We long to tell some one, that they may share our pain.

We do not yet know that the cup of affliction is made with such a narrow mouth that only one lip can drink at a time, and that each man's cup is made to match his lip.
One day we try to tell some one.

Then a grave head is shaken solemnly at us.

We are wicked, very wicked, they say we ought not to have such thoughts.

God is good, very good.