Classic Poem

God's will is—the bud of the rose for your hair,
The ring for your hand and the pearl for your breast;
God's will is—the mirror that makes you look fair
No wonder you whisper: “God's will is the best.”

But what if God's will were the famine, the flood?
And were God's will the coffin shut down in your face?
And were God's will the worm in the fold of the bud,
Instead of the picture, the light, and the lace?

Were God's will the arrow that flieth by night,
Were God's will the pestilence walking by day,
The clod in the valley, the rock on the height—
I fancy “God's will” would be harder to say.