gratitude, and weep with joy,
Even while my heart is breaking!"

We infer from the whole subject, that we should not murmur against God when
afflicted, however great our bereavements may he. This does not, of course,
forbid godly sorrow and tears. It is not inconsistent to weep; neither does
sorrow for the dead, as such, imply a murmuring spirit. Christ himself
invited to tears when he wept over the grave of his friend Lazarus. It is
meet that we pay our tribute to departed kindred, in falling tears. These
are not selfish; neither is the sorrow they express, a sin, nor an evidence
of filial distrust, or of reluctant submission to the will of God. The
unfeeling stoic may regard it such; but he outrages the generous impulses
of humanity. Undefiled religion does not aim to cancel natural affection.
Our piety, if genuine, will not make us guilty of crimes against nature,
and prompt us to bend with apathy over the grave of buried, love. The
mother of Jesus wept her pungent woes beneath the Cross; and the Marys
dropt the tear of sorrowing love and memory at the mouth of his sepulchre.
And shall we refuse the tribute of sorrow to the memory of those dear ones
who sleep beneath the sod? To do so would, but unchristianize the deep
grief which bereavement awakens, and which true piety sanctifies; it would
unhumanize the very constitution of home itself. To be Christians, must the
unnumbered memories of life be all without a tear? When we walk in the
family grave-yard, and think of the loved who slumber there; when we open
the family bible, and read, there the names of those who have gone before
us, say, shall this awaken no slumbering grief, invite no warm, gushing
tears, and not bear us back to scenes of tenderness and love?

Ah, no! The gospel encourages godly sorrow over the dead. 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 h