POETRY.
PEACE.
" Wu° knows how often he offendeth ?"
When Conscience's white light burns dim In doubt of Right, that word descendeth Alone, from Him.
We cannot tell ; we see but blindly Thro' the strange cross-lights given to all; By rule than all our own more kindly We stand, or fall.
So if, in this inspired disorder We seem at times to lose our way, And by man's laws to cross the border, We can but pray !
We can but say, we know not wherefore Man's evil may be oft God's good : We think He understands ; and therefore 'Tis understood.
We can but feel, the mystic teaching Has told us over and again For God's commands to slight the preaching Commands of men.
Strange mystery ! it was so for ever ; Then let the yearning spirit rest, Through the long trouble of endeavour, Upon His breast.
Know that He knows ; all else will follow As surely as the light the dark, And as the flight of hawk or swallow Rests on the Ark.
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