A poem out of Diary of an Old Soul, a meditation for September.
13.
'Things do go wrong. I know grief, pain, and fear.
I see them lord it sore and wide around.'
From her fair twilight answers Truth, star-crowned,
'Things wrong are needful where wrong things abound.
Things go not wrong; but Pain, with dog and spear,
False faith from human hearts will hunt and hound.
The earth shall quake 'neath them that trust the solid ground.'
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