I stood, a mendicant of God, before His royal throne
and begged Him for one priceless gift, which I could call my own.
I took the gift from out His hand, but as I would depart I cried,
'But Lord, this is a thorn and it has pierced my heart.
This is a strange and hurtful gift which Thou hast given me.'
He said, 'My child, I give good gifts. I gave My best to thee.'
I took it home. And though at first the cruel thorn hurt sore,
as long years passed I learned at last to love it more and more.
I learned He never gives a thorn without this added grace:
He takes the thorn to pin aside the veil which hides His face.