The Recompense.

IF all my years were summer, could I know
What my Lord means by His “made white as snow?”
If all my days were sunny, could I say
“In His fair land He wipes all tears away”?
If I were never weary could I keep
Close to my heart, “He gives His loved ones sleep”?
Were no griefs mine, might I not come to deem
The joy eternal but a baseless dream?
My winter, and my tears, and weariness,
Even my griefs, may be His way to bless,
I call them ills, yet that can surely be
Nothing but love that shows my Lord to me.
―Amen.