ALL things are order’d for the best,
In perfect love design’d;
The sorrows that we so much dread,
But purify the mind.
Our reason owns the sacred truth,
And seeks to win the soul;
But feeling is a stubborn guest,
That will not bear controul.
Tho’ while she thus extends her reign,
And rules the passive mind;
Her arrows wound us as we go,
And reason’s sight is blind.
Man’s nat’ral pow’rs are found too weak,
His feelings to restrain;
Till pure religion from above,
A faithful watch maintain.
Then how will ev’ry tumult cease,
And ev’ry storm subside;
When perfect love shall crown the soul,
And resignation guide.
We all must labour for the prize,
Ere we these blessings share;
Which are, and ever will be found,
The fruit of fervent pray’r.
The richest gold can only boast
A perishable worth;
Conceal’d from man it lies remote,
Deep in its parent earth.
We labour with incessant toil,
Her treasures to secure;
Which with a magic spell endow’d,
Our sordid hearts allure.
Who then that sees the purer gold,
The far superior prize,
The sacred jewel lodg’d within,
Would such a gift despise?
Who careless pass those treasures by,
Nor labour to possess
The only riches that shall gain
Eternal happiness?
Mild resignation has a charm
To sooth the troubled mind;
In her is every present good,
And future hope combin’d.
Her strength is allsufficient found,
Each comfort to ensure;
Nor will she occupy the heart,
Unless that heart be pure.
Celestial peace will never spread
Her mantle o’er the mind;
Till murm’ring passion is subdued,
And ev’ry wish resign’d.
(Elizabeth Bath)
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