How blest is he, though ever crossed, That can all crosses blessings make; That finds himself ere he be lost, And lose that found for virtue's sake.
Yea, blest is he, in life and death, That fears not death nor loves this life; That sets his will his wit beneath; And hath continual peace in strife.
That naught observes but what preserves His mind and body from offense; That neither courts nor seasons serves, And learns without experience.
That loves his body for his soul, Soul for his mind, his mind for God, God for himself, and doth control Content, if it with him be odd.
That rests in action, acting naught But what is good in deed and show; That seeks but God within his thought, And thinks but God to love and know.
That lives too low for envy's looks, And yet too high for loathed contempt; That makes his friends good men and books And naught without them doth attempt.
That ever lives a light to all, Though oft obscurèd like the sun; And, though his fortunes be but small, Yet Fortune doth not seek nor shun.
That never looks but grace to find, Nor seeks for knowledge to be known; That makes a kingdom of his mind, Wherein, with God, he reigns alone.
This man is great with little state, Lord of the world epitomized, Who with staid front outfaceth Fate And, being empty, is sufficed-- Or is sufficed with little, since (at least) He makes his conscience a continual feast.
My God, I thank thee who hast made The earth so bright; So full of splendor and of joy, Beauty and light; So many glorious things are here, Noble and right.
I thank thee, too, that thou hast made Joy to abound; So many gentle thoughts and deeds Circling us round; That in the darkest spot of earth Some love is found.
I thank thee more that all our joy Is touched with pain; That shadows fall on brightest hours; That thorns remain; So that earth's bliss may be our guide And not our chain.
I thank thee, Lord, that thou hast kept The best in store; We have enough, yet not too much, To long for more; A yearning for a deeper peace Not known before.
I thank thee, Lord, that here our souls Though amply blest, Can never find, although they seek, A perfect rest; Nor ever shall until they lean On Jesus' breast.
There was once a man who smiled Because the day was bright, Because he slept at night, Because God gave him sight To gaze upon his child; Because his little one, Could leap and laugh and run; Because the distant sun Smiled on the earth he smiled.