Compensation

Dere is a rest-place for de weary feet,

an’ for de bitter cup a conquering sweet:

for sore an’ burdened hearts dere’lll be a balm,

And after days of tempest comes a calm.

For every smallest wrong dere is a right,

an’ t’rough de dark shall gleam a ray of light:

oppression for a season may endure,

but ‘tis true wud, “For ebery ill a cure.”

Den let me not t’ink hard of those who use

deir power tyrannously an’ abuse:

let me remember always while I live,

de noblest of all deeds is to forgive.

This, not revenge, is sweet: this lif’s de soul

an’ meks it wort’ while in a empty wul’:

far better than an old an’ outworn creed

‘tis each day to do one such noble deed.