Classic Poem

I CANNOT plainly see the way,
So dark the grave is; but I know
If I do truly work and pray,
Some good will brighten out of woe.

For the same hand that doth unbind
The winter winds, sends sweetest showers,
And the poor rustic laughs to find
His April meadows full of flowers.

I said I could not see the way,
And yet what need is there to see,
More than to do what good I may,
And trust the great strength over me?

Why should my spirit pine, and lean
From its clay house; or restless, bow,
Asking the shadows, if they mean
To darken always, dim as now?

Why should I vainly seek to solve
Free will, necessity, the pall?
I feel — I know — that God is love,
And knowing this, I know it all.