Janet Hamilton

1795-1873 / Scotland

Words Of Comfort

'Words of Comfort,' they are come,
Rich in many a tender token,
Weeping love and mothers' woe,
Deeply felt and fitly spoken.
'Words of Comfort,' ah! to whom
Do they come? Our Heavenly Father
Comforts all who mourn, bereaved
Of the flowers His hand doth gather.
'Words of Comfort,' rich the balm
From each precious page distilling,
Softly on the mourner's heart-
With sweet peace and comfort filling.
'Words of Comfort,' on the wings
Of the morning they are flying,
To the utmost ends of earth,
Still their bless'd vocation plying.
'Words of Comfort,' they have come,
To the Mission mother, kneeling
By her infant's timeless grave,
Comfort, hope, and heaven revealing.
'Words of Comfort,' thus they speak-
'Mother, cease to soil with weeping
That pure cheek so cold and pale;
Baby is not dead but sleeping!'
'Words of Comfort,' mother, dear,
Come to thee, assurance bringing
That the babe thou mourn'st as lost
Now before the throne is singing.
'Words of Comfort,' bouquet rare!
Gemm'd with many an Eden blossom,
Culled with care and placed with love
On the mourner's aching bosom.
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