Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/314

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IN FRENCH FIELDS.
281

God's rigour never, never sleeps.
She waits for peace? In vain.
She struggles or resigned weeps,
He strikes and strikes again.

In beings that she loves the most,
He wounds her, till half mad
She wanders like a restless ghost!
A problem strange and sad.

Thus stricken, reft of joy and light,
God makes her fair and clean,
Like an enamel hard and bright,
A sword of temper keen.

Subject to Adam's debt below,
And every curse and pain,
The Judge inflexible would know
If she will staunch remain.

Will she fight on 'gainst every ill?
Brave every storm? Stand fast,
Her lofty mission to fulfil,
With courage to the last?

And when He sees her ever true,
Like needle to the pole,
Upon His work He smiles anew,—
Thus forges God a soul.