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 Woe is me! what is existence below?

Trouble on trouble, and blow upon blow!

What is in this world save sorrowful years,

Much tribulation, and plentiful tears?

"Dust of the earth, dost thou wail and repine,

For that, in sundry ways, trial is thine?

Leisure and softness—to these hast thou right?

Draw the sword—grasp the shield—gird thee for fight!

"As in the furnace the gold must be proved,

So, by affliction, the son that is loved:

For My true followers trouble is stored;

Nor is the servant above his own.

"Hast thou forgotten the tale thou hast read?

I, when on earth, had no place for My head:

This was the Cross all My life long I bare,

When, the world's Maker, I exiled Me there.

"Thou, the more lowly thou humblest thee here,

All the more perfectly shalt be My peer:

I Who am Highest, True of True ,

I was the meanest, when this world I trod.