Why Must It Be? a Poem

WHY MUST IT BE? BY MARY A. FARNSWORTH.

Old Earth is growing strangely still, Its sweetest sounds are lost to me; With tears of grief my sad eyes fill, Dear Lord, why must it be?

WHY MUST IT BE? 861

Why must I yield the precious gift That priceless boon bestowed by thee? With lashes wet this prayer I lift, Dear Lord, why must it be?

While in my first primeval youth With thee, in realms above the sky. Did I stand valiant for the truth Without a murmuring sigh? Did I, life's ills before my eyes. Pertaining to this lower sphere, A covenant make to sacrifice What mortals hold most dear?

And is it now thy holy will That I should bear another cross, That daily grows more weighty still, To cleanse life's gold from dross? Then help, oh help me by thy power To bear with grace thy chastening rod; To draw more near thee every hour, My Father, and my God.

Until prepared for higher life Beyond this veil of grief and tears, Released from sorrow, pain and strife. To dwell with thee a thousand years. With former knowledge eye to eye As we are seen so we shall see; No more with quivering lip to sigh, Dear Lord, why must it be?