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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455770" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>David's Lament for Jonathan</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou wast hard pressed, yet God concealed this thing<br>From me; and thou wast wounded very sore,<br>And beaten down, O son of Israel's king,<br>Like wheat on threshing-flour.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou, that from courtly and from wise for friend<br>Didst choose me, and in spite of ban and sneer,<br>Rebuke and ridicule, until the end<br>Didst ever hold me dear!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">All night thy body on the mountain lay:<br>At morn the heathen nailed thee to their wall.<br>Surely their deaf gods hear the songs to-day<br>O'er the slain House of Saul!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! if that witch were here thy father sought,<br>Methinks I e'en could call thee from thy place,<br>To shift thy mangled image from my thought,<br>Seeing thy soul's calm face.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I sorrowed for the words the prophet spoke,<br>That set me rival to thy father's line;<br>But o'er thy spirit no repining broke<br>For what had else been thine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Thou wast not like to me, so rude, so hot;<br>The world was not in thine, as in my sight,<br>Like the proud giant who from Israel sought<br>A champion to fight.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I thought to ask, nor looked to be denied,<br>Of God, that in my days there might ascend<br>His House; not from my hands, so redly dyed,<br>But thine, pure-hearted friend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">My friend, within God's House thou dwellest now;<br>Thy wounds are healed, thou need'st no Gilead-balm;<br>Defeated and degraded, yet thy brow<br>Is crowned, with death and calm.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O God, this is Thy black and bitter sea<br>Which buffets so and blinds my struggling soul:<br>Out of the depths I cry, O God, to Thee,<br>Whose grief-waves o'er me roll.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">God give to me the spirit that was his,<br>The patience, that he needs no more to blend<br>With the wild eagerness that mars my bliss;<br>I would be like my friend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Through the dark valley soon, to where he stands,<br>God summon me! Till then the sword shall shine<br>That comes from his dead grasp into my hands:<br>His children be as mine!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mary+Hannay+Foott">Mary Hannay Foott</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=455770" data-title="David's Lament for Jonathan de Mary Hannay Foott" data-description="Thou wast hard pressed, yet God concealed this thing
From me; and thou wast wounded very sore,
And beaten down, O son of Israel's king,
Like wheat on threshing-flour.

Thou, that from courtly and from wise for friend
Didst choose me, and in spite ..."></div>
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