SATISFIED

It matters not what be thy lot,

So Love doth guide;

For storm or shine, pure peace is thine,

Whate'er betide.

And of these stones, or tyrants’ thrones,

God able is

To raise up seed — in thought and deed —

To faithful His.

Aye, darkling sense, arise, go hence!

Our God is good.

False fears are foes — truth tatters those,

When understood.

Love looseth thee, and lifteth me,

Ayont hate's thrall:

There Life is light, and wisdom might,

And God is All.

The centuries break, the earth-bound wake,

God's glorified!

Who doth His will — His likeness still —

Is satisfied.