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.