Though we mourn--we must not murmur

(John Angell James, "Sorrow for the Death of Friends")

"Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will
 leave this life. The Lord gives, and the Lord takes
 away. Praise the name of the Lord! (Job 1:21)

"See, I am the only God! There are no others. I kill,
 and I make alive! I wound, and I heal, and no one
 can rescue you from My power!" Deuteronomy 32:39

When a holy and beloved object of our affection is removed
by death, we ought to sorrow. Humanity demands it; and
Christianity, in the person of the weeping Jesus, allows it.
The man without a tear, is a savage or a Stoic--but not a
Christian. God intends when He bestows His gifts--that they
should be received with smiles of gratitude; and when He
recalls them--that they should be surrendered with "drops
of sacred grief." Sorrow is an affection implanted by the
Creator in the soul, for wise and beneficent purposes; and
it ought not to be ruthlessly torn up by the roots--but
directed in its exercise by reason and piety.

The work of grace, though it is above nature--is not against
it. The man who tells me not to weep at the grave--insults
me, mocks me, and wishes to degrade me! Tears are the
silent, pure, sincere testimony of my heart to the excellence
of the gift He gave in mercy; and in mercy, no doubt, as well
as judgment, He has recalled.

But, then, though we mourn--we must not murmur.
We may sorrow--but not with the violent and uncontrolled
grief of the heathen, who have no hope.

Our sorrow must flow, deep as we like, but noiseless and still
--in the channels of submission. It must be a sorrow so quiet,
as to hear all the words of consolation which our heavenly Father
utters amidst the gentle strokes of His rod. It must be a sorrow
so reverential, as to adore Him for the exercise of His prerogative
in taking away what and whom He pleases. It must be a sorrow so
composed, as to prepare us for doing His will as well as bearing it.
It must be a sorrow so meek and gentle, as to justify Him in His
dispensations. It must be a sorrow so confiding, as to be assured
that there is as much love in taking the mercy away--as there was
in bestowing it. It must be a sorrow so grateful, as to be thankful
for the mercies left--as well as afflicted for the mercies lost. It must
be a sorrow so trustful, as to look forward to the future with hope.
It must be a sorrow so patient, as to bear all the aggravations that
accompany or follow the bereavement with unruffled acquiescence.
It must be a sorrow so holy, as to lift the prayer of faith for Divine
grace, to sanctify the stroke. It must be a sorrow so lasting, as to
preserve through all the coming years of life, the benefit of that
event, which in one solemn moment changed the whole aspect
of our earthly existence.