Poem by Lewis Morris

It Shall Be Well

IF thou shall be in heart a child,
Forgiving, tender, meek, and mild,
Though with light stains of earth defiled,
Oh, soul, it shall be well.

It shall be well with thee indeed,
Whate'er thy race, thy tongue, thy creed ;
Thou shall not lose thy fitting meed.
It shall be surely well.

Not where, nor how, nor when we know,
Nor by what stages thou shall grow ;
We may bul whisper faint and low,
'It shall be surely well.'

It shall be well with thee, oh, soul,
Tho' the heavens wither like a scroll ;
Tho' sun and moon forget to roll,
Oh, soul, it shall be well. 

1. Marching
2. At an Almshouse
3. Dear Little Hand
4. A Cynic's Day-Dream
5. Caged

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