English poem
Iv
by R. D. Blackmore (1825–1900)
"So weak was I, so poorly taught, By any but my Maker's voice, Too happy to indulge in thought, Which gives me Tittle to rejoice, And ends in nought.
"But now and then, my path grows clear, My mind casts off its grim confusion, When I have chanced on goodly cheer: Then happiness seems no delusion, Even down here.
"With love and faith, to bless the curse, To heal the mind by touch of heart, To make me feel my better part, And fight against the worse.