Man's Limitation

Man says that He is jealous,     Man says that He is wise,     Man says that He is watching     From His throne beyond the skies.     But perchance the arch above us     Is one great mirror's span,     And the Figure seen so dimly     Is a vast reflected man.     If it is love that gave us     A thousand blossoms bright,     Why should that love not save us     From poisoned aconite?     If this man blesses sunshine     Which sets his fields aglow,     Shall that man curse the tempest     That lays his harvest low?     If you may sing His praises     For health He gave to you,     What of this spine-curved cripple,     Shall he sing praises too?     If you may justly thank Him     For strength in mind and limb,     Then what of yonder weakling —     Must he give thanks to Him?     Ah dark, too dark, the riddle!     The tiny brain too small!     We call, and fondly listen,     For answer to that call.     There comes no word to tell us     Why this and that should be,     Why you should live with sorrow,     And joy should live with me.