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Poem by Ina Donna Coolbrith


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I CAN not count my life a loss,
With all its length of evil days.
I hold them only as the dross
About its gold, whose worth outweighs;
For each and all I give Him praise.

For, drawing nearer to the brink
That leadeth down to final rest,
I see with clearer eyes, I think;
And much that vexed me and oppressed,
Have learned was right, and just, and best.

So, though I may but dimly guess
Its far intent, this gift of His
I honor; nor would know the less
One sorrow, or in pain or bliss
Have other than it was and is.



Ina Donna Coolbrith


Ina Donna Coolbrith's other poems:
  1. The Mariposa Lily
  2. In Ended Days, a Child, I Trod Thy Sands
  3. Unbound
  4. The Day of Our Lord
  5. Two


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