My Bosom Friend by G. H. Heald, M. D.

Review and Herald Publishing Association · Washington, D. C. · May 26, 1904

My Bosom Friend

By G. H. Heald, M. D.

G. H. HEALD, M. D.

Who is my bosom friend? Is it he Who shares his purse and store with me, Who feeds and clothes me in my need, Who from my foes protects me, or from greed Of selfish rivals? He, my benefactor is, indeed, And grateful I shall be for all such kindness shown. But friendship’s more than all of this: ’tis known Not by the outward act alone. My bosom friend is he whose heart In unison with mine does beat, who has a part In all my joys and griefs, who knows My failings all, and weaknesses, but shows His sympathy while pointing me to better ways, My heart with courage filling by his praise Of what he finds is noble in my life, Thus leading me to struggle on in earnest strife For that grand goal in heaven above.

My Friend of friends is He on whom the dove Of peace descended, He who manifests his love In ways unnumbered. Through his Word He shows my faults. With loving, gentle chide, He calls me to his wounded side, To yield my life to him who died That I might live. But even He on earth has yearned For human sympathy from lips that burned The story to repeat. He knew the loneliness Of solitude, e’en when surrounded by a throng Of people whom he loved, to whom he gave His virtue in the loaves and fishes, then to save Them, his own blood. They understood him not, They knew him not. With swords and staves, They came and took him as a thief. His own disciples fled the spot Where he was taken. Filled with grief, Their hopes destroyed, they safety sought In their own upper room, or found relief From conscience sore by following the Master At a distance, to the judgment hall. Betrayed by one, forsaken by the twelve (The loved disciple, John, excepted), The Master, at the cross, was led to feel The worth of woman’s love; For in that awful hour, when the unfeeling mob Reviled and jeered, there were a few Who dared to brave the angry crowd that they a final view Might have of their loved Master, And to his last sad moments comfort give By loving sympathy. His mother, true, Was there. She loved him, as all mothers do Their offspring; and her mother’s heart was wrung With anguish, as upon the cross he hung. But there were depths of grief That filled his soul, and brought, in death, relief From all his suff’ring. These, she fathomed not, Nor any of her friends. His deepest agony was known by One alone. ’Twas He who sits upon the throne, By whom the pulse of all the universe is known. The knowledge of the Father’s love had stayed The Son through every trying hour; But now, in this the time of Satan’s power, The Father’s love seemed to depart. The Friend of man was left to die alone. “My God, hast thou forsaken me?” this thought, The last great crushing blow that broke the heart Of Him who died without the knowledge of one friend Who understood and shared his grief, Though He had been the Friend of all.