Classic Poem

Fierce passions discompose the mind,
As tempests vex the sea;
But calm content and peace we find,
When, Lord , we turn to thee.

In vain by reason and by rule,
We try to bend the will;
For none, but in the Saviour's school,
Can learn the heav'nly skill.

Since at his feet my soul has sat,
His gracious words to hear;
Contented with my present state,
I cast, on him, my care.

" Art thou a sinner, soul? " he said,
" Then how canst thou complain?
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd
With everlasting pain!

If thou of murmuring wouldst be cur'd,
Compare thy griefs with mine;
Think what my love for thee endur'd,
And thou wilt not repine.

'Tis I appoint thy daily lot,
And I do all things well:
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.

In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;
At death thou still shalt find me nigh,
To wipe thy tears away. "

Thus I who once my wretched days
In vain repinings spent;
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,
Have learn'd to be content.