Through all the various shifting scenes
Of life's mistaken ill or good,
The hand of God conducts, unseen,
The beautiful vicissitude.
He portions with paternal care,
Howe'er unjustly we complain,
To each his necessary share
Of joy and sorrow, health and pain.
Trust we to youth, or friends, or power,
Fix we our foot on fortune's ball;
When most secure, the coming hour,
If he sees fit, can blast them all.
When lowest sunk with grief or shame,
Gorged with affliction's deepest cup,
Lost to relations, friends, or fame,
His powerful hand can raise thee up.
Before his throne the poor, opprest
With slanderous rage, acquitted stand;
He guides the exile to his rest,
And country, in a foreign land.
His powerful consolations cheer,
His smiles erect the afflicted head;
His hand can wipe away the tear
That secret wets the widow'd bed.
All things on earth, and all in heaven,
On his eternal will depend;
And all for greater good were given,
Would man pursue th' appointed end.
This be my care. To all beside,
Indifferent let my wishes be;
Passions be calm, and dumb be pride,
And fix'd my soul, my God, on thee.