Never yet in darkest mood
  Doubted I that Thou wast good,
  Nor mistook my will for fate,
  Pain of sin for heavenly hate,—­
  Never dreamed the gates of pearl
  Rise from out the burning marl,
  Or that good can only live
  Of the bad conservative,
  And through counterpoise of hell
  Heaven alone be possible.

  For myself alone I doubt;
  All is well, I know, without;
  I alone the beauty mar,
  I alone the music jar.

  Yet, with hands by evil stained,
  And an ear by discord pained,
  I am groping for the keys
  Of the heavenly harmonies;
  Still within my heart I bear
  Love for all things good and fair. 
  Hand of want or soul in pain
  Has not sought my door in vain
  I have kept my fealty good
  To the human brotherhood;
  Scarcely have I asked in prayer
  That which others might not share. 
  I, who hear with secret shame
  Praise that paineth more than blame,
  Rich alone in favors lent,
  Virtuous by accident,
  Doubtful where I fain would rest,
  Frailest where I seem the best,
  Only strong for lack of test,—. 
  What am I, that I should press
  Special pleas of selfishness,
  Coolly mounting into heaven
  On my neighbor unforgiven? 
  Ne’er to me, howe’er disguised,
  Comes a saint unrecognized;
  Never fails my heart to greet
  Noble deed with warmer beat;
  Halt and maimed, I own not less
  All the grace of holiness;
  Nor, through shame or self-distrust,
  Less I love the pure and just. 
  Thou, O Elder Brother! who
  In Thy flesh our trial knew,
  Thou, who hast been touched by these
  Our most sad infirmities,
  Thou alone the gulf canst span,
  In the dual heart of man,
  And between the soul and sense
  Reconcile all difference,
  Change the dream of me and mine
  For the truth of Thee and Thine,
  And, through chaos, doubt, and strife,
  Interfuse Thy calm of life. 
  Haply, thus by Thee renewed,
  In Thy borrowed goodness good,
  Some sweet morning yet in God’s
  Dim, aeonian periods,
  Joyful I shall wake to see
  Those I love who rest in Thee,
  And to them in Thee allied
  Shall my soul be satisfied.

  Scarcely Hope hath shaped for me
  What the future life may be. 
  Other lips may well be bold;
  Like the publican of old,
  I can only urge the plea,
  “Lord, be merciful to me!”
  Nothing of desert I claim,
  Unto me belongeth shame. 
  Not for me the crowns of gold,
  Palms, and harpings manifold;
  Not for erring eye and feet
  Jasper wall and golden street. 
  What Thou wilt, O Father, give! 
  All is gain that I receive. 
  If my voice I may not raise
  In the elders’ song of praise,
  If I may not, sin-defiled,
  Claim my birthright as a child,
  Suffer it that I to Thee