We are permitted
to sorrow, only not as those who have no hope, as not being cast down, and
as not being disquieted within us. Such godly sorrow is refreshing, and the
tears it sheds are a balm to the wounded spirit. They refine our
sentiments, and beget longings after a better country. The memory of
bereaved affection is grief. In traversing the past, our thoughts glide
along a procession of dear events arrested by the tomb; and we become sad
and weep. But this is not inconsistent with a confiding faith in God, nor
with a meek: resignation to His afflicting providence. Faith was not
designed to overpower a visible privation. When death enters our home we
should feel pungently, though we have the faith of an angel, and weep
before the smile of God. The evidences of faith, and the brilliant
idealities of hope will hush the voice of murmur, and incite us to kiss the
rod that is laid upon us.
It is, therefore, a Christian privilege to weep over the death of our
departed kindred, yea, who can stifle the anguish of the heart when the
tender flowers of home sink into the waxen form of death? when the
flickering flame of infant life burns lower and weaker; when the
death-glazed eye is closed, and the little bosom heaves no more, and that
lovely form becomes cold as the grave, what parental heart can then remain
unmoved, and what eye can then forbid a tear? Not even the assurance of
infant salvation and the hope of reunion in heaven, can prevent sorrow for
the dead.
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