Will not the end explain
The crossed endeavor, earnest purpose foiled,
The strange bewilderment of good work spoiled,
The clinging weariness, the inward strain,
Will not the end explain?
Meanwhile He comforteth
Them that are losing patience. ‘Tis His way:
But none can write the words they hear Him say
For men to read, only they know He saith
Sweet words and comforteth.
Not that He doth explain
The mystery that baffleth; but a sense
Husheth the quiet heart, that far, far hence
Lieth a field set thick with golden grain,
Wetted in seedling days by many a rain:
The end–it will explain.