Page:Poems and lyrics of the joy of earth.djvu/129

Rh She's the victim of fools: that seems nearer the mark.
 * On earth there are engines and numerous fools.

Why the Lord can permit them, we're still in the dark;
 * He does, and in some sort of way they're his tools.

It's a roundabout way, with respect let me add,
 * If Molly goes crippled that we may be taught:

But, perhaps, it's the only way, though it's so bad;
 * In that case we'll bow down our heads,—as we ought.

But the worst of me is, that when I bow my head,
 * I perceive a thought wriggling away in the dust,

And I follow its tracks, quite forgetful, instead
 * Of humble acceptance: for, question I must!

Here's a creature made carefully—carefully made!
 * Put together with craft, and then stamped on, and why?

The answer seems nowhere: it's discord that's played.
 * The sky's a blue dish!—an implacable sky!