Come drifting home with broken masts and sails.
I shall believe the hand which never fails.
From seeming evil worketh good to me.
And though I weep because those sails are battered,
Still will I cry while my best hopes lie shattered.
I trust in Thee.
I will not doubt though all my prayers return
Unanswered from the still white realm above.
I shall believe it is an all-wise love
Which has refused those things for which I yearn.
And though at times I cannot keep from grieving,
Yet the pure ardor of my fixed believing
Undimmed shall burn.
I will not doubt though sorrows fall like rain
And troubles swarm like bees about a hive.
I shall believe the heights for which I strive
Are only reached by anguish and by pain.
And though I groan and tremble with my crosses,
I yet shall see through my severest loses
The greater gain.
I will not doubt, well anchored in the faith
Like some staunch ship my soul braves every gale.
So strong, its courage that it will not fail
To breast the mighty unknown sea of death.
O may I cry when body parts with spirit.
I do not doubt so listening worlds may hear it
With my last breath.
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox (d. 1880)