— THE old, the bitter, everlasting Why,
That rises ever to the throne of God,
His human creatures' wail. And some have cursed
His name, as Fiend and Devil. Some have sworn
He is not. Some have said, 'It is the Lord.' —
Shall all things, at the end, be one, and good,
Or is it but the sport of careless Fates,
Or the blind workings of a hidden Chance?
No ; for a blow is God's own love, I think ;
Not chastisement, but strength. The greater grief,
The greater love of God, the greater chance.
The greater strength. And God is with us still,
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem