For the Lonely Hearts Club

When I read this, I felt she shared my heart or I shared hers (not sure which). Somehow everything she wrote resonated within my very soul.  For me there is always hope and joy mingled with the sorrow.  I thought I would share it with my fellow strugglers, those who are walking the path of loss  with the hope of heaven. 

by Susannah Spurgeon (How she dealt with the
 death of her beloved husband, C. H. Spurgeon)
 

I wrote this ten years ago, on my return from Mentone, that beautiful village on the sea-coast; when with one hand the Lord had smitten me well-near to death, while with the other hand He had poured into my wounded heart the oil and wine of His choicest consolation. It was a wonderful time to my soul, and He helped me to sing aloud of His faithfulness, and to bless His Name—though He had taken from me my husband—the joy and crown of my earthly life.

Because of this, because He had glorified Himself in my sorrow, and out of the inmost recesses of my heart had drawn forth this canticle of grief, the words went straight to other lonely hearts, and rested there like "the dew of Hermon." For a long time, I received constant testimony to the fact that, in a very remarkable way, God was using the experience He had given me, as a balm and cordial to heal and soothe others of His bereaved children; and none but myself can tell how precious was this knowledge to my aching heart. It seemed indeed worthwhile suffering and sorrowing, if God's love and pity turned it all into a sweet symphony of praise to Him, and enabled stricken ones to honor Him by a response of sweet submission and perfect truth.

So, to the glory of my dear Lord, whose grace was sufficient for me in my darkest and most distressful days, I have had my "Song of Sighs" reproduced; and my one earnest desire is that, as the Lord then gave it the approval of His blessing, so now he will not withhold the grace which alone call make it His voice of comfort to those who mourn.

* * * *

How shall I sing the Lord's song in a strange land?

For I am brought into a strange, weary land of loneliness and sorrow. I am a captive to grief, and the light of my life has been suddenly quenched in darkness.

Yet there is a song to be sung.

Mercy has outrun misery. Divine love has pierced the gloom of an unspeakable sorrow with a ray of celestial glory.

The anguished cry of a stricken heart has been hushed by the sweet compassion of a comforting God! "Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord, O my soul!"

It is the Lord's song.

"He Himself has done it!" "The Lord gave—and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord." Is our dear Master to hear only sobs and sighs, and see only tears and sorrow, when He asks for His own beloved ones back again, that they may be with Him, and behold His glory? Nay, truly. For all His will is love.

The harp may often hang on the willows, and some of its choicest strings may be snapped forever on earth; but faith's hand must reach it down, and love's skillful fingers will soon find some tender chords of thankfulness in which to repeat His praise.

He will help me to sing it.

All the weeks and months since the pearly gates opened that my beloved husband might pass into the excellent glory, there has been, (for his sake,) deep down in my heart, a low undertone of joy in God, like the singing of the pebbles on a beach when the tide comes rolling in.

I thank God for this. And now that the deep waters are somewhat assuaging, this hidden music ought to be more distinct and appreciable.