O, THOU that doth all things devise And fashon fer the best, He'p us who sees with mortul eyes To overlook the rest. They's times, of course, we grope in doubt, And in afflictions sore; So knock the louder, Lord, without, And we'll unlock the door. Make us to feel, when times looks bad And tears in pitty melts, Thou wast the only he'p we had When they was nothin' else. Death comes alike to ev'ry man That ever was borned on earth; Then let us do the best we can To live fer all life's wurth. Ef storms and tempusts dred to see Makes black the heavens ore, They done the same in Galilee Two thousand years before. But after all, the golden sun Poured out its floods on them That watched and waited fer the One Then borned in Bethlyham. Also, the star of holy writ Made noonday of the night, Whilse other stars that looked at it Was envious with delight. The sages then in wurship bowed, From ev'ry clime so fare; O, sinner, think of that glad crowd That congergated thare! They was content to fall in ranks With One that knowed the way From good old Jurden's stormy banks Clean up to Jedgmunt Day. No matter, then, how all is mixed In our near-sighted eyes, All things is fer the best, and fixed Out straight in Paradise. Then take things as God sends 'em here, And, ef we live er die, Be more and more contenteder, Without a-astin' why. O, Thou that doth all things devise And fashon fer the best, He'p us who sees with mortul eyes To overlook the rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RAINY DAY by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE GRANDMOTHER'S APOLOGY by ALFRED TENNYSON THE YEARS TO BE by WILLIAM ROSE BENET QUATRAIN by CHARLES GRANGER BLANDEN MANY ARE CALLED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 53. FAREWELL TO JULIET (15) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 43 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |