MY GOOD RIGHT HAND.
I
I fell into grief, and began to complain;
I look'd for a friend, but I sought him in vain:
Companions were shy, and acquaintance were cold,
They gave me good counsel, but dreaded their gold.
“Let them go,” I exclaim'd, “I've a friend at my side,
“To lift me, and aid me, whatever betide.
“To trust to the world is to build on the sand:—
“I'll trust but in Heaven and my good Right Hand.”
II
My courage reviv'd, in my fortune's despite,
And my hand was as strong as my spirit was light;
It raised me from sorrow, it saved me from pain;
It fed me, and clad me, again and again.
The friends who had left me came back every one,
And darkest advisers look'd bright as the sun:
I need them no more, as they all understand,—
I thank thee, I trust thee, my good Right Hand!
