Ah wherefore should the silent tear
Down Ellen's youthful visage stray,

Weeping in church on the anniversary of her father's death, when fifteen years old.

Ah wherefore should the silent tear
      Down Ellen's youthful visage stray,
When such a Hand unseen is near
      To wipe each falling drop away;
A hand that bears a balm from high,
For every earthly tear and sigh?

And wherefore mourn a parent's doom,
      When such a Parent from above
Extends His arms and bids her come,
      And dwell with Him whose name is Love;
Who ne'er that orphan will disown,
Whom Jesus' blood has made His own?

That gentle Hand, ah would she see,
      And prove its power to soothe and heal!
Ah would she to that Father flee,
      And know how well He loves her weal!
Ah would she learn how sweet it is
Through Christ to be for ever His! –

Come, then, and give that heart to Him,
      Which long has dwelt on meaner things:
Come, find thy song a worthier theme,
      And learn to soar on loftier wings.
He who has died that thou mightst live,
Deserves the best 'tis thine to give.

The Spirit seeks to live thy Friend,
      And Christ thy brotheir deigns to be;
The joys, that know nor bounds nor end,
      To thy possession all are free.
Whate'er is lovely, pure, or great,
On Ellen now vouchsafes to wait.

Expectant angels cry, "O come!"
      And saints prepare their gladdest song,
Those wandering feet to welcome home,
      Which fifteen years have strayed too long:
Come, then, and all shall triumph o'er
One dear, lost, rescued sinner more.

~ Henry Francis Lyte

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