The Fountain of Tears

If you go over desert and mountain,Far into the country of Sorrow,To-day and to-night and to-morrow,And maybe for months and for years;You shall come with a heart that is burstingFor trouble and toiling and thirsting.You shall certainly come to the fountainAt length,--to the Fountain of Tears.

Very peaceful the place is, and solelyFor piteous lamenting and sighing,And those who come living or dyingAlike from their hopes and their fears;Full of cypress-like shadows the place is,And statues that cover their faces:But out of the gloom springs the holyAnd beautiful Fountain of Tears.

And it flows and it flows with a motionSo gentle and lovely and listless,And murmurs a tune so resistlessTo him who hath suffer’d and hears--You shall surely--without a word spoken,Kneel down there and know your heart broken,And yield to the long-curb’d emotionThat day by the Fountain of Tears.

For it grows and it grows, as though leapingUp higher the more one is thinking;And ever its tunes go on sinkingMore poignantly into the ears:Yea, so blessèd and good seems that fountain,Reach’d after dry desert and mountain,You shall fall down at length in your weepingAnd bathe your sad face in the tears.

Then alas! while you lie there a seasonAnd sob between living and dying,And give up the land you were tryingTo find ’mid your hopes and your fears;--O the world shall come up and pass o’er you,Strong men shall not stay to care for you,Nor wonder indeed for what reasonYour way should seem harder than theirs.

But perhaps, while you lie, never liftingYour cheek from the wet leaves it presses,Nor caring to raise your wet tressesAnd look how the cold world appears--O perhaps the mere silences round you--All things in that place Grief hath found you--Yea, e’en to the clouds o’er you drifting,May soothe you somewhat through your tears.

You may feel, when a falling leaf brushesYour face, as though some one had kiss’d you;Or think at least some one who miss’d youHad sent you a thought,--if that cheers;Or a bird’s little song, faint and broken,May pass for a tender word spoken:--Enough, while around you there rushesThat life-drowning torrent of tears.

And the tears shall flow faster and faster,Brim over and baffle resistance,And roll down blear’d roads to each distanceOf past desolation and years;Till they cover the place of each sorrow,And leave you no past and no morrow:For what man is able to masterAnd stem the great Fountain of Tears?

But the floods and the tears meet and gather;The sound of them all grows like thunder:--O into what bosom, I wonder,Is pour’d the whole sorrow of years?For Eternity only seems keepingAccount of the great human weeping:May God, then, the Maker and Father--May He find a place for the tears!