"God's will, not ours;" O hero strong
To rise above the thought of burning wrong
Dealt by a dastard's hand! O spirit bright
Seeing, while here, the heavy cross grow light,
"His will be done; His guiding hand my way!"
That heart, yet bound by racking pain, could say.
The nation weeps. Anger and grief uplift
On high their hands; O from this pain to sift
Some grain of comfort and some thought of rest!
Again those tender words, "God knoweth best."