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L. M.



Through all the various shifting scene

Of life’s mistaken ill or good,

Thy hand, O God! conducts, unseen,

The beautiful vicissitude.

Thou givest with paternal care,

Howe’er unjustly we complain,

To all their necessary share

Of joy and sorrow, health and pain.

All things on earth, and all in heaven,

On Thine eternal will depend;

And all for greater good were given,

Would man pursue the appointed end.

Be this my care!—to all beside

Indifferent let my wishes be;

Passion be calm, and dumb be pride,

And fixed my soul, great God! on Thee.

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