BLACK HOURS

I have drunk deep

Of the well of bitterness.

Black hours have harried me,

Blind fate has bludgeoned my bent head,

And on my brow the iron crown

Of sorrow has been crushed.

And being mortal, I have cried aloud

At anguish ineluctable.

But over each black hour has hung

Forlorn this star of knowledge:

The path of pain too great to be endured

Leads always unto peace;

And when the granite road of anguish mounts

Up and still up to its one ultimate

And dizzy height of torture,

Softly it dips and meets

The valley of endless rest!