Consummation

I know Pain sits with pointed knife

At every avenue of life

By gentle sting or deadly thrust

To teach us what we ought we must;

But his unending pangs may bless

Who sees, or suffers,—I cannot guess.

I know that bitter may grow sweet

By ripening, and the furnace-heat

Of temporal suffering burn away

From hidden gold the cumbering clay;

How evil here to good may grow

And not beyond, — I do not know.

I know that love surpasses hate,—

That patient faith outwearies fate:

That man is one and naught is good

That sunders Human Brotherhood;

My hate should live and love should die

Where reigns the good God – know not I.

For boundless love and power may claim

Alone the homage of that name;

Weak were the arm compelled to meet

In its own work its own defeat –

Fiendish the will that could bestow

Sensation for Eternal Woe!