RELIGIO MEDICI1God's own best will bide the test,And God's own worst will fall;But, best or worst or last or first,He ordereth it all.2Forallis good, if understood,(Ah, could we understand!)And right and ill are tools of skillHeld in His either hand.3The harlot and the anchorite,The martyr and the rake,Deftly He fashions each aright,Its vital part to take.4Wisdom He makes to form the fruitWhere the high blossoms be;And Lust to kill the weaker shoot,And Drink to trim the tree.5And Holiness that so the boleBe solid at the core;And Plague and Fever, that the wholeBe changing evermore.6He strews the microbes in the lung,The blood-clot in the brain;With test and test He picks the best,Then tests them once again.7He tests the body and the mind,He rings them o'er and o'er;And if they crack, He throws them back,And fashions them once more.8He chokes the infant throat with slime,He sets the ferment free;He builds the tiny tube of limeThat blocks the artery.9He lets the youthful dreamer storeGreat projects in his brain,Until He drops the fungus sporeThat smears them out again.10He stores the milk that feeds the babe,He dulls the tortured nerve;He gives a hundred joys of senseWhere few or none might serve.11And still He trains the branch of goodWhere the high blossoms be,And wieldeth still the shears of illTo prune and prime His tree.
1God's own best will bide the test,And God's own worst will fall;But, best or worst or last or first,He ordereth it all.2Forallis good, if understood,(Ah, could we understand!)And right and ill are tools of skillHeld in His either hand.3The harlot and the anchorite,The martyr and the rake,Deftly He fashions each aright,Its vital part to take.4Wisdom He makes to form the fruitWhere the high blossoms be;And Lust to kill the weaker shoot,And Drink to trim the tree.5And Holiness that so the boleBe solid at the core;And Plague and Fever, that the wholeBe changing evermore.6He strews the microbes in the lung,The blood-clot in the brain;With test and test He picks the best,Then tests them once again.7He tests the body and the mind,He rings them o'er and o'er;And if they crack, He throws them back,And fashions them once more.8He chokes the infant throat with slime,He sets the ferment free;He builds the tiny tube of limeThat blocks the artery.9He lets the youthful dreamer storeGreat projects in his brain,Until He drops the fungus sporeThat smears them out again.10He stores the milk that feeds the babe,He dulls the tortured nerve;He gives a hundred joys of senseWhere few or none might serve.11And still He trains the branch of goodWhere the high blossoms be,And wieldeth still the shears of illTo prune and prime His tree.