At The Edge Of The World-Arctic Night
O it is hard to work for God, 
To rise and take His part
Upon this battle-field of earth, 
And not sometimes lose heart!
He hides Himself so wondrously, 
As though there were no God;
He is least seen when all the powers 
Of ill are most abroad.
Or He deserts us at the hour
The fight is all but lost;
And seems to leave us to ourselves
Just when we need Him most.
Ill masters good, good seems to change 
To ill with greatest ease;
And, worst of all, the good with good 
Is at cross purposes.
It is not so, but so it looks, 
And we lose courage then;
And doubts will come if God hath kept 
His promises to men.
Workman of God! oh, lose not heart, 
But learn what God is like, 
And in the darkest battle-field, 
Thou shalt know where to strike.

Thrice blest is he to whom is given
The instinct that can tell
That God is on the field when He
Is most invisible.
Blest too is he who can divine
Where real right doth lie,
And dares to take the side that seems 
Wrong to man's blindfold eye.
Muse on His justice, downcast soul,
Muse, and take better heart;
Back with thine angel to the field, 
And bravely do thy part.
For right is right, since God is God, 
And right the day must win;
To ashes, to ashes, all in life will fall,
The shadow of death and transgression wraps us all in its cold dark shawl.
Yet God had power over even the silent grave,
That which is dead is raised to life again reborn and remade.
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