  The mystery of sorrow, The mystery of pain, Shall sure, some happy morrow, To every heart be plain. Till then, O loving Master, Thy footsteps may we see, And only press the faster Through darkest days to Thee. Choose Thou each care, each trial, As serves Thy will divine, And be our self-denial, And sacrifice, like Thine. Strung on the string of duty, Life’s toils and tears shall be Like pearls of priceless beauty,— The soul’s fair rosary! And dearer yet, and dearer, Thy cross, O Christ, shall be, As nearer yet, and nearer, We draw to heaven and Thee!
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