Consolation

All are not taken; there are left behind   Living Belovèds, tender looks to bring   And make the daylight still a happy thing, And tender voices, to make soft the wind: But if it were not so—if I could find   No love in all this world for comforting,   Nor any path but hollowly did ring Where 'dust to dust' the love from life disjoin'd; And if, before those sepulchres unmoving   I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth) Crying 'Where are ye, O my loved and loving?'—   I know a voice would sound, 'Daughter, I AM. Can I suffice for Heaven and not for earth?'