Classic Poem

1. Father, who mak'st thy suff'ring sons thy minis-
2. If in this world of mystery, Unequal
ters to stronger ones, To light love's holy flame within, De-
favors fall on me, While brothers, better far than I, Are
posing self, abasing sin, Oh, teach my soul, con-
called to languish or to die, Help me in turn their
fiding still, To suffer or to do thy will.
ills to share, Their wounds to heal, their load to bear.

3. Blest is their task, ‘mid human woe
Thy gifts on others who bestow;
For suffering lies at plenty's door,
And God appeals when cries the poor.
His law ordains, for all that live,
What sorrow lacks let mercy give.

4. The day shall come when veils remove,
And all shall see that God is love.
Then he himself all tears shall dry,
And show of pain the reason why,
And theirs shall be the great reward
Who in his poor beheld their Lord.