Our sorrows sometimes are our truest joys

Our sorrows sometimes are our truest joys,
And better friends, than many a one that wears
More smiling aspect — more bewitching airs,
And yet the very peace it speaks destroys.
Bitter the sweet whose over-sweetness cloys,
And sweet the bitter, that can keenly give
An appetite for pleasures that shall live
Beyond earth's baubles, and time's tinsell'd toys.
Give me, O Lord, whatever lot Thy love
And wisdom deem most fitting for me here,
So it be gilded with Thy grace, and prove
Me to Thee dearer, Thee to me more dear:
What is a crown, if it be crown'd with loss?
And what are chastening cares, if glory crown Thy cross?