Since in a land not barren still (Because thou dost thy grace distil) My lot is fall'n, blest be thy will! And since these biting frosts but kill Some tares in me which choke, or spill That seed thou sow'st, blest be thy skill! Blest be thy dew, and blest thy frost, And happy I to be so crossed, And cured by crosses at thy cost. The dew doth cheer what is distressed, The frosts ill weeds nip and molest, In both thou work'st unto the best. Thus while thy sev'ral mercies plot, And work on me now cold, now hot, The work goes on, and slacketh not, For as thy hand the weather steers, So thrive I best, 'twixt joys and tears, And all the year have some green ears. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RHAPSODY ON A WINDY NIGHT by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT SPELT FROM SIBYL'S LEAVES by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS EVERYONE SANG by SIEGFRIED SASSOON INSCRIPTIONS: 8 by MARK AKENSIDE AN ODE OF ANACREON by ANACREON THE WORK THAT SAVES by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR |