No Choice had e'er so happy an Event,
But he that made it, did that Choice repent.
So weak's our Judgment, and so short's our Sight,
We cannot level our own Wishes right:
And if sometimes we make a wise advance,
T'our selves we little owe, but much to chance,
So that when Providence, for secret Ends,
Corroding Cares, or sharp Affliction sends
We must conclude it best it should be so,
And not desponding, or impatient grow.
For he that will his confidence remove,
From boundless Wisdom, and eternal Love,
To place it on himself, or human Aid,
Will meet those Woes he labours to evade.
But in the keenest Agonies of Grief,
Content's a Cordial that still gives Relief.
Heaven is not always angry when he strikes,
But most Chastises those, whom most he likes,
And if with humble Spirits they complain,
Relieves the Anguish, or rewards the Pain.