ays one who with the sad condoles:
"No delicate delight unrolls
But soon o'er it is flung a shadow."
O feeblest folly of shallow souls!
A foolishness all overworn,
Yet deadly as the frost of scorn!
The serious mind is born of sorrow;
On Love's brow rested a crown of thorn.
The shadowland is rift with bright—
It did the deed of deeds incite!
The Son of Man, Jehovah's Servant,
Through shadows passed to His crown of light.
here ever wakes an evil wraith
To test the courage of my faith,
As life's dark passages are thridded,—
"Alone! Alone!" are the words it saith.
Ah, no! the wraith's an angel one
Whose face is always to the sun,
A guardian of the heart's temptations,
That saves by fear ere the course be run.
'Tis Father love each round of day
That shadows in a twilight grey,
Or with Love's raven pinion covers,
To tempt His child from itself away.