To One Who Has Suffered Much

I know, dear friend, your hours are drear and cold;
I know your path is harsh with briers and flints;
Yet in the darkest day come happy glints
Of distant brightness underneath the fold
Of blackest cloud, and ever to the bold
The roughest road will show the faintest prints
Of weary feet. Look up! When morning tints
Are in the sky the night grows pale and old.

The longest lane a sad world hath will turn
At last, and, round the turning, mayhap, waits
Some joy to greet you that shall fill your life
With bliss past all belief. Not always stern
The future, nearer seen. Sometimes the Fates
Do smile, and Peace comes surely after strife.