459.
The Complaining Christian.
1
Did I not hear thee, mourner! say,
“My sorrows lengthen with the day!
“The meanest form that passes by,
“Feels more of happiness than I?”
2
Check this unhallow'd spirit vain!
Pause, ere thy tongue again complain!
The eye, that drops th' incessant tear,
Forgets the heavenly mansion near.
3
Dost thou not trust, when life is o'er,
To join the host who God adore?
I hear thee cry, by joy opprest,
“That hope alone inspires my breast.”
4
Would'st thou thy faith in heaven resign,
In state to rule; in courts to shine?
“Ah, no!” thy shuddering heart replies,
“My portion lies in yonder skies.”
5
Would'st thou on earth for ever dwell,
If boundless wealth thy hoards might swell?
“Ah, no!” thou say'st, “I spurn the clod!
“My life is hid with Christ in God!”
6
What! with such heritage on high,
Dost thou indulge the murmuring sigh?
Thus rich in faith, canst thou complain
Of losses, griefs, bereavements, pain?
7
With joys so pure, with hopes so bright,
Canst thou retire to gloom and night,
And pass life's momentary span,
Complaining of the lot of man?
8
Thou hast a treasure far too high
For crowns to barter, kings to buy!
And canst thou breathe thy discontent
At trials by thy Father sent?
9
If, by the tempter still betray'd,
Think what thy bleeding Saviour paid
To build those mansions in the sky
Prepared for all, in Christ who die!
10
Look, vain complainer! look and see
Thousands, less happy, envying thee!
Behold, while thou, on self dost pore,
The crowds around, afflicted more.
11
Be, to thyself, thy prospects true!
The great, the proud, in pity view!
They have no wealth which will endure!
Thou art the rich, while they are poor!
