192 
Then, hallowed be the hidden feeling, 
Where the tear is softly stealing; 
Let no cold observance tell 
Where the limpid offering fell; 
To all it is not given to know 
The balm of comfort to bestow. 
Nor all have power to understand, 
Emotions, swelling o’er command; 
Mark not the sigh then, deep as low, 
Mark not the marbled cheek and brow, 
But let the tear in silence flow, 
O’er still remembered joy or wo; 
A bless’d relief, in mercy given, — 
A holy fount, whose spring is heaven. 
