EACH trial has its weight; which, whoso bears Knows his own woe, and need of succouring grace; The martyr's hope half wipes away the trace Of flowing blood; the while life's humblest cares Smart more, because they hold in Holy Writ no place. This be my comfort, in these days of grief, Which is not Christ's, nor forms heroic tale. Apart from Him, if not a sparrow fail, May not He pitying view, and send relief When foes or friends perplex, and peevish thoughts prevail? Then keep good heart, nor take the niggard course Of Thomas, who must see ere he would trust. Faith will fill up God's word, not poorly just To the bare letter, heedless of its force, But walking by its light amid earth's sun and dust. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WIND IN A FROLIC by WILLIAM HOWITT THE BELLS OF YOUTH by WILLIAM SHARP THE MOON by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE CASE OF EDGAR ABBOTT AND PHILIP RIDD by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS SONNET: ENGLAND by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE MALLARDS PASS UNHARMED by LAURA FRANCES ALEXANDER |