When felt beat down, low, helpless,
Unable to move and weak,
Fly fast to Hand and undress
All sorrows on that Grand Physique.
Hard though Disappointment come,
When Bitterness claws at soul,
When first dear dream is overcome,
When little be left to console,
Yet Truth, high-held and fast
Holds two droughts in the hand of one–
The gall and sweet, the forsaken and steadfast–
But will through things, yet, overcome.
Sorrow can come like silent thief
Yet shall be swallowed by hopeful belief.