Give it only time enough,
Every thing shall find its place;
Every creature wins its race,
Though the course be rough.

All is not Mistake on earth;
Providence fulfils its plan;
And Creation, down to man,
Justifies its birth.

Folly builds her Babel tower,
Where,-- since Wisdom well permits,
Grey Old Sin a Nimrod sits
For his human hour:

Let a little time have fled,
And anon it topples down;
And we tear away the crown
From that usurper's head!

All shall yet be right at last;
Coming Day shall clear it up;
And Creation's stirrup-cup
Sweeten all the past.

Good achieves its glorious ends;
Soon for Evil's transient reign,
Spite of guilt and grief and pain,
Making rich amends.

Now, like crstallising salts,
All is seen confusion here;
But right soon it shall appear
Wisdom makes no faults:

Atom to its atom flies,
Every bevill'd angle fits,
Till at length fair Order sits
Enthroned on earth and skies.