html website builder

I learned to take the hand of Pain
And look within her tear-stained eyes;
To pierce her fearful, dark disguise,
And feel her teachings were not vain.


In youth's first flush, in love's first dream,
One day, she came to stay with me;
I hid my face; I would not see
A guest whose voice so harsh could seem.


I listened not to what she said.
Sweet Pain, I know you better now;
I weave white roses for your brow,
And love you now that you are dead.


You dwelt beside me till I knew
Your face was beautiful and fair;
You drew my stubborn heart to prayer,
You were so strong, so wise, so true.


And just as I had learned to say,
"Dear Pain!" you died, and to your grave
I bring the treasure that you gave;
A wealth of joy is mine today.