Since in a land not barren still <br />(Because Thou dost Thy grace distill) <br />My lot is fallen, blest be Thy will! <br /> <br />And since these biting frosts but kill <br />Some tares in me which choke or spill <br />That seed Thou sow'st, blest be Thy skill! <br /> <br />Blest be Thy dew, and blest Thy frost, <br />And happy I to be so crossed, <br />And cured by crosses at Thy cost. <br /> <br />The dew doth cheer what is distressed, <br />The frosts ill weeds nip and molest; <br />In both Thou work'st unto the best. <br /> <br />Thus while Thy several mercies plot, <br />And work on me now cold, now hot, <br />The work goes on and slacketh not; <br /> <br />For as Thy hand the weather steers, <br />So thrive I best, 'twixt joys and tears, <br />And all the year have some green ears.<br /><br />Henry Vaughan<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/love-and-discipline/
