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 weighed
With everlasting pain!
If thou of murmuring wouldst be cured,
Compare thy griefs with mine;
Think what my love for thee endured,
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,
Proportioned 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 repining spent;
Taught in my Saviour’s school of grace,
Have learned to be content.
—William Cowper (1731–1800)