Ella Wilcox

The splendid discontent of God With chaos made the world.

Feast, and your halls are crowded; Fast, and the world goes by.

We flatter those we scarcely know, We please the fleeting guest, And deal full many a thoughtless blow To those who love us best.

There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, That can circumvent or hinder or control The firm resolve of a determined soul.

One ship drives east, and another west With the self-same winds that blow: 'Tis the set of the sails And not the gales, Which decides the way we go. Like the winds of the sea are the ways of fate, As they voyage along through life; 'Tis the will of the soul That decides its goal, And not the calm or the strife.

The truest greatness lies in being kind, the truest wisdom in a happy mind.

No question is ever settled Until it is settled right.

All those who journey, soon or late, Must pass within the garden's gate; Must kneel alone in darkness there, And battle with some fierce despair. God pity those who cannot say: "Not mine but thine"; who only pray: "Let this cup pass," and cannot see The purpose in Gethsemane. All paths which have been or must be, Must pass through Gethsemane. All those who journey, soon or late, Must pass somewhere through the garden's gate. Must kneel alone in darkness there, And deal with some fierce despair. God pity those who cannot say, "Not mine, but shine," who only pray "Let this cup pass," and cannot see The purpose of Gethsemane.