Classic Poem

Y E tedious hours of pain,
When will ye roll away?
Ah! when shall I enjoy, again,
The well man's easy day?

" Lives , then, the child of sin,
Yet breathes impatient sighs?
Know, from thyself thy woes begin,
From guilt thy sorrows rise.

Is not thy Maker love?
Is not his anger slow?
Do not our griefs his pity move?
Can he enjoy our woe?

Compassionate, he sees
His human offspring stray;
And oft commissions sharp disease
Our wild career to stay.

Soon as contrition's eye
Is full, with humble tear;
He bids all-healing mercy fly,
The fainting heart to cheer.

O the reviving grace
His promises distill!
Almighty anodyne! they chase
The pain from every ill.

Learn, learn, my soul, to wait,
Till thy release is giv'n.
Bless him, who made a suff'ring state
The pupillage for heav'n.