WHEN happiness turns from you,
And all seems unrepaid,
And you are scorned by enemies,
Even by friends betrayed;

Then think but little of it,
And be not self-deceived;
We are sent here for labor,
Though joy rests unachieved.

But there, where spirits gather
On the Milky Way's vast wave,
Where the white swans of the living
Soar out of Time and Grave,

You shall see revelation
On that irradiant coast:
He holds the greatest happiness
Who has endured the most,

For grief is but the wrong side
Of the flaming robe of bliss;
The eternal light is shadowed
In the dim springs of the Abyss.