Partingtonian patchwork Blifkins the martyr : the domestic trials of a model husband. The modern syntax : Dr. Spooner's experiences in search of the delectable. Partington papers : strippings of the warm milk of human kindness. New and old dips from an unambitious inkstand. Humorous, eccentric, rhythmical |
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TRUE FAITH. |
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286
TRUE FAITH.
Old Reuben Fisher, who lived in the lane,
Was never in life disposed to complain;
If the weather proved fair, he'd thank God for the sun,
And if it were rainy, with him 'twas all one;—
“I have just the weather I fancy,” said he,
“For what pleases God always satisfies me.”
Was never in life disposed to complain;
If the weather proved fair, he'd thank God for the sun,
And if it were rainy, with him 'twas all one;—
“I have just the weather I fancy,” said he,
“For what pleases God always satisfies me.”
If trouble assailed, his brow was ne'er dark,
And his eye never lost its happiest spark.
“'Twill not better fix it to gloom or to sigh;
To make the best of it I always shall try!
So, Care, do your worst,” said Reuben with glee,
“And which of us conquers, we shall see, we shall see.”
And his eye never lost its happiest spark.
“'Twill not better fix it to gloom or to sigh;
To make the best of it I always shall try!
So, Care, do your worst,” said Reuben with glee,
“And which of us conquers, we shall see, we shall see.”
If his children were wild, as children will prove,
His temper ne'er lost its warm aspect of love;
“My dear wife,” he'd say, “don't worry nor fret;
'Twill all be right with the wayward ones yet;
'Tis the folly of youth, that must have its way;
They'll penitent turn from their evil some day.”
His temper ne'er lost its warm aspect of love;
“My dear wife,” he'd say, “don't worry nor fret;
'Twill all be right with the wayward ones yet;
'Tis the folly of youth, that must have its way;
They'll penitent turn from their evil some day.”
287
If a name were assailed, he would cheerily say,
“Well, well; we'll not join in the cry, any way;
There are always two sides to every tale—
And the true one at last is sure to prevail.
There is an old rule that I learned when a lad,—
‘Deem every one good till he's proved to be bad.’”
“Well, well; we'll not join in the cry, any way;
There are always two sides to every tale—
And the true one at last is sure to prevail.
There is an old rule that I learned when a lad,—
‘Deem every one good till he's proved to be bad.’”
And when in the meshes of sin tightly bound,
The reckless and luckless mortal was found,
Proscribed by every woman and man,
And put under rigid and merciless ban,
Old Reuben would say, with sympathy fraught,
“We none of us do half as well as we ought.”
The reckless and luckless mortal was found,
Proscribed by every woman and man,
And put under rigid and merciless ban,
Old Reuben would say, with sympathy fraught,
“We none of us do half as well as we ought.”
If friends waxed cold, he'd say with a smile—
“Well, if they must go, Heaven bless them the while;
We walked a sweet path till the crossing ways met,
And though we have parted, I'll cherish them yet;
They'll go by their way and I'll go by mine—
Perhaps in the city ahead we shall join.”
“Well, if they must go, Heaven bless them the while;
We walked a sweet path till the crossing ways met,
And though we have parted, I'll cherish them yet;
They'll go by their way and I'll go by mine—
Perhaps in the city ahead we shall join.”
There were sickness and death at last in his cot,
But still Reuben Fisher in sorrow blenched not:
“'Tis the Father afflicts; let Him do what He will;
What comes from His hand can mean us no ill;
I cheerfully give back the blessing He lent,
And through faith in the future find present content.”
But still Reuben Fisher in sorrow blenched not:
“'Tis the Father afflicts; let Him do what He will;
What comes from His hand can mean us no ill;
I cheerfully give back the blessing He lent,
And through faith in the future find present content.”
Then he lay on his death-bed at last undismayed;
No terror had death at which he was afraid;
“Living or dying, 'tis all well with me,
For God's will is my will,” submissive said he.
And so Reuben died, with his breast full of grace,
That beamed in a smile on his time-furrowed face.
No terror had death at which he was afraid;
“Living or dying, 'tis all well with me,
For God's will is my will,” submissive said he.
And so Reuben died, with his breast full of grace,
That beamed in a smile on his time-furrowed face.
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