Classic Poem

The lightning came with fierce and fiery breath
And swept a human soul to instant death.

But all the air, so fever-charged before,
After the storm grew sweet with health once more.

And men reëcho that old-time refrain,
“Thus good with evil mingles—loss with gain.”

How do we know what evil is, or good?—
What, loss or gain? Ah, if we understood,

Should we thus scan God's deep but perfect way,
Singing, perchance, His goodness all astray—

In harsh discordance with that praiseful hymn
Struck from the lyres of His own cherubim?

Love writes the tune—and death, as life, must be
A fitting chord in the vast harmony.

And through the rhythmic maze I seem to hear
This word, deferring to our human fear:—

“Be of good heart, O ye of little faith!
For that which men call dying is not death.

“What if that life ye mourn as passed away,
Has but emerged from darkness into day?

“What if that other sphere it sprang to reach,
Were fair beyond the praise of human speech?

“What if, between the two—you who remain
And him who went,—his were the greater gain?”