In Indolent Vacuity Of Thought.

When From Soft Love Proceeds The Deep Distress, Ah! Why Forbid The Willing Tears To Flow?

In Indolent Vacuity Of Thought.

Judge Not The Lord By Feeble Sense, But Trust Him For His Grace; Behind A Frowning Providence He Hides A Smiling Face. His Purposes Will Ripen Fast, Unfolding Every Hour;the Bud May Have A Bitter Taste, But Sweet Will Be The Flow’r. Blind Unbelief Is Sure To Err And Scan His Work In Vain; God Is His Own Interpreter, And He Will Make It Plain.

Forgot The Blush That Virgin Fears Impart To Modest Cheeks, And Borrowed One From Art.

The Bud May Have A Bitter Taste, But Sweet Will Be The Flower.