William Cowper (1731–1800)

Fierce passions discompose the mind,

        As tempests vex the sea;

But calm content and peace we find,

        When, Lord, we turn to thee.

In vain by reason and by rule,

        We try to bend the will;

For none, but in the Saviour’s school

        Can learn the heav’nly skill.

Since at his feet my soul has sat,

        His gracious words to hear;

Contented with my present state,

        I cast, on him, my care.

„Art thou a sinner, soul?” He said,

        „Then how canst thou complain?

How light thy troubles here, if weigh’d

        With everlasting pain!

If thou of murmuring wouldst be cur’d,

        Compare thy griefs with mine;

Think what my love for thee endur’d,

        And thou wilt not repine.

’Tis I appoint thy daily lot,

        And I do all things well:

Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,

        And rise with me to dwell.

In life my grace shall strength supply,

        Proportion’d to thy day;

At death thou still shalt find me nigh,

        To wipe thy tears away.”

Thus I who once my wretched days,

        In vain repinings spent;

Taught in my Saviour’s school of grace,

        Have learn’d to be content.