Classic Poem

And so must life be many-veined;
The loves that hurt, the fate that blent
My life with myriad lives and ways,
The processes that probed and pained,
The pencillings of nights and days—
Cross currents, tangling as they went,
With oh, such conflict in my soul!—
How should I know that they were meant
Just to make living sweet and whole,
Just to unclose
God's perfect rose?