Classic Poem

Severer woes my spirit steep,
I weep not as I used to weep;
The tear bedews my cheek no more,
But lives within my heart's warm core.
What, tho' it may not reach my eye,
It thrills my frame with agony;
And tho' the sigh must be represt,
It swells within my aching breast.
O Christian! are they cherish'd there —
The food of anguish and despair?
And is not life too frail and brief
For time to feed on secret grief?
Hast thou no duties to pursue?
No sacred claims before thy view?
No task appointed for the day,
That hours may thus be mourn'd away?
No preparation for the morrow,
To steal one passing pang from sorrow?
No fellow-creature to befriend,
That thus life's interest seems to end?
No good to do? — no hope to cheer? —
That wan and worn thou lingerest here.
Is nought of blessing to thee given?
No home on earth? — no trust in Heaven?
— O, if those holy hopes on thee
Have pour'd their sacred agency;
And if thou hast a soul to feel
The mercies which such hopes reveal;
However dark thy path may be,
With this world's passing misery,
Go, and be thankful — murmur not
Over the sorrows of thy lot;
But, meekly happy, kiss the rod;
All-grateful that thou hast a God;
And let all earthly grief be still
In the high aim to do his will. —
All fear, all doubt, all woe discard,
And He will be " Thy great reward. "

Severer woes my spirit steep,
I weep not as I used to weep;
The tear bedews my cheek no more,
But lives within my heart's warm core.
What, tho' it may not reach my eye,
It thrills my frame with agony;
And tho' the sigh must be represt,
It swells within my aching breast.
O Christian! are they cherish'd there —
The food of anguish and despair?
And is not life too frail and brief
For time to feed on secret grief?
Hast thou no duties to pursue?
No sacred claims before thy view?
No task appointed for the day,
That hours may thus be mourn'd away?
No preparation for the morrow,
To steal one passing pang from sorrow?
No fellow-creature to befriend,
That thus life's interest seems to end?
No good to do? — no hope to cheer? —
That wan and worn thou lingerest here.
Is nought of blessing to thee given?
No home on earth? — no trust in Heaven?
— O, if those holy hopes on thee
Have pour'd their sacred agency;
And if thou hast a soul to feel
The mercies which such hopes reveal;
However dark thy path may be,
With this world's passing misery,
Go, and be thankful — murmur not
Over the sorrows of thy lot;
But, meekly happy, kiss the rod;
All-grateful that thou hast a God;
And let all earthly grief be still
In the high aim to do his will. —
All fear, all doubt, all woe discard,
And He will be " Thy great reward. "