The Conflict of Convictions

Lo! in the heart of man, the world entire, Where thrives the plant of hate, So many souls on the path of ire Against the heavens sate. Its roots were drawn in nature’s round, The cauldron of dismay, And yet through each discordant sound, There springs a sacred ray.

For nature has whispers ahold, In every yearning cry, As the moonbeams stretch out with gold, ‘Neath evening’s sapphire sky. Let the soul burgeon, embrace, O, darkness give way, For we learn of light in this place— ‘Tis the fashion of day.

• James Russell Lowell