Who knoweth in the crowds we meet
Each face revealed,
Whether or no ’tis joy or grief
That lies concealed? Some souls in sorrow take their way,
Nor can they ope
Their eyes mid falling tears and see
One beam of hope. Some careless are, mere worldlings they,
To prayer unknown;
Who, when death’s hand is on them laid,
They go alone. Far less this number when compared
To that great throng,
Whose wail and murmur by the wind
Is borne along. Lips white with grief in sadness mourn
The sun gone down;
Lips free from sighing and from pain
The sun shines on. But yet, of these two states should choice
To us be given,
We should the sorrow take, nor scorn
Such boon from Heaven. For know, that while we live on earth,
Too much of joy
Will make us prize it less; and thus
Will only cloy. But sorrow, howsoever great,
Draws us to God;
And while we weep we kiss the hand
That holds the rod.—Sel.