Poems (Linn)/Gain
GAIN.
HOW shall we count the gain from what we miss?The wasted blooms where hangs the perfect rose?The blighted buds of bush and bough that bearThe luscious fruit? Whose vision can disclose,The dead, whose dying makes a kingdom strong?Weak hearts that mourn above an old-time lossGain not the glory of the sacrifice.They know the pain, the jeers, the hyssop-spongeBut not the final victory of the Cross.