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.