Sorrow

I wore a jewel on my breast, Nor knew, till late, that it was such; Oft hath it robbed me of my rest; Oft have I shivered at its touch!

I wore it, trembling, and I knew Nor why it was, in fact, nor how Its presence fell like evening dew On shrinking heart, and lip and brow!

It was a thing of pain, and yet A subtile blessing seemed to flow From 'neath its touch, though eyes were wet As from the stab of ruthless foe!

Not until years had fled did I Behold the inner presence there; Not until Time had passed all by, Did I perceive its beauty rare.

But now I know thee as thou art, O Face divine that lookest down Upon my life and bruiséd heart; And fear of thee fore'er hath flown!

Thou shalt walk with me, as I know, For the brief space of years to be; A newer, higher path to show Where sorrow wins me purity!