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Dropping in my uplifted hands

All things for which I blindly cry ;

But that His plans and purposes

Have grown to me lefs ftrange and dim; And where I cannot understand,

I trust the iffues unto Him.

And spite of many broken dreams,
This have I truly learned to say—
Prayers which I thought unanswered once
Were answered in God's own best way.

And though some hopes I cherished once,
Perished untimely in their birth,

Yet have I been beloved and blest
Beyond the measure of my worth.

And sometimes in my hours of grief
For moments, I have come to stand
Where, in the sorrows on me laid,

I felt the chaftening of God's hand;

Then learned I that the weakest ones

Are kept secureft from life's harms; And that the tender lambs alone

Are carried in the fhepherd's arms.

And, fitting by the wayfide blind,
He is the nearest to the light,

Who crieth out most earnestly,

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'Lord, that I might receive my fight!"

O feet, grown weary as ye walk,

When down life's hill my pathway lies, What care I, while my soul can mount As the young eagle mounts the skies?

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eyes, with weeping faded out,

What matters it how dim ye be?
My inner vifion sweeps untired
The reaches of eternity!

O death, most dreaded power of all,

When the laft moment comes, and thou Darkeneft the windows of my soul,

Through which I look on Nature now;

Yea, when mortality diffolves,

Shall I not meet thine hour unawed?

My house eternal in the heavens,
Is lighted by the smile of God!

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Phoebe Carey.

I

CONTENT AND RICH.

DWELL in grace's courts,

Enriched with virtue's rights;

Faith guides my wit, love leads my will,

Hope all my mind delights.

In lowly vales I mount

To pleasure's highest pitch,

My fimple dress sure honor brings,
My poor eftate is rich.

My conscience is my crown,
Contented thoughts my rest,

My heart is happy in itself,
My blifs is in my breast.

Enough, I reckon wealth;

A mean, the surest lot,

That lies too high for base contempt,
Too low for envy's shot.

My wishes are but few,

All easy to fulfil;

I make the limits of my power
The bounds unto my will.

I have no hopes but one,
Which is of heavenly reign:
Effects attained, or not defired,
All lower hopes refrain.

I feel no care of coin,
Well-doing is my wealth:
My mind to me an empire is,
While grace affordeth health.

I clip high-climbing thoughts,
The wings of swelling pride:
Their fate is worst, that from the height
Of greater honor flide.

Silk sails of largest fize

The ftorm doth sooneft tear:

I bear so low and small a sail

As freeth me from fear.

I wrestle not with rage

While fury's flame doth burn; It is in vain to ftop the ftream Until the tide doth turn.

But when the flame is out,

And ebbing wrath doth end,

I turn a late-enragéd foe

Into a quiet friend;

And, taught with often proof,
A tempered calm I find
To be moft solace to itself,
Beft cure for angry mind.

Spare diet is my fare,

My clothes more fit than fine; I know I feed and clothe a foe That, pampered, would repine.

I envy not their hap

Whom favor doth advance :
I take no pleasure in their pain
That have lefs happy chance.

To rise by others' fall

I deem a lofing gain:

All ftates with others' ruins built
To ruins run amain.

No change of fortune's calms

Can caft my comforts down :

When fortune smiles, I smile to think
How quickly fhe will frown;

And when, in froward mood,

She proved an angry foe,

Small gain I found to let her come,

Lefs lofs to let her go.

Robert Southwell. 1562-1594.

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