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For All Who Mourn

That he was near to you
so many a year
But darkens you distress.
Would you he were
less worthy and less dear
That you might grieve the less?

He was a golden font
that freely poured
What goldenly endures,
And though that font be gone,
its bounty stored
and treasured,
Still is yours.

The past is deathless.
Souls are wells too deep
To spend their purest gains.
All that he gave to you
is yours to keep
While memory remains.
Who never had and lost
forlorn are they
Far more that you and I
Who had and have
Judge not the price we pay
For love that cannot die.

by Arthur Guiterman
Journey of Hearts A Healing Place in CyberSpace