Cease then Nor 'order' imperfection name
Our proper bliss depends on what we blame.
Know thy own point;
This kind, this due degree Of blindness, weakness,
Heav'n bestows on thee.
Submit--In this, or any other sphere,
Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear:
Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'r,
Or in the natal, or the mortal hour.
All Nature is but Art, unknown to thee;
All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see; All Discord, Harmony, not understood;
All partial Evil, Universal Good.
And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite,
One truth is clear, whatever is, is right.
Excerpt from An Essay on Man. Epistle I. A poem by Alexander Pope 1734
