Wounded I sing, tormented I indite, <br />Thrown down I fall into a bed, and rest: <br />Sorrow hath chang'd its note: such is his will <br />Who changeth all things, as him pleaseth best. <br />For well he knows, if but one grief and smart <br />Among my many had his full career, <br />Sure it would carry with it ev'n my heart, <br />And both would run until they found a bier <br />To fetch the body; both being due to grief. <br />But he hath spoil'd the race; and giv'n to anguish <br />One of Joy's coats, 'ticing it with relief <br />To linger in me, and together languish. <br />I live to shew his power, who once did bring <br />My joys to weep, and now my griefs to sing.<br /><br />George Herbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/joseph-s-coat/