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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.