In vain we ask for growth while still unwilling
To let that growth transform our mortal sense;
To know each loss of earthborn pains and pleasures
Is more than met by Love's sure recompense.
True gold has never yet been harmed by fire,
'Tis thus its shining purity is won!
He knows no loss who walks through joy or sorrow
With this same humble prayer, "Thy will be done."
