Classic Poem

“Doom thou the Lord! Arraign Him still!
He will not swerve a foot from the way.
Thy mending 'mounteth not a mite,
though thou, for grief, be never blithe.
Stint from thy strife, and cease to chide,
and seek His grace full swift and sure;
thy prayer may His pity touch,
and Mercy may show forth her craft.
His solace may assuage thy grief,
that all thy losses glance lightly off;
for, marr'd or made, mourning and mirth,
all lieth in Him, as He deem fit”