I know what I want and what I might gain, and yet, how profitless to know.
One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, sleep to wake.
God is the perfect poet, Who in his person acts his own creations.
But there are times when patience proves at fault.
God is the perfect poet.
There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall live as before; The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with for evil so much good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect round.