Drwy ei amheuon i gyd, ni all y bardd beidio â chredu y bydd cariad fyw byth, a bod i holl ddigwyddiadau'r byd ryw amcan pell. Anodd dyfod o hyd i ddim sicrwydd:
I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope,
And gather dust and chaff, and call
To what I feel is Lord of all,
And faintly trust the larger hope.
Drwy bob ymchwil ac ystyriaeth, i'r un fan y daw o hyd, ac ni osodwyd erioed mo'r teimladau hyn yn odidocach mewn geiriau na chanddo ef. Hwyrach nad oedd ganddo ar ei orau ddim ond gobaith, ond yr oedd yn obaith dyrchafedig:
Thou wilt not leave us in the dust;
Thou madest man, he knows not why;
He thinks he was not made to die;
And thou hast made him; thou art just.
Our little systems have their day,
They have their day and cease to be,
They are but broken lights of thee,
And thou, O Lord, art more than they
... That God, which ever lives and loves,
One God, one law, one element,
And one far-off divine event,
To which the whole creation moves.
