YES, thou may'st weep, for Jesus shed
Such tears as those thou sheddest now,
When, for the living or the dead,
Sorrow lay heavy on his brow.
He sees thee weep, yet doth not blame
The weakness of thy flesh and heart;
Thy human nature is the same
As that in which he took a part.
He knows its weakness, for he felt
The crushing power of pain and woe,
How body, soul, and spirit melt
And faint beneath the stunning blow.
What if poor sinners count thy grief
The sign of an unchastened will?
He who can give thy soul relief,
Knows that thou art submissive still.
Turn thee to Him, to Him alone;
For all that our poor lips can say
To soothe thee, broken-hearted one,
Would fail to comfort thee to-day.
We will not speak to thee, but sit
In prayerful silence by thy side:
Grief has its ebbs and flows; 'tis fit
Our love should wait the ebbing tide.
Jesus Himself will comfort thee,
In His own time, in His own way;
And haply more than "two or three"
Unite in prayer for thee to-day.