Sonnet or
Sound Rhyme
It is ordained that all things shall comply
completely
With those who fear God’s name, the orbit
of the world
And fortune’s centre-point, around which it
is whirled,
Shall bow – if God sees fit – down to their
hand if need be:
The world’s a workshop though for heaven’s
fortune-things,
With many twists and turns and with the
strangest swings
That to the flesh’s purblind eye seem made
to measure,
Yet to a noble soul can give such wondrous
pleasure,
Since it God’s heav’nly hand in all things can
discern,
No matter where the wind of fortune seeks
to turn,
It still makes out its God at every compass
point,
And fortune’s frail glass never puts it out
of joint:
However harsh and searing fate might seem
to be,
God makes all things that are, and does so perfectly.
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