I thank thee more that all our joy is touched with pain;
That shadows fall on brightest hours, that thorns remain;
So that earth’s bliss may be our guide, and not our chain.
For thou, who knowest, Lord, how soon our weak heart clings,
Hast given us joys, tender and true, yet all with wings;
So that we see, gleaming on high, diviner things.
Adelaide Anne Proctor