Poetry Pick of the Week

Oooh, this is a good one. Thank you Ali!

The Thorn

I stood a mendicant* of God before His royal throne
And begged Him for a 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, a hurtful gift that Thou hast given me.
He said, “My child, I give good gifts and give 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.

by Martha Snell Nicholson

* “mendicant”= beggar