Oh sorrow ! kind instructor, unto thee,
Is given virtue to redeem our race,
The truths thou teachest, hardest to receive,
Are ne'er rorgot. Unwelcome healer, thou,
Often misunderstood; thy work within
Casts out the dross of self, deceit, and pride,
Reveals in nakedness, my shame and need,
Then ushers to the company of those
Who toil in patience for the good of men.
Sorrow, Thou welcome art, Thy pain is sweet
If but the Law of Love by thee is taught.
But what is thy duty?
The demands of the present hour.