O sweet it is to know, to feel,
In all our gloom, our wand'rings here-
No night of sorrow can conceal
Man from Thy notice, from Thy care.
When disciplined by long distress,
And led through paths of fear and woe;
Say, dost Thou love Thy children less?
No, ever-gracious Father! No.
No distance can outreach Thine eye,
No night obscure Thine endless day:
Be this my comfort when I sigh,
Be this my safeguard when I stray.
Unseen, yet every where Thou art;
Felt every where, yet all unknown!
In the frail temple of my heart,
As on Thine everlasting throne.
Where'er I turn, where'er I go,
Spirit sublime! Thy light, Thy love,
Are there: in ocean-caves below,
On yonder farthest orb above.
Thy presence in the shade is seen,
As in the sunshine; in a worm,
As in a world; in eve serene,
As in the thunder of the storm.
Weak are our thoughts: our sight is dim,
Or our uncurtain'd eye might see
A sweeter, purer, holier beam
In sorrow, than in revelry.
The fairest flow'rets of the mead,
The sparkling gem, the insect gay,
From the dark womb of earth proceed,
And borrow from the dust their ray.
The glow-worm sparkling thro' the night,
The star that twinkles in the sky,
Take from surrounding gloom their light-
Their splendour from obscurity.
And not the vilest, not the worst,
His discipline of mercy proves:
His chastening hand descends the first
On those who love Him-those He loves.
Pride, power, would seem to pass their hours
Basking in an unclouded day;
On them the dew of comfort showers,
And crown'd with flowery wreaths are they!
'Tis false, 'tis vain! those dews are cold-
They fall-but they refresh not them;
And those fair-seeming flow'rets hold
A canker in their budding stem.
In His just scales, the meanest thing
That bears the name of man, when weigh'd,
Is dear as is the proudest king
In all his glittering robes array'd.
The wretch who in the common street
The victim of oppression falls,
Is noble as the titled great
Who dies in luxury's painted halls.
Men are deceived by idle names-
'Tis easier to be rich than wise:
And wisdom less distinction claims
Than fortune's idle vanities.
But God the naked soul surveys-
Its dress deserves not His regard:
'Tis worth alone obtains His praise,
And holiness His bright reward.