Classic Poem

Oh , my tried soul, be patient! Roughest rinds
Fold over sweetest fruitage; heaviest clouds
Rain the most ample harvests on the fields;
The grass grows greenest where the wintry snows
Have fallen deepest, and the fairest flowers
Spring from old, dead decay. The darkest mine
Yields the most flashing jewels from its cell,
And stars are born of darkness, day of night.
Oh, my tried soul, be patient! Yet for thee
Goes on the secret alchemy of life;
God, the One-Giver, grants no boon to earth
That He withholds from thee; and from the dark
Of thy deep sorrow shall arise new light,
New strength to do and suffer, new resolves,
Perchance new gladnesses and freshest hopes!
Oh, there are times when I can no more weep
That I have suffered, for I know great strength
Is born of suffering; and I trust that still,
Wrapt in the dry husk of my outer life,
Lie warmer seeds than ever yet have burst
From its dull covering; stronger purposes
Stir consciously within, and make me great
With a new life — a life akin to God's —
Which I must nurture for the holy skies.
Help me! thou great All-Patient! for the flesh
Will sometimes falter, and the spirit fail;
Add to my human thy divinest strength,
When next I waver; rouse my faith as now,
That out of darkness I may see great light,
And follow where it ever leads — to thee!