The Redemption from "Vanity."

The great wheel of the world goes round,

And nothing is at a stay;

The generations come and pass,

As shadows move upon the grass,

More permanent than they.

A transient ill, a fleeting good,

A hope that is attained, and gone —

On all, the penalty alike,

Of passing with the hours that strike,

As the great world moveth on.

And the flowers that cluster over it

Are crushed and buried beneath;

For life sports with its strength above,

And we dare to smile, and we dare to love,

But ever below is death.

And we cry, O God, but our joys are sweet:

And why doth the wheel go round?

And why must that which is high be low?

And how canst Thou have ordained it so?

And where — this throbbing movement through —

Oh, where can rest be found?

But yet, though the wheel be high, look up:

For a Form, and a Human Form

Sitteth in peace above it still,

And guideth it with a perfect will,

Through brightness and through storm.

A Form, and a Human Form is there,

Whom the wheel, with spirit instinct, obeys —

The chariot-wheel of destiny —

For a purpose fixed and firm has He,

And the end shall be only praise.

For it bringeth low all human pride,

And humbleth into dust the Dust,

And thou seest not the other side —

For there we see not, but we trust —

Where the wheel revolveth into day,

And the cycle of life comes to its stay.

The Dead and Risen, He knoweth it all,

And therefore His face is bright and still

With the joy to which He alone can guide

The souls for whom He has stooped and died

In the might of His perfect will.

And the wheel of the world is His chariot-wheel

For His triumph it moveth on:

And we catch from His glorious face today

The peace of its promise all the way,

Till the goal of His rest be won.

F. W. Grant.