One stood upon the threshold of his life;
  A life all bright with promise,—­and he prayed,
  “Father of Heaven! this beautious world of thine,
  Is trod in sorrow by my race.”  The shade
  Of sin and grief darken the sunshine, Thou
  Around us with a lavish hand, hast spread. 
  Man only walks this breathing glowing earth,
  With spirit crushed,—­with bowed and stricken head. 
  I ask not, Father, why these things be so,
  I only ask, that thou will make of me
  A messenger of joy, to lift the woe
  From hearts that mourn, and lead them up to Thee.

THE END.