The Gift of Pain

Hush! Cease thy remonstrance of the gods
Who guide thee ever to the light
Hush in thy whispering of pain
Sweet child, flowers grow not without rain

Bear in silence now the scourging of thy flesh
For 'tis the gift of gods to thee
They do thy lovely soul so scourge
That thou may rise, and know the demiurge.

Know now sweet child of torment and of woe
Thy burdens are no more than thou can bear
The gods walk with thee through the lonely years
And breathe thy breath and taste thy tears

Oh! Holy tears, crafted from thy weary, aching heart
And captured in a vase of silver and of pearl
By gods who care fore thee, and guide thee ever on toward the light
To see the day, thou must live through the lonely night

Sweet child, thou hast thy gift of pain
Walk straight and proud, laugh loud amid the rain
Thy journey through this wilderness of strife is gods' intent
Thy mortal misery through time shall all too soon be spent

And when all's done, and the very sun sinks slowly to its final doom
And clasped thou art by the gentle, loving arms of death
The gods shall loud thy virtues sing
And fill thy soul with joy and love
And once again they'll fill thy soul with light
And share thy joy, and breathe thy breath.