Helen Hunt Jackson (1830–1885)

BLINDFOLDED and alone I stand

With unknown thresholds on each hand;

The darkness deepens as I grope,

Afraid to fear, afraid to hope:

Yet this one thing I learn to know

Each day more surely as I go,

That doors are opened, ways are made,

Burdens are lifted or are laid,

By some great law unseen and still,

Unfathomed purpose to fulfil,

“Not as I will.”

Blindfolded and alone I wait;

Loss seems too bitter, gain too late;

Too heavy burdens in the load

And too few helpers on the road;

And joy is weak and grief is strong,

And years and days so long, so long:

Yet this one thing I learn to know

Each day more surely as I go,

That I am glad the good and ill

By changeless law are ordered still,

“Not as I will.”

“Not as I will:” the sound grows sweet

Each time my lips the words repeat.

“Not as I will:” the darkness feels

More safe than light when this thought steals

Like whispered voice to calm and bless

All unrest and all loneliness.

“Not as I will,” because the One

Who loved us first and best has gone

Before us on the road, and still

For us must all his love fulfil,

“Not as we will.”