Page:Poems Cook.djvu/137

I thank Thee, God! for all of smart
 That thou hast sent; for not in vain
Has been the heavy, aching heart,
 The sigh of grief, the throb of pain.

What if my cheek had ever kept
 Its healthful colour, glad and bright!—
What if my eyes had never wept
 Throughout a long and sleepless night?

Then, then, perchance, my soul had not
 Remember'd there were paths less fair;
And, selfish in my own blest lot,
 Ne'er strove to soothe another's care.

But when the weight of sorrow found
 My spirit prostrate and resign'd;
The anguish of the bleeding wound
 Taught me to feel for all mankind.

Even as from the wounded tree
 The goodly, precious balm will pour;
So in the rived heart there'll be
 Mercy that never flow'd before.

'Tis well to learn that sunny hours
 May quickly change to mournful shade;
'Tis well to prize life's scatter'd flowers,
 Yet be prepared to see them fade.

I thank Thee, God! for weal and woe;
 And, whatsoe'er the trial be,
Twill serve to wean me from below,
 And bring my spirit nigher Thee.

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