XLVII
And clothe himself in dust again
To share the bitter life of men,
To live a few dark years below
And back again to glory go?
XLVIII
This thought raised up my fainting heart
And somewhat eased the deadly smart,
My lips began to move in prayer—
My soul to breathe a freer air.
XLIX
I prayed for peace, I prayed for trust;
I prayed to feel that God is just;
I prayed that let what would befall
I still might trust Him over all.
L
And whether sunk in deadly gloom
The soul must rest within the tomb;
Or sit within God’s awful light
To which the sun’s blaze is as night?