Classic Poem

Who does not feel how weak
Are all our words to speak
Of him, the Infinite,—
Below all depth, above all height!
Yet hath no other speech
To me such wondrous reach
As this the prophet saith: that he
Inhabiteth Eternity!

We dwell in Time: our ear
Is deafened by things near;
Darkly we see, and know
Only in part, also.
From troubles that annoy
Plucking no future joy,
Sweetening failure's bitterness
With no deferred but sure success,—
As if the passing hour were all,
With it we rise and fall:
The while that he
Inhabiteth Eternity!

Patient and suffering long
With man's mistakes and wrong;
Seeing how all threads come
In place in Time's vast loom,
And in the finished web fulfil
The pattern of his perfect will;
To whom as one is seen
What is, will be, hath been,—
Tranquil and lifted clear
Above our fevered atmosphere,
Forever dwelleth he
In the same strength of his Eternity!

O Father of my life,
Give me, amid its strife,
To bear within my breast
The secret of thy rest,—
The river of thy peace within,
Whose banks are always fresh and green;
Give me, while here in Time I be,
Also to dwell with thee in thine Eternity.