Counsel In Sorrow.
How poor is comfort when the loss is great,
And vain all counsel to assuage a tear!
A light affliction it may medicine;
But when deep Nature groans all words are air,
And, like the aboriginal instrument,
Return on the comforter. 'Tis but a wind
That in the desert sows the germless sand,
Which by the whirlwind reaped is but sand still.
poem by Robert Crawford
Added by Poetry Lover
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