Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/We Two

by Sarah Piatt

WE TWO.

God's will is—the bud of the rose for your hair,
 The ring for your hand and the pearl for your breast;
God's will is—the mirror that makes you look fair.
 No wonder you whisper: "God's will is the best."

But what if God's will were the famine, the flood?—
 And were God's will the coffin shut down in your face?—
And were God's will the worm in the fold of the bud,
 Instead of the picture, the light, and the lace?

Were God's will the arrow that flieth by night,
 Were God's will the pestilence walking by day,
The clod in the valley, the rock on the height—
 I fancy "God's will" would be harder to say.

God's will is—your own will. What honour have you
 For having your own will, awake or asleep?
Who praises the lily for keeping the dew,
 When the dew is so sweet for the lily to keep?

God's will unto me is not music or wine.
 With helpless reproaching, with desolate tears,
God's will I resist, for God's will is divine;
 And I—shall be dust to the end of my years.

God's will is—not mine. Yet one night I shall lie
 Very still at his feet, where the stars may not shine.
"Lo! I am well pleased," I shall hear from the sky;
 Because—it is God's will I do, and not mine.