’Tis bars and feet, far-reaching leaps and falls,
Through light not seen in His momentous calls.
Consider Job—upright but proud—at last,
By grinding fate, by every woe held fast,
He turned to highest hills and King of all;
And never more asked he, “why such a fall?”
It was the rhythm of God through stops of sin;
’Twas His own anthems deep, without, within.
Our Pilgrim fathers, banished by the fates,
Brought out of many ills the United States;