Sift clean the chaff, and house the wheat,—
And then, O Lord, descend.
“Descend, and solve by that descent,
This mystery of life;
Where good and ill, together blent,
Wage an undying strife.
“For rivers twain are gushing still,
And pour a mingled flood;
Good in the very depths of ill—
Ill in the heart of good.