I think, if thou could'st know,
O soul, that will complain,
What lies concealed below
Our burden and our pain--
How just our anguish brings
Nearer those longed-for things
We seek for now in vain--
I think thou would'st rejoice and not complain.
I think, if thou could'st see,
With thy dim mortal sight,
How meanings, dark to thee,
Are shadows hiding light;
Truth's efforts crossed and vexed,
Life's purpose all perplexed--
If thou could'st see them right,
I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright.
And yet thou can'st not know;
And yet thou can'st not see;
Wisdom and sight are slow
In poor humanity.
If thou could'st _trust_, poor soul,
In him who rules the whole,
Thou would'st find peace and rest:
Wisdom and sight are well, but trust is best.