Ah, God is other than we think:
His ways are far above —
Far beyond reason’s height, and reached
Only by childlike love.
The look, the fashion of God’s ways,
Love’s life-long study are —
It can be bold, and guess, and act,
Where reason would not dare.
It has a prudence of its own,
Its step is firm and free,
Yet there is cautious silence too,
In its simplicity.
Workman of God, Ο lose not heart,
But learn what God is like;
And in the darkest battle-field
Thou shalt know where to strike.
Ο blest is he to whom is given
The instinct that can tell
That God is on the field, when
He Is most invisible.
And blest is he who can divine
Where real right doth lie,
And dares to take the side that seems
Wrong to man’s blindfold eye.
Ο learn to scorn the praise of men,
Ο learn to lose with God,
For Jesus won the world through shame,
And beck’us thee on His road.
God’s glory is a wondrous thing,
Most strange in all its ways,
And of all things on earth least like
What men agree to praise.
As He can endless glory weave
From time’s misjudging shame,
In His own world He is content
To play a losing game.
Muse on His justice, downcast soul,
Muse and take better heart;
Back, with thy Captain, to the field!
God shall soon crown thy part.
His justice is a bed where we
Our anxious hearts may lay,
And, weary with ourselves, may sleep
Our discontent away.
For right is right, since God is God,
And right the day must win;
To doubt, would be disloyalty,
To falter, would be sin.