—Agnes L. Pratt, in the Inland
By Agnes L. Pratt
I LEARN, as the years roll onward,
And leave the past behind,
That much I have counted sorrow
But proves that our God is kind;
That many a flower I longed for
Had a hidden thorn of pain;
And many a rugged bypath
Led to fields of ripened grain. The clouds but cover the sunshine;
They cannot banish the sun;
And the earth shines out the brighter
When the weary rain is done.
We must stand in the deepest shadow
To see the clearest light;
And often from wrong’s own darkness
Comes the very strength of right. The sweetest rest is at even,
After a wearisome day,
When the heavy burden of labor
Has been borne from our hearts away.
And those who have never known sorrow
Cannot find the infinite peace
That falls on the troubled spirit
When it sees at last release. So the heart from the hardest trial
Gains the purest joy of all,
And from lips that have tasted sadness
The sweetest songs will fall.
For as peace comes after suffering,
And love is reward for pain,
So after earth is heaven—
And out of our loss the gain. —Agnes L. Pratt, in the Inland