" BOW down thy false and froward heart,
Tread meekly day by day;
Obedience is thy proper part,
Her path is Wisdom's way.

" With lowly mien, with humble mind,
With chasten'd heart and true,
Bend to the Rulers of thy kind,
And yield them reverence due. "

Thus man's Almighty Lord has said,
But scornful human pride,
Disdainful lifts his haughty head,
And turns his foot aside.

Sweet nature's gentle children all,
A different lore they teach,
And bud and blossom hear her call,
That hath nor form nor speech.

She speaks to them at evening hour,
They hear her and obey;
Fold meekly up each silken flower,
And turn their heads away.

Nor from beneath their verdant shells,
With clustering dew-drops bright,
Peep once again the snowy bells,
Till morn's returning light.

Thro' this long gloomy night of ours,
God's voice is with us still,
And we should stand like folded flowers,
And wait to work His will.

They watch till bright dawn come again,
Our dayspring too is near —
Yet meekly tread, they only reign
Who serve and suffer here.
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