Compensation

DERE is a rest-place for de weary feet,
An’ for de bitter cup a conquering sweet:
For sore an’ burdened hearts dere’ll 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^[1] de soul
An’ meks it wort’ while^[2] in a empty wul’:
Far better than an old an’ outworn creed
‘Tis each day to do one such noble deed.