I am content; I do not care; Wag as it will the world for me; When Fuss and Fret was all my fare It got no ground, as I could see. So when away my caring went I counted cost and was content. With more of thanks and less of thought I strive to make my matters meet; To seek, what ancient sages sought, Physic and food in sour and sweet. To take what passes in good part, And keep the hiccups from the heart. With good and gentle-humored hearts I choose to chat, whene'er I come, Whate'er the subject be that starts; But if I get among the glum I hold my tongue, to tell the truth, And keep my breath to cool my broth. For chance or change of peace or pain; For fortune's favor or her frown; For luck or glut, for loss or gain, I never dodge, nor up nor down: But swing what way the ship shall swim, Or tack about with equal trim. I suit not where I shall not speed, Nor trace the turn of every tide; If simple sense will not succeed, I make no bustling, but abide; For shining wealth, or scoring woe, I force no friend, I fear no foe. I love my neighbor as myself; Myself like him too, by his leave; Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf Came I to crouch, as I conceive; Dame Nature doubtless has designed A man the monarch of his mind. Now taste and try this temper, sirs; Mood it and brood it in your breast; Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs, That man does right to mar his rest, Let me be left, and debonair; I am content; I do not care. --John Byrom (1692-1763). Some of your hurts you have cured, And the sharpest you still have survived, But what torments of grief you endured From the evils which never arrived. --Ralph Waldo Emerson. HAPPY ANY WAY Lord, it belongs not to my care Whether I die or live; To love and serve thee is my share, And this thy grace must give. If life be long, I will be glad That I may long obey; If short, yet why should I be sad To soar to endless day? Christ leads me through no darker rooms Than he went through before; He that into God's kingdom comes Must enter by his door. Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meet Thy blessed face to see; For, if thy work on earth be sweet, What will thy glory be? Then I shall end my sad complaints, And weary, sinful days, And join with the triumphant saints Who sing Jehovah's praise. My knowledge of that life is small; The eye of faith is dim; But 'tis enough that Christ knows all, And I shall be with him. --Richard Baxter. THE THINGS I MISS