Classic Poem

How shalt thou bear the cross that now
So dread a weight appears?
Keep quietly to God, and think
Of the Eternal Years.

Thy self-upbraiding is a snare,
Though meekness it appears;
More humbling is it far for thee
To face the Eternal Years.

Brave quiet is the thing for thee,
Chiding thy careful fears;
Learn to be real, from the thought
Of the Eternal Years.

Bear gently, suffer like a child,
Nor be ashamed of tears,
Thine oil of gladness is the thought
Of the Eternal Years.

He practises all virtue well
Who his own cross reveres,
And lives in the familiar thought
Of the Eternal Years.