We do not walk alone;
Through seeming accidents,
What we call chance is known
To be God's Providence.
How far our own mistakes may make our loss,
Our errors mar--how fate and will may cross,
I know not; this I know--
Since even comets not unguided go,
Still the blind world is led by God,
And goeth trembling on His safest road.
O blest! O desolate!
The shadowed lives, that stand
Bowed by the very weight
Of that protective Hand!
But most where most the lines of life are crost,
And where short-sighted Doubt had written--lost,
Is shown the Higher Will!
Alas! we say, the fatal sisters still
Cut the unfinished thread; but we
Work blindly, without plan--not God's necessity.
Great Power that movest all,
That with so sweet constraint
Dost draw through fear and fall,
A hero or a saint--
Thou hast had martyrs who were weak in faith
And first denied Thee--yet they won the death!
Heaven would not lose them so;
Nor will the harpers round the Throne forego
One voice attuned to join their choir,
For all the trembling flesh and ways of fire.
So, though Thy work be laid
In most unworthy hands,
I dare not be afraid.
He strengthens who commands.
He sends his strongest angels to the weak,
The altar-coal when untaught lips must speak,
God's are the will and deed;
None holds a gift but must supply a need:
The heart's voice, saying, Woe is me
If I do not this work--is Destiny.
