The Gain of Loss
O, blessed tears, that cleanse the eyes for morn!
O, costly gains, wherein our all we lose!
O, rose of peace, so white with many a thorn!
Choose thou, my heart, be strong at last, and choose.
O, costly gains, wherein our all we lose!
O, rose of peace, so white with many a thorn!
Choose thou, my heart, be strong at last, and choose.
Not yet, not yet! I cannot ask for pain,
And dare not ask the joy that blindeth me;
I cannot choose; my Father, I would fain
Ask thee for that which looks like joy to thee.
And dare not ask the joy that blindeth me;
I cannot choose; my Father, I would fain
Ask thee for that which looks like joy to thee.
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