Classic Poem

O'er many a wish frustrated, purpose foiled,
Still dost thou weep, discouraged Soul of Man?
Be comforted, since even Nature can
Too rarely triumph fully where she toiled;

Behold the tree, the flower, the cloud despoiled
Of beauty, which was virtue in her plan;
A thousand times her purposes outran
Their issues, maimed and crippled, bent and soiled.

If many evenings close in faintest gray
Before one glorious sunset crowns the day,
If, for one oak, a myriad acorns rot,

If Nature fails a thousand times ere one
Clear master-stroke of beauty fronts the sun,
Man's frequent frailty may deject him not.