William Cowper (1731-1800)
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.
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