Says one who with the sad condoles

Says one who with the sad condoles:
"No delicate delight unrolls
But soon o'er it is flung a shadow."
O feeblest folly of shallow souls!

A foolishness all overworn,
Yet deadly as the frost of scorn!
The serious mind is born of sorrow;
On Love's brow rested a crown of thorn.

The shadowland is rift with bright--
It did the deed of deeds incite!
The Son of Man, Jehovah's Servant,
Through shadows passed to His crown of light.