Optimus

                              I.
He who made all made nought in vain
     Of fair or foul, of mean or grand; 
     The shores no needless grain of sand
Nor needless drop the seas contain.

Their use we may not know, yet all 
     Combine to form a perfect whole; 
     And to the all-inclusive soul
There can be neither great nor small.

The flowers that bloom upon the waste, 
     Nor win the glance of human eye; 
     The gems that deep in caverns lie;
The fruits that fall where none may taste;

The coral palaces that grow
     Beneath the 'ever-murmuring waves, 
     Homes of their builders and their graves,
Wrought through the centuries moving slow;

The crystal spires that gleam and flash 
     In sunlight on the mountain's crest, 
     Above the loneliest eagle's nest,
Above the storm, the thunder's crash —

These and whate'er He bids to be, 
     Are needful to His vast domain; 
     Nor falls the sunshine, nor the rain,
Vainly on desert or on sea.

                              II.
No ill, so called, is only ill;
     No grief can probe the heart in vain;
     No pain can ultimate in pain; 
No loss in loss; no death can kill:

But ever since the world began,
     Have grief, and pain, and loss, and sin 
     Helped by their bitter discipline
The progress of still erring man.

Life, to our dim half-seeing, seems 
     A thing to fill the soul with fear; 
     And all its voices pain the ear
Like cries of anguish heard in dreams.

But the clear eye that scans the whole, 
     Beyond its storm can see the calm;
     And o'er its discords sounds a psalm 
Of triumph to the prescient soul:

And all that is, or dark or bright, 
     All that fears, hopes, despairs, exults, 
     Helps to bring in the large results
Of love, and liberty, and light —

Helps to bring back to truth's control 
     A world that long had gone amiss, 
     And give to life its crowning bliss
And oneness with a perfect whole!