It is strange, is it not, how in this world
There are those who see mainly the beauty
Of creation, and those the misery therein;
How for all its evidence of harmony
And peace, there is always strife within,
Which biased minds select and put on hold.
The beauty and the joy inspire praise
Of God, which attitude sufficiently
Explains away the ugliness and sorrow
As trials of that faith those lacking see
As fixed conditions, today, tomorrow,
Complaints against God's Providence to base.
The meaningful occasion is the one thing
That men of faith and those without it share
Perception of, but not interpretation:
Whereas one can, the other cannot bear
To see beyond events an indication
Of hope, a vindication, a happy ending.
And who, I ask, is more the realist?
Reality makes answer in terms clear:
In Nature, there are storms, and calamity
In earthquake, flood, and drought, when fear
Overwhelms; though many perish, one can see
And know each crisis will pass; even so, the faithless
Count it the end of days; and when it ends,
And the good times return, see no hand Divine,
To thank God's Providence fulfilled, but true
To form, continue to highlight in that line
The trials that in our daily lives continue;
See not the glory that follows and transcends.