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Cheer'd by an April smile, forgets to seek
For clearer sunshine, and a sky more pure.
Then o'er the lustre of that silver beam,
A dark shade passes, such as dims the pride
Of all below; it sickens, it expires.
Seek not with eye intense to pierce that cloud,
Or tear that veil away: It must not be!
Nor raise the murmuring of the lip perverse,
Nor arm the heart with impious pride; for oft,
The heart unhumbled, rising in its wrath,
Provokes more vengeance from the mighty hand
That in the cloud, and in the sunshine works,
Moves on the waters to abase the proud,
And raise the humble. Will the hand that guides
The fall of the pierc'd sparrow, and unmark'd
Suffers no hair to scatter from the head
Of man his fav'rite, let the sigh of grief
And tear, and prayer, of patient suffering, rise
Unnoticed, unregarded? Oh! what tongue
Shall dare to say our God is merciless.
What mortal hand shall lift itself to blot
The purpose of his wisdom. Let the eye,
That in his smile or in his frown perceives
The teachings of a father, aid the heart
That meekly says—my God! thy will be done.
