As I look below the surface, as I ponder and reflect,
At times it seems an inkling of a meaning I detect
In the seeming want of all design or purpose in the plan
That started into being when the universe began.
As I gaze still deeper, musing, my spirit—that was sad
As it used to view with horror life—seems bent on growing glad.
For I see that compensation, though obscure from mortal sight,
Is the secret of existence—and whatever is, is Right.
Why were souls condemned to suffer, to be deaf, and dumb, and blind—
To be born of brutal parents, to some savage "Law" consigned—
But because such "partial evil," all too clear to mortal sight,
Shall develop in the future into universal Right?
As the relatively evil is the absolutely good—
Such negation of Perfection is but dimly understood:
But in reaping our experience—in working with our might—
The race is reaching—reaching—till arrives it—unto Right.