For Our Fathers

I suppose it is some solace
To say no tear's in vain.
I guess “His” gift's not gratis
For we pay for it in pain.
Don't you think we ought to thank
“Him” whom we suffer for?
For “His” blessing's what we bank
Our ever-afters by the score.
We devote to “Him” who dies,
As if suffering were somehow new;
As if each cretin who cried,
Was somehow less than “You.”
But it's so pretty still to say
There's purpose for life this way.