Grief.

What though the Eden morns were sweet with song     Passing all sweetness that our thought can reach;     Crushing its flowers noon's chariot moved along     In brightness far transcending mortal speech;     Yet in the twilight shades did God appear,     Oh welcome shadows so that He draw near.     Prosperity is flushed with Papal ease     And grants indulgences to pride of word,     Robing our soul in pomp and vanities,     Ah! no fit dwelling for our gentle Lord;     Grief rends those draperies of pride and sin,     And so our Lord will deign to enter in.     Then carefully we curb each thought of wrong,     We walk more softly, with more reverent feet -     As in His presence chamber, hush our tongue,     And in the holy quiet, solemn, sweet,     We feel His smile, we hear His voice so low,     So we can bless Him that He gave us woe.     What cares the sailor in the sheltered cove     For the past peril of the stormy sea;     Dear from grief's storm the haven of His love,     And so He bringeth us where we would be;     We trust in Him, we lean upon His breast,     Who shall make trouble when He giveth rest?