100. Vexations
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{171}
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? {172} |
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,
|
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But walking by its light amid earth's sun and dust.
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Off Sardinia.
June 21, 1833.
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