VI.
With Thee I speak: Lord, thou dost understand!
Nor mind I how mad tongues my life reprove.
Full well I know the world is 'neath Thine eye.
And to each part thereof belongs Thy love:
But for the general welfare wisely planned
The parts must suffer change;—they do not die,
For nature ebbs and flows eternally;—
But to such change we give the name of Death
Or Evil, whensoe'er we feel the strife
Which for the universe is joy and life,
Though for each part it seems mere lack of breath.—
So in my body every part I see
With lives and deaths alternate rife,
All tending to its vital unity.
VII.
Thus then the Universe grieves not, and I
Mid woes innumerable languish still
To cheer the whole and every happier part.—
Yet, if each part is suffered by Thy will
To call for aid—as Thou art God most High,
Who to all beings wilt Thy strength impart;
Who smoothest every change by secret art,
With fond care tempering the force of fate,
Necessity and concord, power and thought,
And love divine through all things subtly wrought—
I am persuaded, when I iterate
My prayers to Thee, some comfort I must find
For these pangs poison-fraught,
Or leave the sweet sharp lust of life behind.
VIII.
The Universe hath nought that changes not,
Nor in its change feels not the pangs of pain,
Nor prays not unto God to ease that woe.
Mid these are many who the grace obtain
Of aid from Thee:—thus Thou didst rule their lot:
And many who without Thy help must go.
How shall I tell toward whom Thy favours flow,
Seeing I sat not at Thy council-board?
One argument at least doth hearten me
To hope those prayers may not unanswered be,
Which reason and pure thoughts to me afford:
Since often, if not always, Thou dost will
In Thy deep wisdom, Lord,
Best laboured soil with fairest fruits to fill.
IX.
The tilth of this my field by plough and hoe
Yields me good hope—but more the fostering sun
Of Sense divine that quickens me within,
Whose rays those many minor stars outshone—
That it is destined in high heaven to show
Mercy, and grant my prayer; so I may win
The end Thy gifts betoken, enter in
The realm reserved for me from earliest time.
Christ prayed but 'If it may be,' knowing well
He might not shun that cup so terrible:
His angel answered, that the law sublime
Ordained his death. I prayed not thus, and mine—
Was mine then sent from Hell?—
Made answer diverse from that voice divine.
X.
Go song, go tell my Lord—'Lo! he who lies
Tortured in chains within a pit for Thee,
Cries, how can flight be free
Wingless?—Send Thy word down, or Thou
Show that fate's wheel turns not iniquity,
And that in heaven there is no lip that lies.'—
Yet, song, too boldly flies
Thy shaft; stay yet for this that follows now!