I sometimes wonder if the mighty God
Cares aught about the little deeds of men;
And if their day and time can reach his ken
Or raise their breath above the hungry sod.
Does He who lightly holds th' eternal rod,
Now taut, now loose, the threads of Why and When?
Giving passing heed--or be they one or ten--
To one-time flesh but now the wind-blown clod?
If men can die who never yet knew life,
And, smiling, hold it is no strange affair;
Or live when death were welcome boon of strife,
Torn, broken sheaves the ghostly reapers spare;
The saints must grieve for earthly sorrows rife,
And God must heed, yea surely, God must care.