I see the wrong that round me lies,
    I feel the guilt within;
  I hear, with groan and travail-cries,
    The world confess its sin.

  Yet, in the maddening maze of things,
    And tossed by storm and flood,
  To one fixed trust my spirit clings;
    I know that God is good!

  Not mine to look where cherubim
    And seraphs may not see,
  But nothing can be good in Him
    Which evil is in me.

  The wrong that pains my soul below
    I dare not throne above,
  I know not of His hate,—­I know
    His goodness and His love.

  I dimly guess from blessings known
    Of greater out of sight,
  And, with the chastened Psalmist, own
    His judgments too are right.

  I long for household voices gone,
    For vanished smiles I long,
  But God hath led my dear ones on,
    And He can do no wrong.

  I know not what the future hath
    Of marvel or surprise. 
  Assured alone that life and death
    His mercy underlies.

  And if my heart and flesh are weak
    To bear an untried pain,
  The bruised reed He will not break,
    But strengthen and sustain.

  No offering of my own I have. 
    Nor works my faith to prove;
  I can but give the gifts He gave,
    And plead His love for love.

  And so beside the Silent Sea
    I wait the muffled oar;
  No harm from Him can come to me
    On ocean or on shore.

  I know not where His islands lift
    Their fronded palms in air;
  I only know I cannot drift
    Beyond His love and care.

  O brothers! if my faith is vain,
    If hopes like these betray,
  Pray for me that my feet may gain
    The sure and safer way.

  And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen
    Thy creatures as they be,
  Forgive me if too close I lean
    My human heart on Thee!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

* * * * *

STRONG SON OF GOD, IMMORTAL LOVE.

    FROM “IN MEMORIAM,” INTRODUCTION.

  Strong Son of God, immortal Love,
    Whom we, that have not seen thy face,
    By faith, and faith alone, embrace,
  Believing where we cannot prove;

  Thine are these orbs of light and shade;
    Thou madest Life in man and brute;
    Thou madest Death; and lo, thy foot
  Is on the skull which thou hast made.

  Thou wilt not leave us in the dust: 
    Thou madest man, he knows not why;
    He thinks he was not made to die;
  And thou hast made him:  thou art just.

  Thou seemest human and divine,
    The highest, holiest manhood, thou: 
    Our wills are ours, we know not how;
  Our wills are ours, to make them thine.

  Our little systems have their day;
    They have their day and cease to be: 
    They are but broken lights of thee,
  And thou, O Lord, art more than they.