When days are dark and spirits low, And hope desponding stands, What comfort these few words bestow, "My times are in thy hands." That thought should every fear allay, And every cloud dispel; For we are in the hands of _One_ Who "doeth all things well." He clothes the lily of the field, Paints the gay tulip's leaf, Hears the young ravens when they cry, And hastes to their relief. That little sparrow in thy path, He noticed when it fell; Numbereth the hairs upon thy head, And "doeth all things well." Then say not when with cares oppressed, He hath forsaken me; For had thy father loved thee less, Would he so chasten thee? A friend he takes, a Husband too, A Child, with him to dwell; Selects the day, the place, the hour-- "He doeth all things well." His power is _heard_ when thunders roll, _Felt_ when the cold wind blows, _Seen_ in the vivid lightning's flash, And in the blushing rose. He cares for monarch on his throne, For hermit in his cell, For sailor on the mighty deep-- "He doeth all things well." He raiseth one to high estate, He brings another low; _This year_ an empire doth create The _next_ may overthrow. What he may plan for you or me, While here on earth we dwell, We know not--but of this I'm sure, "He doeth all things well." Weston, April 18, 1853. THE MORNING DRIVE. FOR MY DAUGHTER MARGARET. Very like to a dream, Doth the time to me seem, When with thee a young girl by my side, One of summer's fine days, In a one pony chaise, We commenced in the morning our ride. By the pine grove and nook, Over bridge and through brook, Quite at random we drove without fear; While the birds of the grove, In sweet harmony strove, By their concert of music to cheer. With none to molest us, No home cares to press us, Farther onward, and onward we roam; But at length the skies lower, And unhoped for the shower Finds us many miles distant from home. Even so is life's day, Like a fair morn in May, With hope's bright bow of promise it cheers; But long before night, The sun that so bright In the morning had shone, disappears. Do not then I entreat, My beloved Margaret, Be content with this world for thy portion; Let ambition soar _higher_, E'en _above_ earth aspire, And to God give thy heart's true devotion. April 29, 1853. REPLY TO A TOAST, SENT BY MR. W. TO THE LADIES OF WAYLAND, AT THEIR FAIR HELD ON MAY-DAY. Many, _many_ kind thanks from the Waylanders fair, Who are sorry, quite sorry you could not be there, To receive their warm greeting, partake of their cheer, And repaid by their smiles for your wishes sincere. That health and content may your footsteps attend, Believe me, dear sir, is the wish of your friend. May 2, 1853. TO MR. C.R. FOR MANY YEARS DEPRIVED OF SIGHT. They say the sun is shining In all his splendor now, And clouds in graceful drapery, Are sailing to an fro. That birds of brilliant plumage, Are soaring on the wing; Exulting in the daylight, Rejoicing as they sing.