Sometimes great quandaries know my soul:
I marvel at the silliness of man;
"How," I ask, "can God be in control
As chaos wreaks such havoc in the land?" But rectitude requires I search my soul
For evidence of sin's corrupting sway—
I find that I am not so whole
But that egotistic aims get in the way. Turmoil makes the newscast every day.
Sin is justified: "The right belongs to man!"
The worldly walk the broad, destructive way.
Christ's disciples trust as they began When first they leaned upon the Arm of Grace.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem