Father! whose hard and cruel law <br />Is part of thy compassion's plan, <br />Thy works presumptuously we scan <br />For what the prophets say they saw. <br /> <br />Unbidden still the awful slope <br />Walling us in we climb to gain <br />Assurance of the shining plain <br />That faith has certified to hope. <br /> <br />In vain! - beyond the circling hill <br />The shadow and the cloud abide. <br />Subdue the doubt, our spirits guide <br />To trust the record and be still. <br /> <br />To trust it loyally as he <br />Who, heedful of his high design, <br />Ne'er raised a seeking eye to thine, <br />But wrought thy will unconsciously. <br /> <br />Disputing not of chance or fate, <br />Nor questioning of cause or creed: <br />For anything but duty's deed <br />Too simply wise, too humbly grave. <br /> <br />The cannon syllabled his name; <br />His shadow shifted o'er the land, <br />Portentous, as at his demand <br />Successive battalions sprang to flame! <br /> <br />He flared the continent with fire, <br />The rivers ran in lines of light! <br />Thy will be done on earth - if right <br />Or wrong he cared not to inquire. <br /> <br />His was the heavy hand, and his <br />The service of the despot blade; <br />His the soft answer that allayed <br />War's giant animosities. <br /> <br />Let us have peace: our clouded eyes, <br />Fill, Father, with another light, <br />That we may see with clearer sight <br />Thy servant's soul in Paradise.<br /><br />Ambrose Bierce<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-death-of-grant/
