It is strange, is it not, how in this world There are those who see mainly the beauty Of creation, and those the misery therein; How for all its evidence of harmony And peace, there is always strife within, Which biased minds select and put on hold.
The beauty and the joy inspire praise Of God, which attitude sufficiently Explains away the ugliness and sorrow As trials of that faith those lacking see As fixed conditions, today, tomorrow, Complaints against God's Providence to base.
The meaningful occasion is the one thing That men of faith and those without it share Perception of, but not interpretation: Whereas one can, the other cannot bear To see beyond events an indication Of hope, a vindication, a happy ending.
And who, I ask, is more the realist? Reality makes answer in terms clear: In Nature, there are storms, and calamity In earthquake, flood, and drought, when fear Overwhelms; though many perish, one can see And know each crisis will pass; even so, the faithless
Count it the end of days; and when it ends, And the good times return, see no hand Divine, To thank God's Providence fulfilled, but true To form, continue to highlight in that line The trials that in our daily lives continue; See not the glory that follows and transcends.
