Each trial has its weight; which, whoso bears

Knows his own woe, and need of succouring grace;

The martyr's hope half wipes away the trace

Of flowing blood; the while life's humblest cares

Smart more, because they hold in Holy Writ no place.

This be my comfort, in these days of grief,

Which is not CHRIST's, nor forms heroic tale.

Apart from Him, if not a sparrow fail,

May not He pitying view, and send relief

When foes or friends perplex, and peevish thoughts prevail?

Then keep good heart, nor take the niggard course

Of Thomas, who must see ere he would trust.

Faith will fill up GOD's word, not poorly just

To the bare letter, heedless of its force,

But walking by its light amid Earth's sun and dust.