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Poem	Whatever is a cruel wrong, Whatever is unjust, The honest years that speed along Will trample in the dust. In restless youth I railed at fate With all my puny might, But now I know if I but wait It all will come out right. Though Vice may don the judge’s gown And play the censors’ part, And Fact be cowed by Falsehood’s frown And Nature ruled by art; Though Labour toils through blinding tears And idle Wealth is might, I know that the honest, earnest years Will bring it all out right. Though poor and loveless creeds may pass For pure religion’s gold; Though ignorance may rule the mass While truth meets glances cold, I know a law, complete, sublime, Controls us with its might, And in God’s own appointed time It all will come out right.
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