A poem by Abram Joseph Ryan

What has been will be,
'Tis the under law of life;
'Tis the song of sky and sea,
To the key of calm and strife.

For guard we as we may,
What is to be will be,
The dark must fold each day --
The shore must gird each sea.

All things are ruled by law;
'Tis only in man's will
You meet a feeble flaw;
But fate is weaving still

The web and woof of life,
With hands that have no hearts,
Thro' calmness and thro' strife,
Despite all human arts.

For fate is master here,
He laughs at human wiles;
He sceptres every tear,
And fetters any smiles.

What is to be will be,
We cannot help ourselves;
The waves ask not the sea
Where lies the shore that shelves.

The law is coldest steel,
We live beneath its sway,
It cares not what we feel,
And so pass night and day.

And sometimes we may think
This cannot -- will not -- be:
Some waves must rise -- some sink,
Out on the midnight sea.

And we are weak as waves
That sink upon the shore;
We go down into graves --
Fate chants the nevermore;

Cometh a voice! Kneel down!
'Tis God's -- there is no fate --
He giveth the Cross and Crown,
He opens the jeweled gate.

He watcheth with such eyes
As only mothers own --
"Sweet Father in the skies!
Ye call us to a throne."

There is no fate -- God's love
Is law beneath each law,
And law all laws above
Fore'er, without a flaw.

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