Oh, God has not created
	The heavens and the earth,
And all that lies between them,
	In cruel sport or mirth.
He gloats not o'er the struggles
	Of mortals here below
As ruthlessly beholding
	A gladiator's show.

We men are not His playthings,
	That live our little day
To please Him with our antics
	And then be cast away.
The winds and waves and thunder
	Give no unmeaning noise,
The sun and moon and planets,
	Are more than giant's toys.

The stars, whose softened lustre
	Bedecks the midnight sky,
Are not like sparks from corn-stalks,
	That give one gleam and die.
Oh, no, in all creation
	We see a grand design,
To train immortal spirits,
	To live a life divine.