And yet,-- What is this ruthless Circumstance?--
A stolid Fate! or trivial thing of Chance?
What, O thou discontented! is this Power
Guiding thy way, and guarding every hour?
Is it aught else than God's paternal care,--
His Providence o'erruling everywhere,
His kind and mighty and mysterious Will
That fix'd thee where thou art, and holds thee still?
O blind and ignorant,-- who dost not know
That all our checks and trials here below,
Our inner crosses, and our outer cares,
Our wants, temptations, sorrows, fears, and snares
That all the disappointment and the strife
Which baffle hope and break the rest of life,
All, all are
sent,
-- and ordered from above
In strictest justice and profoundest Love!
A slave? in fetters? -- Yes, for thou art bound
To toil awhile for everything around;
Not to himself may any creature live,--
Not to delights his time and talents give,--
Not think of Gain amidst a world of Loss,--
But duteously go forth, and bear -- a cross!
Thou canst not choose: the lot is cast for thee:
Thy care be still in Duty's path to be;
Under all hindrance striving for the best,--
And leaving Heaven to care for all the rest.