Musing at times on this vast Universe,
My pigmy self, abashed and mortified,
In patient silence, would henceforth abide,
Nor strive with its poor protest, to disperse
The seeming shadows from our one small world.
That Power which fashioned mountains, shaped the sea,
And into space a million planets hurled,
Could have no need of any aid from me.
The tiniest seed, what mind can understand
With all its hidden mysteries of bloom--
The whole grand system, by a Master planned,
For human interference leaves no room.
All things move onward to their certain goal;
What God conceived, God only can control.
Sudden the old cry breaks upon my ear,
The protest and appeal of the oppressed!
Something immortal wakens in my breast,
And answers to that call, "I hear, I hear!"
The burdens of the suffering world seem mine
And mine progression's healthful discontent.
My greater self proclaims itself divine--
Knows whence it came, and wherefore it was sent.
When the first ray pierced through chaotic night
My spirit was conceived by primal force,
And started on its way to gather light
And scatter it along earth's troubled course.
Kin to the sun and sea and wind and sky,
A part of the Omnipotence am I.
I am important to the perfect plan,
And I assist the purpose. As the sun
Completes the projects by the cause begun,
So His intentions are worked out by man.
In the construction of a great machine
The smallest parts are needed by the whole;
The mighty wheel is held by bolts unseen.
So in God's earth there is no useless soul.
We are the means to some majestic end,
Through us must come the universal good.
In us the forces of the Maker blend,
On us depends the larger brotherhood;
With us mankind must journey to the heights--
Let us go forth, and set God's world to rights!
Poems of Problems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Chicago : W. B. Conkey Company 1914.
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