Chapter III
If I do ask, How God can dumbness keepWhile Sin creeps grinning through His house of Time,Stabbing His saintliest children in their sleep,And staining holy walls with clots of crime?—Or, How may He whose wish but names a factRefuse what miser’s-scanting of supplyWould richly glut each void where man hath lackedOf grace or bread?—or, How may Power denyWholeness to th’ almost-folk that hurt our hope—These heart-break Hamlets who so barely failIn life or art that but a hair’s more scopeHad set them fair on heights they ne’er may scale?—Somehow by thee, dear Love, I win content:Thy Perfect stops th’ Imperfect’s argument.