Thus then the Universe grieves not, and I
Mid woes innumerable languish still
To cheer the whole and every happier part.--
Yet, if each part is suffered by Thy will
To call for aid--as Thou art God most High,
Who to all beings wilt Thy strength impart;
Who smoothest every change by secret art,
With fond care tempering the force of fate,
Necessity and concord, power and thought,
And love divine through all things subtly wrought--
I am persuaded, when I iterate
My prayers to Thee, some comfort I must find
For these pangs poison-fraught,
Or leave the sweet sharp lust of life behind.