Pained Unto Death Poem by Silas Weir Mitchell

ONE life I knew was a psalm, a terrible psalm of pain,
Dark with disaster of torment, body and brain
Racked as if God were not, and hope a dream
Some demon wrought to bid this soul blaspheme
All life's remembered sweetness. 'Peace, be still,'
I hear her spirit whisper. 'His the will
That from some unseen bow of purpose sped
Thy sorrow and my torture.' God of dread!
The long sad years that justify the dead,
The long sad years at last interpreted:
Serene as clouds that over stormy seas
At sunset rise with mystery of increase,
One with the passionate deep that gave them birth,
Her gentled spirit rose on wings of peace,
And was and was not of this under earth.