O tear of grief from stricken spirit wrung
By nature’s requisition of our shrined
And best-beloved!—if sympathizing tongue
Can speak one word of hope or comfort kind
By Heaven approved,—
Drop thou upon it like a jewelled sphere
Whose trembling iris makes it lovelier!
By such a Heaven-inspired word, O tear
Of human sorrow, thou art made to be
Divinely thrilled with comforting more dear
Than helpless love or hopeless sympathy!—
For thou art filled
With visions now of soul’s supremer sphere,
Like thine but infinite in love, O tear!
Thou art too blurred and blinding now to let
Thine eye behold the beauty of the light
That glimmers through thy grief,—but thou wilt yet,
If pleaseth God, with faith-anointed sight
And love anew
Dissolve in joy and for the sepulchre
Glad that which makes it victory, O tear!