All for the Best

We dare not doubt, that all will end
In what is good, and true, and best;
That all we suffer here will tend
To make us pure, and wise, and blest.

'Tis true, rebellious thoughts arraign
The mysteries of God's decree;
But hearts of love will not complain
Of aught, that hath its source in Thee.

'Tis Thine, to mold us at Thy will,
Oh God, the artist of the soul;
'Tis ours, to sit, in meekness, still,
Beneath the blows, that make us whole.

Then smite us here, and smite us there,
As best Thy Providence shall find;
Afflictions, sent from heaven, repair,
And mold, and beautify the mind.

— Christ in the Soul (1872) LIII.