Poems (Rice)/Lines to Myself after Disappointment
LINESTO MYSELF AFTER DISAPPOINTMENT.
PRESS to your bosom, but smile as you press, The thistle and cankering thorn;Nor murmur at fate, nor anguish, distress, For this, my child, you were born;Poison ofttimes in the fairest of flowers Is venomous, hidden and deep;Rest if you will in beautiful bowers, Expect but sorrow to reap.
This is the process to polish, refine, The crucible made for the soul;The world and all its vain peltings combine_ To force to the heavenly goal;Then cheerfully bow, and mind not the pain. A blessing is wrapped in the curse;Tis servile and weak to rebel or complain— Of all ways this is the worse.
'Tis base to repine: your Father has said He chastens but to make pure;For sorrows the blessed Redeemer has bled; If deep, no matter, endure! The cup take and drink, but smile as you drink, Although it flows over with gall; Though bitter the dregs, still drain it and think Your Father has sent you it all.