Page:The city of dreadful night - and other poems (IA cityofdreadfulni00thomrich).pdf/172

 The world, he said, indeed is very good, Its Maker surely wiser far than we; Feed soul and flesh upon its bounteous food, Nor fret because of ill; All-good is He, And worketh not in years but in Eternity.

How men will strain to row against the tide, Which yet must sweep them down in its career! Or if some win their way and crown their pride, What do they win? the desert wild and drear, The savage rocks, the icy wastes austere, Wherefrom the river's turbid rills downflow: But he upon the waters broad and clear, In harmony with all the winds that blow, 'Mid cities, fields and farms, went drifting to and fro.

The king with constant heed must rule his realm, The soldier faint and starve in marches long, The sailor guide with sleepless care his helm, The poet from sick languors soar in song: