The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!

I have lived, And seen God's hand thro a life time, And all was for the best.

They are perfect; how else?-they shall never change: We are faulty; why not?-we have time in store.

And I have written three books on the soul, Proving absurd all written hitherto, And putting us to ignorance again.

Look not down but up!

For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute's at end, And the elements' rage, the fiend voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain, Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!

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.