THE mills of God are hidden from the eyes of wayward man,

Undeflected from their purpose have they toiled since time began,

And while earthly kingdoms hover 'twixt recurring rise and fall

The mills of God, untroubled, sift and sort and use them all.

The mills of God are noiseless, while resounding human laws,

Framed in haste to check the evils of some long-neglected cause,

Bid the wise to heed their warning and make ready to confess

That the mills of God, tho' silent, are productive none the less.

The mills of God are tireless, but tho' earth be laid in waste

And tho' self-anointed prophets spur a weary world to haste,

Home return their baffled heralds, tho' with winged sandals shod,

To confute the Kings and Princes who'd outpace the mills of God.

The mills of God are flawless, and whatever be the grist

Drawn from Demos or Dictator, and however each resist,

They shall join in awed amazement as the fateful wheel comes round

To reveal the perfect product which the mills of God have ground.