Classic Poem

" There's a divinity which shapes our ends
Rough hew them how we will. " — Shakspeare .
The cold iron curb of frowning circumstance,
That hand of The Unseen in earth's affairs,
That grim correctioner call'd chance or mischance —
Moveth by stealth and striketh unawares.
By stealth it moves and strikes at King and clown,
By stealth it moves and strikes to heal or kill,
Here, stealthily, it topples kingdoms down,
There, stealthily it soothes a poor man's ill.
It makes or mars the hope of rich or poor,
None are too mean to come within its scope,
Here on ambition it doth close the door,
There to ambition it the door doth ope.
Blind chance it verily doth seem to men,
Keen chance it seems to him within its ken.