Thy life that has been dropped aside
Into Time’s stream, may stir the tide,
In rippled circles spreading wide.
The cry wrung from thy spirit’s pain
May echo on some far-off plain,
And guide a wanderer home again.
Fail—yet rejoice; because no less
The failure that makes thy distress
May teach another full success.
It may be that in some great need
Thy life’s poor fragments are decreed
To help build up a lofty deed.
Thy heart should throb in vast content,
Thus knowing that it was but meant
As chord in one great instrument;
That even the discord in thy soul
May make completer music roll
From out the great harmonious whole.
It may be, that when all is light,
Deep set within that deep delight
Will be to know why all was right;
To hear life’s perfect music rise,
And while it floods the happy skies,
Thy feeble voice to recognise.
Then strive more gladly to fulfil
Thy little part. This darkness still
Is light to every loving will.
And trust,—as if already plain,
How just thy share of loss and pain
Is for another fuller gain.