inhabitant in your heart. You mourn as one from whom all joy is fled. The saddened countenance–the open fount of tears–the swelling sighs–the shrinking from needless discourse–the pensive musing–clearly prove your burden of distress. This grief must spring from some most crushing cause.
It is so. You drink affliction’s bitterest cup. Death has approached with withering power, and one, most tenderly beloved, has fallen. BEREAVEMENT, ever working its relentless work, now touches you. You bow beneath its desolating blow. The form on which you joyed to gaze no longer lives. The voice, so charming to your ear, can never more be heard on earth. A vacant seat tells of a sadder vacancy within. The dear one–dearer far than self–must now be covered in the grave. You mourn with grievous mourning. Who can marvel? Who would restrain?
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