Says one who with the sad condoles...

Says 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.