The secret of man’s life disclosed
    Would cause him strange confusion
Should God the cloud of fear remove,
     Or veil of sweet illusion.

No maiden sees aright the faults
     Or merits of her lover;
No sick man guesses if ‘twere best
     To die, or to recover.

The miser dreams not that his wealth
     Is dead, as soon as buried;
Nor knows the bard who sings away
     Life’s treasures, real and varied.

The tree-root lies too deep for sight,
     The well-source for our plummet,
And heavenward fount and palm defy
     Our scanning of their summit.

Whether a present grief ye weep,
     Or yet untasted blisses,
Look for the balm that comes with tears
     The bane that lurks in kisses.

We may reap dear suffering which we dread
     A higher joy discloses;
Men saw the thorns on Jesu’s brow,
     But angels saw the roses.